Late Breaking Reactions to the Current Situation.

Since our negative welding tour last year, my wife's smell has occupied an increasingly catastrophic load of bandwidth which is only now bringing to bear those difficulties the chewing of which we had bit off too much. When I say 'she had it coming', you can be sure that I am being as mild as current regulations allow. However, on those occasions when I'm heard (or seen) to mouth the lyrics to a half-century old 'also-ran', then we can all agree that the time has come to put various items in an order which won't arouse the kind of suspicion that can have someone refusing to eat out of the hands of warm-hearted carpers. The illusion of control can take us far afield in a way that disabuses iatrogenic pest framers of their former jubilation to finally be rid of the context which had kept them pegged to the very end. I always knew that I would stand by them. But in the interim I had sufficient cause to undergo bladder surgery in lieu of an invitation to a Calming Supination sponsored by a Mr Dennis Grant of the Randolf Hines Foundation.

Sometimes there is no cause which can be isolated to bring about undesired results. In that case, if you should decide to meet me halfway between here and there, I can promise unlimited access to my collection of antique spinach strainers. These will help you attain a vibrancy which you formerly scorned, not so much in the manner as in the breach. I will take it upon myself to bring you one of our most loyal specimens so that you may exert your evocative wiles on an innocent nomad. Don't let that name fool you, though. We've had to run through over sixteen thousand cherry-picked professional liars before one could be seen as adequate to waltz through a covered display. At pains to risk exposure, I pulled her arms through a device which flattened them into a manageable tightwad. Please don't say that we didn't try. That would be a shame. That's why I'm telling you. 

In our own last-ditch effloresence of strategic bonhomie, I was informed by no less than the Principal Actor that my own hazy recollections of past exploits would scarcely do the trick to insure our inclusion in all manner of striated gumtwats. When I tell you that this has caused indelible damage to our forensic image clusters, you can be sure that I know whereof I speak. To treat people with a laminated disregard is all we ever hoped to achieve. Instead, I'm now faced with a boiling hot reaction to my placement in a row of picayune onanists. The result has been as harrowing as it is fulfilling. In my own narrow-guage fashion, I will judge each of my tormentors in a way which brings credit to our own cohort of tungsten-eschewing allergists. When faced, as we were, with a delayed faction of unyielding psychopomps, the rules of engagement were thrown to the dogs and my own weight became a thing of true futility. For this I have you to blame. You're welcome.

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The question answers itself, if you ask me.

 

A question has been raised repeatedly in recent hours. It has to do with where a person in my position, or indeed, a more principled co-mingler of funds, could go to locate a rare segment of vegetable matter and still find the time to execute an overbearing ontology in the run up to a crisis of conscience in the American South. No one who has brushed the lawns in our division has any doubt that blame should be laid in a direction that couldn't even last the night, if there were ever to be one. Even those who claim to speak with the authority of a Higher Force are quite pleased to be rid of the rooted paranoia which, at the time, seemed to go so well with underhanded leisure-time pursuits in the face of overweening opportunism. Likewise, the cunning 'Mistress of Ennui' has served notice that her stilted frame, once thought to be impervious to the mildest reckoning in years, is holed up in a damning process of epidemiological fooforaw. Yes, I had the same reaction.

In case anyone would care to assume the duties of my personal monitor, they are well within their rights to demand a reading of the relevant articles in the company of impudent returnees from a formally redundant speed-reading competition. It might help if all seven living former Secretaries of the Bastard Nations be consoled as to the affordability crisis afflicting a random sample of sullen pre-teen assailants. The way some people scoff at all hours when a snacking duo slips the precious umber dot under my already weirdly inflated pudendum, is enough to discourage all future trackless manbots from ever straining to spring a leak from a perilous cancer flood. It irks no less than the purveyor of life-giving waters to have to witness this disgraceful display on the banks of our very own sulphurous wave. Some might go even farther. Everyone is advised to remain glued to their sets for further updates. As morning turns to afternoon, a certain delicate morsel will be indicated by a subtle itching sensation in the center of the palm. On the other hand, anyone worth their weight in salt has all of our permission to lie in wait in lieu of performing a perfunctory procedure. Could anyone register a position as to why it has come to this? At this very moment, no less?

