Monday, September 9, 2019

A Game of Delays.





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It turns out that the hole we believed we'd discovered was known by others in the older set of people that we accustomed ourselves to ignore--at our peril, it turns out. Always this one, never that one, or is this premature, in the original sense of the word? A slip is a tell, but a mask merely bears repeating, as to one withered, bleached pleasure-piece. The one which is usually almond-shaped in its industrial motivation, trips us up in its vowel formation, but we persist. What choice is there? It's about grooming, then fawning, now pestering a former temporary champion to please beg off the morose attitude once and for all. We'll leave it to you to determine if a plan is afoot.




Pandy King (need we say more?)
Pandy King has decided to make an appearance at our type of occasion, this time with a virtual retinue in abeyance, reserved just for this special moment, some would say fiasco, to their detriment, but a chair is one piece about which no discussion will be forthcoming. Why? Because this is how it usually ends, and we'd just prefer to avoid that outcome this time, if you please. It's because some have adopted a more cooperative approach, that our family can now 'give it our all' and the relief is palpable. Furthermore, one more mention of our exploding shelf budget will bring into play all the parts that failed to mold our character since who knows when. A backache suffered by a bachelor could lead to a suffused bio-mass in the local water system. Overstaffed as it is, one can count on the fingers of one misshapen hand the number of times Mr Paul Steinhart has lifted even one old foot in opposition to this neo-liberal catastrophe!




The stability of our most cherished 'problem' is at dire risk and an escalation in pro-bits could be the only hope to diffuse the difficulty in orientation, the vertigo only occasionally suitable while we sit. A plan unfolds and now a game of delays is enthusiastically pursued to its end. Bloody hell! It's gone! 




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