Sixteen

   "Seriously?  Two thousand words of thought provoking prose and the only comment you can come up with is too many 'ly' words?"
   "Thirteen.  Too many."
   "Is it that you can't think of something constructive to say, or are you too afraid to voice it because others might not agree with you?  So what do you do?  You fall back on counting how many words end in 'ly' hoping everyone would just assume it must be wrong?  You think you have to say something is wrong with it or everyone will think less of you, don't you?  You are some piece of work, you know that?  You are seriously twisted.  You are seriously mentally unstable and diametrically divided.  You are intensely romantically challenged and irreparably irrevocably wantingly void of feelings, especially the highly desirable human emotions."
   "Shhh.  Someone's at the door."
   Knock. Knock. A voice from outside the door asked,  "Grandpa?  Are you ok in there? Who are you talking to?"
   "Eleven."
   "Shhh.  They'll hear you."
   Another voice from outside the door, but further down the hall said, "Leave him alone.  Grandpa's just talking to himself again."
   "Nine."
   The first voice through the door said, "It sounds like he is going through another one of his 'Rain Man' phases."
   "Fourteen.  Definitely fourteen."

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