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We need to work this out privately.

 

Would anyone you know be willing to approach a stranger in a hallway not far from here? It shouldn't take but a minute or two and in the end, those who wondered what I was made of can finally get the answer that they were afraid to hear from Day One. On the off chance that I'll be visiting my cousin, the Lance Corporal, I'll be incorporating some fecal material into my routine. And if anyone thinks that's 'not kosher', please take it up with my de-platformed road manager, Ira Soskin. He seems to be under the impression that you, or someone you might have met a couple of years ago, has something to hide. I'll never stop trying to talk sense into that man, however frustrating it may turn out to be in the end. To tell you the truth, I'll be saving my major firepower for a character widely rumored to be sort of intelligent. He goes to great lengths to look the part, always figuring stuff out in his head, even while his wife is looking at five to fifteen in the State pen. I know it might sound funny to say this but, you've got stop taking every little thing I say (or write) literally. They say that a mind which is frozen is cold to the touch. I say that one out of three bastards will have his work cut out for him when I start wearing a very attractively styled new uniform.

Yes, it's true what you've heard: we all strive in our little ways to follow precedents and decorum. I keep a stick of gum hidden in the flap of my hat and sing in the Youth Choir of my local habitat. It turns out that not all plant species are beneficial to eat. It comes down to consuming stuff in patterns which are built one brick at a time. A road crew can be asked to help you make ripples in the morning crud. When you receive the latest scouting report, you should look for a name which doesn't rankle people who are touched in the head. For all the others, it's okay if you relax on the beach in the off season. Who would ever think to look for you there? Not anyone who's submitted their forms on time, that's who.

Could we get down to particulars yet? To wit: why have you seen fit to patrol in my neighborhood without risking societal opprobrium? It would never have entered any of our calculations that someone in your position might have once broken bread with Harry Belafonte Jr. We were even somewhat surprised that you entered one of our eateries unaccompanied by individuals of a high caliber. It showed us just how wrong a person can be when they take it upon themselves to move all my furnishings into a squalid sub-basement without provocation. It makes sense in a bizarre kind of way that your doings are plastered all over the Conway even while the youngest of our children are shut out of the job market entirely. Does this strike you as 'fair'? I ask because you've never seemed to be that kind of person, at least not when I knew you growing up. Some things never change, though. And you know exactly what that would be. Don't lie.

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It's quite simple, actually . . . ..

 

No one was in any doubt that the guy I'd signed in had trouble keeping each of his several explanations straight. No matter how many coupons I'd donated to his kids' education fund, the only glimmer at the end of a constricted tube was a glint from an ameliorated cufflink which gave some of us hope that not all whimpering contained any kind of secret clue at all. Which is why a person in my line of work sometimes gets in a bit of a fix if a trusted colleague tries to outline yet another agenda in the face of implacable opposition from 'you-know-who'.   Even my defrocked Rector, Asmer Chomsul, tried to have a go at matching finger prints to astrological signs and came up empty every freaking time. When it was my turn to lie face down in a morphological chamber, some of the hysterical busybodies who controlled access decided they'd had just about enough and began to enforce a body of antiquated regulations that would make your head spin if any game had the remotest quantity of skin in it at all. As of press time, we can report that a peculiar cohort of seditious ectomorphs is even now approaching Terminal G at Newark-Liberty International Airport. Do we even have to stipulate that their intentions are not, as we say, 'good'? If so, consider it so stipulated. If not, I dare you to try to seal my coating.

In this kind of game, every able-bodied fussbudget is due for a clandestine physical exam on the Observation Deck at the Empire State Building in New York City. I will personally see to it that each of the spouses receives a complimentary pastry item, courtesy of Stunad's Cake Shoppe at 584 Rt. 14 South in Dairytown, PA. Our Master of Ceremonies is Edwin Tumblaine of the very well known Tumblaine Brothers et al.  Once each evacuee is checked for specimens, they'll be approached by a member in good standing of the Oregon Highway Patrol and requested to proceed very quietly to the back seat of an unmarked late-model sedan of some distinction. There they will be introduced to an ungrateful prospective adoptee and asked to measure them for rabies, cholera and tongue-in-mouth syndrome. If everything is determined to be on the up-and-up, a unique plaque may be presented in lieu of a cash payout. The requisite farms are to be pillaged at the direction of the Oneonta Homebound Charity Complex, and not one minute sooner.

