Stunning New Details About My Wife's Fitness Program.

 

The chimes which we sometimes see outside our bedroom window were a gift from Nathan Paul's widow, Maggie Strauss. Her involvement in my wife's fitness program has caused a lot of problems around here for the last couple of years. She would arrange for my wife to place one foot on a chair and hold it there for up to three hours at a time. This was time that we just did not have, as I was already arranging to have some of the excess equipment in our Bonner's Den shipped to a floral design show from which an undetermined number of prisoners had escaped at the direction of our support staff. I'd always believed that they had it in for our 'kind of people' since we were of an alternative ethnic extraction. The individual who was in charge of keeping both of us confined was a known person and, quite frankly, no one liked the look of this whole situation.

Once I resolved to get to the bottom of this, I came to see things in a way which helped me re-adjust my personal temperature. We all had a deep conviction that color coördination in personal attire could give one a new perspective on the benefits of 'belongingness'. If you're anything like me, you've probably never heard or read that word before. That was just the position I was in when I waltzed into an unremarkable office on Strand Road in the waning months of 2017. I still carried a tiny isotropic spring concealed in my right hemtock and, even though my paperwork was thoroughly up to date, I couldn't shake the feeling that I was about to be exposed to a very strong blow-back from society-at-large. The trouble was, no one felt they could trust me to mishandle their affairs properly without an in-depth psychomantic evaluatory problem raising its ugly head and screaming for a 'tip-of-the-nod'. Now I was in deep. How deep wasn't clear until March 13, 1987. That was the day that I received a one-word reply to a question that I was too shy to even formulate, let alone speak aloud in a voice which wouldn't betray my salty character to any of the scouts that I'd assaulted. This is what finally moved me to start coloring my hair. And no, it was NOT pretty. Not by a long shot.

After my two younger brothers were arrested by Canadian Authorities on a series of folded warrants, the weather changed abruptly and we had to sell some scraps in our shell to make payroll, if nothing else. My wife started to act very aloof, withdrawn, moody and obese. I couldn't shake the impression that her hand gestures while walking the dog were starting to  make more than a few of our priority neighbors nervous, ill at ease and downright ponderous. Each of my devices failed in turn. Finally I was down to a thirteen year old cigarette lighter, a ranger flashlight with low batteries and an electric circus wand. The only I way I felt safe asking for help was from a hillside during the lower hours. My son asked if he could come along. I told him it was for his own good. He accidently-on purpose set my shirt on fire. I enrolled him in the youth hockey program sponsored by the Police Athletic League. Anyone interested in receiving mail-in payments should contact me pronto! (That means 'right away') 

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