Cautionary Tale About What Happens When an Even Larger Piece Breaks Off.

The second, larger piece had broken off and we'd thought it was lost for good until we heard that it had been reunited with its mates via the efforts of an elite parlor tramp whose active measures never didn't induce us to sit up and take notice. On a day when even your typical malign governess literally can't get arrested but for the efforts of a bigger boy than I'll ever be, you'd think it would be beyond humiferous to find bulbous gloats scattered among the otherwise everyday items which give life meaning to a boatload of fawning nurses. First they'll tell you that it won't move under its own power, then they'll ask you to step into a smallish compartment, remove any radioactive elements and have it out with a forlorn spouse and finally they'll whisk you away to an undisclosed location before you can enjoy even a modicum of unbecoming solitude.

Now when we look about and try to place some of the younger ones into situations which don't require any poise or benguimental apparel, it seems most players have opted to go it alone and try their luck at infantile tricks rather than face up to where facts can take us if we but give them a chance to fail with dignity. No one ever thought to compare their stability with that of the glorified placeholders who breech the fray on an almost weekly basis, if not sooner. I'll carry you face first into the Lindomere Tunnel and you can report your enjoyment to an odd collection of numbskulls. It will only hurt if you give them a reason. If not, then we'll wash our hands of the whole thing. Why must you make this so difficult?

There's a baker who I've been seeing on the side for the past few months who says that I'll no longer be allowed to spring a load of pancreatic cancer cells directly into the Governor's laundry sack. I've told her over and over that my intentions were in no way hurtful and if she could just find it in her heart to place me directly in the path of an oncoming varmint, I'd be good to go and that would be the end of it. She insists that my plan looks like someone's leaked a popsicle stick into an ultra secret Corporate re-branding campaign. As ever, she doesn't know what she's talking about, but that's never stopped her before, is all I'm trying to say. There shouldn't be any problem finding her a new position but I'll be damned if I'm going to live in a topside accommodation against her paltry will. She gives new meaning to the word 'drumbeat'. And please don't ask me to look into your case. I've got enough on my plate as it is.

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