Her large irregularities are my excuse to enter a now discontinued mentorship program. The inconsistent attendance figures are instructive as to the unworthiness of today's figures of fun. A scholastic supply house and its fecund advisory panel are the talk of the town in a place I've only recently visited. I took my life in my hands but, godammit, my 'hair thing' is over for good!
For the benefit of any disgraced ex-journalists who may be reading this, may I offer a subtly winsome ax-handle of derision to the last person standing who has not yet failed to yield his or her adamant positive evaluations with a wink and a knock? You can damn well bet that I'll be all over this and that includes trying new dishes out of boredom, if nothing else. What's eating you, is what I'd like to know. One part Kenneth, one part Cecil and one part throat is my personal recipe for a candidate to lead a major dream-team effort to scale the heights of political effervescence. But a talent for no-shows could get you tossed out on your hieny like so many day-old long-term refinement addictions.
What if, after all this, the person of the second person insists on ruing the length of the day while all around one or more sweeping gestures appear to fail upward, one scant measly threat at a time? On a baleful triune bounty, which you can count on the fingers of one palsied hand, we will stake the hotels and fee-schedules that wrap themselves into a false wind-borne lampshade of shame.
There's a melody which creeps up on me nightly, kind of like a gumdrop in its swirly tackiness. I'm talking velly velly swowy so I won't be misunderstood. Lightly this time. With bonding authority and a failed premise. You've satirized your last painfully brief exclusion scenario. And that's all it will take to lead a horse to water and watch it twirl. Drim dram drum. Phooey!
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