The people in my Snirp League (all 67 of them) are right now waiting in an improvised holding cell until after I finish giving my statement later this evening. They're a motley crew: several up and comers, one or two upstarts and more than a handful of lifers. The reigning mood, as of our most recent confab, is one of almost unendurable mastication leavened by a soupçon of chiseling bewilderment. We all do our best, some more than others, while one or two take it to a virtual 'level three' and have at it with an unbridled masochism that only finds fault with the pansy-ass locutions of the unpardonably pesky.
At this juncture, several of the mounds (which I personally paid for and installed, in case anyone was unaware) have become ribald reminders in our area of a time when these types of items were tragically not nearly as common as they have now become. This is all due to the efforts of my manager, Leo Farnseca and his enviably hirsute protegé Jindrick Vazner. They've worked their little hearts out over the course of the last twenty-seven and two ninths months to make this thing what it is today and help keep it that way so our kids have half a chance to duplicate our feverish obsessions in what remains of their abbreviated puberty.
The 'Solid Seven' who've taken credit for the petrol bombing in the Gaston Quarter have expressed an inwardly bemused altitude while remaining firmly tied to the rock-solid convictions of their infant forbears in the struggle for the limp-proof range-of-motion studies that justice demands. Not only do I stand with them (at some significant personal risk), I also make it my business to stand well apart from them and their spouses who somehow smell kind of 'funny' (not 'ha-ha funny', to make that clear). Even though my prescription eyeglasses were irreparably damaged in the most recent disturbances, I'm still of a mind to enact a fake kidnapping of Chairperson Ovmer or his sycophantic 'panty boy' Jerome Slurtner Jr.
If ever there was a time to think back on where we started and how far we've come, this would not be it, as much as I wish it were otherwise. There is a standing order from 'above' to make our participation a thing of tragisty while keeping all around us in a state of perpetual moisture. It CAN be done but we have to work together, shoulder to neck, finger to ear and eyebrow to instep. By the way, in case anyone reading this is 'out of the loop', my wedding has been postponed until January 8, 2035. Please mark the date!
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