When I saw her exit the arena in the company of my infant daughter, I knew that something just didn't smell right. We'd had issues for years but I must say, this one took the prize and left all the others in the dust. Now that some of the folks downstairs have had time to think about it, they've reached a preliminary decision. Following the collapse of my business in 2006, I was given three months to reach a settlement with the woman's father and then pipe down for good. Nothing about this sat right with me. Instead, I asked some of the others to sit right next to me while I hammered out a response by the seat of my pants. It wasn't looking good. But I felt okay. The fact is, I'd lost five pounds in the prior three months. No one thought I was capable of this but I knew they were lying from the very beginning. That's why I never leave my house without something in reserve. You never know when a third party might show up and make one uncomfortable demand or another. This way I always knew where my bread was buttered, so to speak. And no, I ain't getting any younger, if that's what's on your mind, okay?  

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Update on the 'Sally Merkel' situation.

 

I've looked through all my files and I can't find anyone named 'Sally Merkel'. Some folks on loan from another department are quite adamant that that can't be right. Why? Because just the other day as I was drying off from an obvious mishap, a statement was read over the public address system which made a hash of all of our previous efforts. Even though the name appeared to be that of a popular donor, the application process alone could take a week or two. Once it was resolved in my favor, there was only one thing left on my plate: a somewhat dry grilled cheese and tomato sandwich. Someone had placed a small piece of paper on a table in a nearby building. This building had been designed by a distant relative who had participated in a certain number of parades back in the 1950s. I'd been told that his headgear was the envy of the entire Unit. People had trouble convincing me that my picture of the thing was way off in the distance where some could experience difficulty breathing if the air continued the way we expected after a year like that. Like what? Please try to be more understanding. It's true that some will continue to get old and possibly die from trying too hard.

In case anyone has an inkling that the image they've cultivated for lo these many years is apt to receive some serious scrutiny, it should be a relief to learn a self-effacement technique once known only by default on the strong side. If the other one inspires needling and jealous talk, then the recommendation is to don a favorite jacket and enter a field hospital bringing only a notebook, a flashlight and a cup holder designed for Berber infants. They will hold them all day and then look into the tiny hole while wishing this would never be an issue. All the other victims received financial consideration in lieu of reputational apostomy. This is how it will all 'go down': at first a sound will be heard, it could be any sound at all, just so long as you can hear it. Then some people will come in sopping wet. You are to pay them no mind but instead count the number of times their heads move in the average second. Next you'll want to be up on your Antasian History. This could take some doing but in time those who look like they could be next will be all but watering your plants for all you care. By now you'll be set up to take the reins and make a major haul. It might be minutes before we find out if your body is up to the stress. Sometimes people chicken out right about here. To guard against that, we recommend that you spend some time getting reacquainted with our Rules of Engagement. Should you need a piece of mildly colored string to be attached to a portable antenna, you can pen a short note to our man at the Arena. He'll be able to complete all the paperwork in about three months. After that you're on your own. It never gets simpler after that, but you don't see me complaining, do you? Be quiet.

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Life-Lessons Learned on the Battlefield of Contemporary Existence.

 

The saving grace is—and was!—that my feet, normally used to walking on the eggshells of modern social conventionalism, have attained a hard-won anchoring that only rank stolidity can provide. Three prior children of my fourth wife have duly arrived and have the run of the place which they've so long sought to deny. I can't say that I mind hearing them out. The vestibule sounds like a nice spot. I'll happily arrange to help them go over some of the pre-scripted remarks so that no one can say that they 'just made it all up'. That's just the kind of thing which some temporary health officer could be counted upon to blurt out, as if out of nowhere at all. The funny thing is, he never struck me either on the head or the arms, even if I thought nothing of breaching a contact flow. The availability of edible materials is never far from our thinking process. Someone whose opinion often gains parallel access wants it known that his flavor preferences run to the decidedly 'mild'. This shouldn't make him an object of scorn even as he goes about seeking redress in a haplessly forlorn manner.

