The Missing Brain Tissue Sample.

A repositioned lectern.

You have caused a severe rupture. The sinkage will subside slowly, if at all. A brain tissue sample has gone missing and a file outlining your evident mistrust of bowel regulation is there for all to see in each and every morning release. The crying has only begun but the measurement of same is a well established bone to pick with a higher authority than the slimy bastard you call 'home'.


She has moved heaven and earth to insure that the effects, while dire, are contained to a reasonably vast entity. But that entity, even as it repositions a lectern in a months-long effort at dispersal, is sure to mount an even cooler winsome priest at sunset in an abandoned storefront not far from the base perimeter.

Not that anyone asked, but I am starting to feel more like myself. 

My own perspective, as ever, is ignored to a fare-thee-well. But the tears I shed are not for the many dead, wounded and inconvenienced, as appropriate as that would be, no, they're for the grievous toll in continuity suffered by all who counted on our program in some sort of jaunty way. The hats they used to wear with a seasoned aplomb are now just so many unmentionably drab forlorn practical benefits. The core is just another bomb and you'll tell all the others about our plea to cede viciousness to a vainglorious banking totem before withdrawing to a safer parking facility.

Won't you please join us next Tuesday!

To tell the truth, we don't know how many bitter semi-conscious former officers will enter our offices to rip a plaque from the walls, abolish an ink supply closet and even edge closer to an all-out championship whistling ban. This thing is reverberating nationwide, I tell you, and yet here you sit, scoffing in your middle years at length, not bothering to forecast a return to sanctity for one so clear in a dominion of pricks.

Meanwhile, the breakage suffered in a college town near the reservoir is there for all to see and our appallingly mild gambit of false defeat is likely to fall on deaf ears and scrounge the lot for a surfeit of left-wing tears, not that we would find that anything less than ever-so-slightly distended, like your own fishy hat, at that.

One of several possible self-division schema.

Why do you struggle so? We've given you the latitude to grasp a virtual singing spot and run with it. The triple threat she says I represent is just a tired old formula that he maintains you doubt at your peril even while they task our beloved signature musical theme to a wanton crew of inebriants at the beck and call of the unsightly Devil Woland.


But this is just the beginning even though the actual end was three years, eight months, six days, one hour and seven seconds ago as I write this. See you in court! 

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