A fully vetted account of likely events.

 

I am carefully warming a pretend dish inside the sanitizer. Just to the right of the sanitizer, you'll find a precious booklet decked out with commemorative stickers. My step-brother waits outside. His curb is still littered with detritus. I'm done making calls, the likes of which have kept some folks active for days. I have been warned to not attempt to relive vaunted moments. This seems like a good time to circulate photos for maximal effect. The habits of our elders provide no excuses when our own regulations are on the line. I have taken some myself. The impact was nil, but no one ever said boo about the incandescent sound values which would erupt in  a shallow quarter. People are better off when they believe something is being done. In their own name or not, you'll know them by the way the powder snakes across the parking lot in their stead. No use giving up the ghost if even one child can be saved. Or, at least that's what they want me to say to avoid subliminal repercussions. It will all come out.

As I try to lead our newest trainees in a Festival Song, the structural integrity of the Rec Center is called into question. I lead the last available witness to describe the process whereby most of us can expect to be shunted. As he gently delivers his remarks, I can't shake the feeling that one of us has swallowed a bill of goods, hook, line and sinker. He sits in the back seat of my sedan while I confer with a veteran officer. The officer lays it on the line pure and simple: there's no choice but to get this kid to the hospital on the double. If I told you right now that I was somehow totally ignorant of the fact that this guy was lying through his teeth, then you'd have every right to call me on my shit. But since I have no intention of laying out an entire panoply, maybe you should just relax for once in your life, okay?

So, once we were certain that our names had achieved pride of place on a transnational waiting list, I felt that I could now guarantee no less than six period-perfect lineaments would be deposited in our duty locker. It's all we would ever need to start enhancing our appearances before one or more mobility-challenged miscreants had absorbed all the lessons and made a clean break. My own timing had been decidedly 'off'. There was a noticeable snapping sensation in my left foot, which wouldn't earn me any plaudits from accessorized bensonites. I felt certain that a person in my position could no longer afford any cracks in my probationary heptacion. What with all the runaways in our midst, someone would have to speak ground-level truth or expect to find an anonymous note in their folder. I outright refuse to hold our leaders hostage to contemporary fashion trends. If anyone doesn't like the looks of this, then I've got news for them. As for the rest of you, please.

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Trickerie Exits the Picture.

 

No one is sure whether or not you find it beneficial to sit with us. We tend to veer toward the quiet side of the ledger. That, however, doesn't prevent one or another thing from being said, sometimes in a surprising tone. If I had to guess, I'd say it probably happened two or three times. You would enter a room. A hush would gain strength. We would all resume breathing once you removed your glasses. I'd go from room to room, checking on campers. If anyone was still pretending to be awake, I'd be very blunt. They'll not likely get very far if the wind has been whipped up something awful. Just so you know, I'm very cognizant when it comes to staying on 'this' side of any line, imaginary or otherwise. The Orsted suit I wear by and large provokes massive comments on social media. I represent my tribe with grace and denial. This is what keeps us bound to the land of our ancestors, even if their birthing papers inspire not a little doubt all around.

When you are given a tiny wafer and requested to make a swirling motion to indicate time-in-motion, a small piece will be deposited in your name just below and to the right of our Trophy Panel. There you will find a number which corresponds to your stage of completion. Now we all come forward. You should feel free to discuss this with a trained Counsellor. He has studied at the Magnat Institute on a Fulbright Fellowship. His bona fides are in order. There is no hesitancy to say that he will make a fine husband one day. But not yet. A bit of buffing around the edges will make some lucky girl's dream come true. If we see you following his foreign-born in-laws through a primitive marketplace in a third country, it won't surprise us at all to have your name delivered up, no questions asked. If, however, it can be proven in the full light of day that all of your objections were made in good faith, then why would anyone stick their neck out in the first place, is what I want to know. Unfortunately, questions are easier to come by than answers. This is when I'll be due downtown. Doodie never waits, alas.

Each of the friends is marked with a steamboat symbol on their left lapel. A tapered paper cone is to be ordered from a trusted source. Once the stain is removed, our instruments should start to detect just where your sympathies lie. In the order of approval, your case is now firmly affixed to a moving pastel core. Any paste around the edge can ignored at your peril. I will leave to your best judgment as to whether or when you'll be motioned to deliver an alarming comment. This will trigger all kinds of delays. But not to worry. Everything is in hand. Our paid opposition still frets when they get wind of your evil plan. Is the beverage suitable? Does it drag on you to understand how and by whom you were implicated? As the details are fully ironed out, you can poke your head out to sniff out the possibilities. Each carbon tablet we feed you can make a year feel like a measly inch. This is not a trick.

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A Thoughtful Morning Outline . . ...

 

As the day approaches, I will come to myself, through the inside if necessary. Even if a step is secured, the goners who append my name as their last line of defense may find themselves in a formulaic enclave, looking to all the world like six or seven of the least selective maintenance engineers who have never once foiled a failed accomplice on this, the blandest of missions. When the Conference issues its preliminary exclamation, the targeted individuals, who up to now have prided themselves on an ability to fade into ever denser backgrounds, are apt to volunteer in numbers equal to or exceeding those who pleaded for relief from shore duty on a night shrouded in the recent mist. We have all lived to see the coveted wall hanging sustain minor sound damage as the result of an impending legal imbroglio. It takes us no more than a moment or two to focus our eyes on the results of a superficial plan.

