Boss Cadny and Lerma O'Ghule have
revealed their own bosses' shortcomings
in a letter dated Mernid Dinth.
It was all anyone could do to continue
speaking slowly when those two were
around, and every person could, with help,
give one reason and one reason alone.
"Just the way those two are like",
so the adage went around the office
in those days of dis-interfering apparent film.
For my own part, rubbing would once
in a while do the trick. The rest of the time,
motive was always a problem I could be
paid to ignore. And did. For a pulse.
Or a beam. Sure, what?
'Baking the books' is what we called it.
But only when a calling could be made
to float, in its own supported lerquid, again
a film develops, night falls without a hitch.
Repeat and follow with a foundering dumbth.
You will breathe in while a cake lies in state.
The outflow is guaranteed to engender a (sort of)
crunchy park sameness.
Always adhering to 'the basis' might
get you implanted, but you've (sort of)
elected to take that wrist (as in a dance move)
and sidle through with your native aplomb.
Twofer gets it ready; four bold Copts
like to bust it grimy. You farted.
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