Each one of the forty-seven Pavillia which scattered, seemingly at random, around the grounds, was dedicated to a color, an ethnic cuisine, an alphabet letter, a prime integer and a de-listed Patron Saint. The rationale for the way people cheer, even with no enthusiasm, would strike a man of my age as paltry at best. With the Luden Family finally at rest in the Vestibule of Honor, my hair regained its unkempt, yet thrilling aspect. Someone will stun various police officers with their bold assertions, I'm afraid. But that's not all I'm afraid of. What do you call those things again? A trial-sized piece of equipment?
While I ducked out for a few moments to grab some snacks for the youngest of our kids, my family struggled to get the attention of a trio of regular Joes as they described their ultimately failed attempts to defeat a modestly tricky tornado. I hadn't been back to the office in weeks, but I knew that my dark-haired colleague was threatening to expose his secretary to a rare—if irresistible and expensive—eau de toilette to win her everlasting ardor. This is not how the game is played, and I told him as much, three times in fact. After I arranged for his younger brother's canoe instructor to be fake-kidnapped in Southern Mexico, I felt the time was finally right to ask my wife if she'd be interested in participating in the 'swinger's lifestyle' which was all the rage back then. I snuck into the carport in the wee hours one afternoon and noticed a moth the size of a baseball lurking just to the right of the lawnmower. I knew what I had to do, but, as ever, I felt I had no choice but to refuse to do it. My entire life was on the line. You would too if it weren't for the way you smell.
Since I've dedicated my life to exposing the coming generations to the advantages of mastering astounding card tricks, the skin on my fingers was no longer able to grip playing cards. If anyone notices Dick and Judy Parnell escaping the backyard pen, they should say something. They should probably say whatever it is in a kind of loud voice or they might not be heard above the din. My in-laws are in town and they're kind of 'ethnic', that is to say, loud and liable to upset persons of a sort that I once was. Some still are. You know the type I mean, right? Boring. Resentful. Apoplectic. In denial. Atrociously coiffed. Unbendably reactionary. Apparently bald. Toothless and vain. Hyperbolic and prim. Unsecured and naive. Always 'in the game' but NEVER 'in the know'. You've met these people. Or at least some folks who can't help themselves from pretending to resemble them. You have my deepest respect. You'll need it. In spades. Please stop clearing your throat or you'll be asked to leave. This is no joke. Just kidding.
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