I had originally scouted her country-of-origin in hopes of making contact with someone who was aware of a minor discomfort she had once faced as a young adult in the capital formation. My search paid off handsomely in raw bones and pleated scamble-backs. There were trace amounts of crystallized ammonia and phosphorus micro-discs embedded as per the complaint. If there was any doubt in the minds of any of those present that this would be wrapped up before the morning duty got under way, we made sure that they would be unable to register even a modest misgiving. Why is it that if you apply yourself at scale, an innocent onlooker will be forced to feign entry? It's always held a secret fascination, for one. For another, forgiveness is, most definitely, NOT a two-way street. I was with the person as the seconds ticked by. He had already told a nurse of my acquaintance that we were all to be given short shrift and sent outside to find a  way. This is all about seeking opportunities for unsupervised training. And, I will drive myself over in the same way that I gave out: mad as heck.

The impenetrable mind game adapted for custom applications had been sold to us as a sensible remedy for all who have wavered in their deification of a Fallen Lord. For that we give them a salvage opportunity of great risk. My own tremulous portion of an as-baked seed could possibly feed a monitor of unproven insults. The names are to be drawn from a hat which will be passed from hand to foot to shoulder as the Feds close in, for real this time, if anyone still insists on keeping score. When we spot her grasping a clamp, any of us could be the one to make the 'final' decision. As the one who lives and dies by a sword of a very different Mother, I am all but eliminated from consideration as per Laxis-Mingo . For my assaultive Judge to extend the Hand of Power in a general direction would take even the sniveling beast herself by complete surprise. This is why we pay her to live in our shadow without a willing flavor. One says that he grieves for the apprehension of a day of release. Another grooms a stalwart pattern-clearer. I choose the foot rather than the maw. This will clear all of moribund chains of insight. Please check again before a third mild petting incident is reported to our ensufflated segurity auflaw. You are welcome, but not after this. If it comes in tamer frames, you will be contacted. 

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These two guys share certain proplinquities. Can you blame me?

 

There is one who I know. Not by name. Only by height, hair color, demeanor and pastry preferences. The other one, Oscar Biswald, has had it up to 'here' with my implosive blaspheming. Between the two of them, there's just no contest. Each has a (faulty) idea about where my favor lies. I am forever looking at their eyes between innings and hoping for a sign. Once in a while, there's a slight rustling off to the side. I know where my bread is buttered, though. They  just haven't figured out yet whether, how or why I've set about caring what happens when the news drops. Someone once said that I had a lot of nerve. Each of them tried to push that guy into a doorway here in town. I told them to 'knock it off'. They acted like it was no big deal. So I made it my business to hold one, and then the other, inside a lead-lined chamber that we had set up a few years ago. I prayed to God that no one would get hurt. In the end I had to eat my very own words. Anyone who says they like that kind of treatment should try living for a few moments in the shoes that I call 'my life'. They won't like what they see, is all I'm saying, okay?

Now that they've both found work in the 4th quarter down south, I'm starting to get the hang of interstitial living. And even though I make it a practice to keep the bottom-feeders at arm's length from a pair of winsome broads who moved in downstairs, I still like to field calls from the disconsolate brats whose smell can shake up a room real good. On a good day, if I read somewhere that I'm supposed to arrange with our people to have something carried by a person whose perspective can't be questioned, that's when, all of a sudden, I get an announcement in the mail to the effect that a question of basic morality is now front-of-mind and our own checkmarks could come under effusive assault. Unless, that is, an extremely sought after signature could be affixed in a superlative nail-biter, come what may. This is when it is sometimes asked whether a home-bound beneficiary would think it wise to stand with their back to a third floor window and 'flood the zone' with a compact set of opinions which get people talking in real time. At which point I make it my business to be seen in the company of a Native American painting contractor of dubious resolve. He'll know where to put my trust when sanity makes an instant comeback. As for those who never pretended for a minute to have none, there's only one word which applies. It's just not one which comes balefully to the lips of the easily flustered. And for that any of us would give not even a rheumy glance in the other direction, paltry at best. So far, so good. Now beat it.

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A brief outline of the Evening Protocol.

 

Each evening, as I prepare to engage my pre-scripted rounds, I make certain to secrete a small bottle of serratofous liquids in the nape of my Founders' cape and to drain the telltale maskings from beneath the deck where fourfold records are deposited to make way for one very special face. The one which we all think of during solo coffee time is not to be confused with your standardized victim profile shufflink. If so, that would mean that one or more of our soldiery politans could no longer count on our siezure rate to incline by two point three percentage points at best.

