The blathering idiot stood in front of the full-length hallway mirror. He looked down at his left hand. Then he looked down at his right hand. He brought his right hand up toward the mirror and turned, open-palm outward so he could see its reflection in the mirror. He did the same thing with the left hand. He then turned the left hand toward the right one and bent the fingers and thumb to make a beak.
“Hello, right hand,” he said as he flapped the beak open and closed.
The right hand remained palm outward toward the mirror.
The left hand waited a minute, then tried again. “Hello, right hand. I’m the left hand and would like to get to know you so that I know what you’re up to.”
The right hand turned slightly toward the left, curled into a fist, but then wiggled its thumb like a lower-lip: “Harrumph.”
It then fled to the safety of the front pants’ pocket.
The left hand turned toward the blathering idiot. “How do you intend to handle this?”
The blathering idiot shrugged. “Maybe the right hand doesn’t want to know what the left hand is doing.”
The left hand smacked him. “Get a grip.”
Booker's Blog 
This is great! My only question is, does the blathering idiot know he is a blathering idiot? Is he self-aware, or clueless to his idiocacy?