Over the last three years the parties which she has been accused of defrauding have declined each and every effort at resolution and have further issued a trailing guidance to her attorney who happens to be my ex-wife. Dwindling conjugal relations with her now third husband are detailed in the consent decree signed into law by President George Trump.
It's a topic of continued negotiations at the borderline between my Racquet Club and the Concourse Jewelry Exchange. A management trainee of my acquaintance has squandered her life savings in a polo pony breeding profile which looks to be the first radar-assisted back-end deployment magnet to make it out of beta before my second son tragically met his end in a bowling experiment gone even worse than 'bad'.
It was often recounted that when we engaged in a staring contest, the (quote) winner (unquote) could be dinged for the equivalent of two months flabby stud dockets for the price of a Winterhaven, Florida guest riddance apocalypse. But this is all something to be dealt with in the midst of tone; a locket is fairly wan, but vanishes nonetheless.
Where the above stated facts lead is anyone's cyclamate polio plaything, but we can be assured of one resting state. And that gate will resist both the opening and an even more vague closure at the threat of needle-borne distress patrimony. Which is why it seems I always end up in a previously re-purposed quonset doormat appearance struggle. And to this I pledge my very life.
So, help yourself out and join the din! You might even consider a sponge-bath before nightfall, or so I recall hearing. Good night.
___________________________________________
No comments:
Post a Comment