The trick of living with a longterm perdition is to always remove pieces of luxury cloth from a place of safety, making sure not to crane one's neck in the opposite direction whence buffers are said to decline. By their whippery ring you shall know them and all about our suite the superior provider will inspect carpet-bound sleeves for subitual infestations. As he does so, all comments are kept to a dull minimum and a cough is seen for what it so manifestly is, to wit: the meager enconium which is sometimes heard when a Summer Band is plotting retreat, should be enough to convince even the most dimwitted accomplice to relinquish his bandana when time seems to slip to the very outskirts of a no-lane byway. Take my dress.

You can always give it your best, but without anyone being any the wiser, we can only assume that your place in our beam is at serious risk of defining our deviant class into an already perilously apostatic perfuke. Each of their nightly emissions has been recorded on a missing centimeter of oxipoidal rimspate. Now that all can plainly observe the atmospheric ceiling descending at a less-than-comfortable rate, we feel compelled to ask you to include in your storyboard at least one reference to a centralized grampling viscount and adduce the final dreg in your wimpering Osterman to save the flag for our foursquare squintic gulch. This will introduce the 'drink of a lifetime' into the daily routine of our mainline Protestant inebriants. Our future will once again become the defaulted trove of bastardized topiaries. You win.

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Final Notice.

 

As I sit here checking some of the more wistful pages in this collection, I've received word that the Champ has arrived at my back door. This is after a long rafting trip where it's said he fractured his expherior maztrikle. None the worse for wear, I'll invite him for coffee in the Springtime once I've gotten my shots. Meanwhile, if I get reports that he's started to affect that standard downcast mien, I'll be forced to consider removal--not to say extrication! The Management Team is on the ground even as it shifts beneath their less-than-graceful feet. Also, I'm in touch with more than a few stakeholders and their concubines. Exhibiting a combination of mirth and cylindricality, they've gone the extra mile to uphold my version of events in case a rapid response comes to the fore and any of us get shafted in the melee. Can we count on you to stick to the official account? Your family will thank you in my absence. And, it will go a long way to repair some of the damage that we know you'e been itching to effectuate.

If it comes to that, why haven't all of our senior people been collected and confined? Even though they know it's for their own good, I have it on good authority that they summoned my loss prevention specialist to their bungalow, stripped him of his title and tittered compulsively when he stepped in a hole near the outbuilding. This CANNOT continue! Someone could get their field trip all but canceled. The next step would be to enforce a sleep regimen on unsuspecting nitwits. Without a central bardling phase, any condition which we have reason to believe is otherwise preventable will be grounds for a swift reinforcement gambit. Any related pelicans can be counted upon to infuse a high-donor pro-cam inhibitor in our stinking bomber's plot. The next thing you know, one or more padded artifacts could be lodged in the pathway of those who need extra help. This won't come without the say-so of a 'convenience specialist'. The problem is, the last one departed over a year ago and a replacement is not guaranteed to appear when there are barely moments to spare. You will help us to incite a plague of minor injuries which will distract the attentions of comely blonds. Then we will have what we need to work with as time grows short. Why hasn't anyone thought of this before? Please ask yourself. Final notice. 

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A Mild Crust Is Forming, Part II.

 

Torrencio and Madagabla—the pair had created such an innocuous yet innovative presentation that we barely were inclined to shift in our seats—the way they had indelibly planted their feet on all fours took all of us by complete surprise. Now I know that by the first of six scheduled breaks, it was my task to reach behind a barrier and stroke a cord to initiate the slightest of breezes, the kind that we can all recall fondly from our respective formative eras. I had a word with the Captor's son, a native born Andalusian, now over five feet tall, still covered in the markings which confirm his unique lineage. I was asked by higher-ups to inform him that any penalty that we would offer to reduce could be redeemed for a pocket full of valuable ancient sand. When he began to imperceptibly caress my right shoulder with a small tufted subpar bag, and whispered a known word, I realized that I could have excised it permanently in my head within minutes of my arrival in the Dutch capital. Thankfully I had yet to register even the slightest incongruity on my aching face.

Once an agreement has been signed, there will still remain a lovable morsel to be reframed as a charming cocktail nicety and sent on its way like so many before. I will need the rivuletted tuning forge which was gifted to my Father before me in the late 1980s. He is said to have sold very precise directions to our hiding place in open defiance of words that had been exchanged prior to our picking up stakes and forgoing a novel insight into A World of Places. Some of these people think that we can be pushed past our limit with very few consequences. They could not be more wrong. But what would stop them from trying? Not anyone I've ever heard of, is all I'm trying to say. Why do you ask?

Once back on a drier spit of land, we resolved to lure Torrencio and Madagabla into a used furniture distributorship and show them a common courtesy to determine if they were easily swayed. Each was given a choice of numbers and asked to select wisely. Torrencio was asked to go into the other room and change. Madagabla stayed with us while we eyed her suspiciously. We exchanged troubled glances and realized that some disturbance was in the offing. I brought in a coffee ring and a bucket of Wisteria flavored paint. My wife made herself comfortable against all indications. As I sat and smoked in the car it occurred to me that my pet project was almost at completion. Once my ascendance into a higher level was a thing of the past, I knew that no amount of roughage would quell my bonhomie where two lacquered frontispieces would go the distance just as well. Why was I being like this? Can anyone tell? Should other methods be applied? Doesn't this go without saying? Is this all you could come up with? Say it.

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