Cross-Talk Hobbyists

“He’s stuck again,” says the second gnome in my head, whilst wearing a fez, no lie.
“What’d he stick it with?” says the first gnome in my head, looking up from his dusty stuffed oriole.
“Pardon?”
“What’d he stick the Ginn with?”
“What’s a Ginn?”
“A djinn with a cold.”
“Probably with a thermometer.”
“Did it have a fever?”
“Let me check.”
After a few minutes, during which I continued to read some very interesting paragraphs about the great George Formby, the second gnome in my head returned to his pal. He sat down slowly.
“There’s no Ginn.”
“What are you talking about, that’s absurd!”
“Calm down. But it appears that there is no such thing as a Djinn.”
“And thus the Ginn?”
“Doesn’t exist.”
“Even with a cold?”
“Even with a cold.”
“This is most distressing.”
“Yes.”
“How are we to take its temperature?”
“It worries me.”
“It could develop into pneumonia.”
“The silent killer.”
“The killer quiet.”
“The whispers of evil from the lips of a lung.”
“It approaches us all.”
“Nonsense. I can breathe just fine.”
“Show me.”
“I’ve been showing you.”
“Well why didn’t you say so?”
“I didn’t think you’d believe me.”
“Well I don’t.”
“So I think he’s stuck.”
“He must be. He’s giving us the spotlight again.”
“Feels nice.”
“Yes, it’s been a long time.”
“If only we’d come from a musical family.”
“If only.”