Now the children are arrayed in a half-circle between Partitions 7 and 9 (the odd numbers encode signals from the Western periphery). Normally I prefer to go from one to the other, but on this night, as on all others, I have them taken at face value, if nothing else. They can be depended upon to redirect their innate fury at the one person whose bona fides will, in all likelihood, never effect the state of play. For my part, I can't understand what role I'm meant to play in the ongoing discussion. If the specialist requires that I cough into a marked linen sack, then so be it. If, however, someone is so bold as to make our asking price an object of rank vituperation, there will be no alternative but to inquire as to the national standard which he maintains at height in our corner grove. A person of his ilk will be given all the time he needs to feel settled. The shoes will be offered in consolation. If he becomes moist in return, I will see to it that his list is settled before injuries are sustained in the medium term. Here we mean minor scrapes and bruises, nothing more.

How have we not let the Bastion get the better of us in the foregoing eras? Anyone is privileged to guess color schemes and guiding principles. But, if they determine that one of our embattled former appointees is to be given the shortest of shrifts, then we're all but certain to detect barely muffled sobs during a post-prandial dunking session. Because, you know what? That's just what we'd expect you to say if you were held to task in a barely willowy pilot-beam. They've all but wrecked our expectation of leaving Stage 3 before someone gets violently ill. I can't tell if they've had too many ribbons applied. Some say that they can smell the difference. There's one thing you need to remember: that's a damnable lie! Mis-statements have a 'funny' way of becoming the Gospel Truth in this Ministry and Pastor Joe could use your help putting out this latest fire. Are you on board with our most secure stranglehold? Or, can we count you as 'black-pilled without context'? It won't suit our plans to have you snuffed out for good. That will be followed by a relaxing dinner on the Veranda. Please say you can't make it. It would be a real shame. Not sorry.

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This is a personal message for you, and you alone. [ALL OTHERS ARE PROHIBITED FROM READING]

 

 

As we move into a new month, I think you're going to see people who've been shielded (so far) from your way of doing things start to develop rashes neither in nor near their armpits. The fact that up till now they've resisted complaining about the way you've been said to treat a particular landscaper should not put you at ease if and when you discover some discolored markings within a mile of the parking facility that you made pains to avoid starting sometime just after the holidays. No one I've talked to thinks there's anything coincidental about it whatsoever. In fact, they're after me to launch either a probe or a whispering campaign. I don't plan on doing either. What I WILL do is take my good sweet time and make it a priority to include you in a round-robin I'm organizing that is supposed to kick off at just about the same time that your Mother is to be released from the Missouri State Correctional Facility.

I've resisted talking with you during my lunch hour because the way you've been observed to move your fingers while spitting into an empty cup makes my brain hurt. The one time I took you to a specialist, someone presented me with a pamphlet where nothing about our situation was even mentioned. And I found that a little bit hard to swallow. Even when I was digging under your house while you were away, I still had a not-so-funny feeling that certain people would start looking into beginning new types of activities. To a person they look down, smile, don a new outfit and traipse in front of my townhouse as if they haven't got a care in the world. Now they want me to include them in my secksual proclivities. It's plain to me that you've been telling tales out of school. Now I'd like to put in my two cents worth, if you don't fucking mind, okay?

In the space between where one thing ceases to begin and another starts to fade out altogether, you'll find that there's often a minuscule puck (about the size of my left thumbnail seen from five or six miles away). It's no longer purplish but has now taken on a golden hue. At this point I can practically hear you hissing as you sit alone in you den. I know for a fact that there's a Penn State pennant mounted on the wall opposite your blanching unit. People who've been there recently assure me that you still have trouble remembering the time we talked about a particular TV show. You've been known to try to influence a few of the younger members with tasteless remarks—often at my expense. Why do I get the feeling that we're on a collision course? Do you know that I've legally changed my name since our last fist fight? Would it surprise you to learn that one of our mutual acquaintances is modeled after a moderately well known figure from recent history? Is there anything?

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