The Wallingford Vase Scandal Explained.

 

On pain of seeing her abscond with my Wallingford vase, I've erected barriers against numberless objects. One by one, they go to the 'fallen people' who ink dispositive documents to forestall certain disaster. If she decides to make a home in a hamlet not far from here, I'll be sure to apply pressure when and where it will do the most good. She will sometimes gaze longingly in my general direction, all the while studying my flaws in excruciating detail. Once through with her afternoon game, she'll be hard pressed to make a choice when it counts most. I can see that she is ready to move up in the general order of the things of this world. Without the comforts of available plant life, her gestures would be all the more puzzling to the uninitiated. We have pledged to obscure their faces. A genuine breeze helps when all else fails to hit the mark.

By the time we've driven over six-hundred miles, I can tell that she's looking for an opportunity to bail and seek her fortune in a dull suburban routine, courtesy of Sloane Bros. Consulting LLC. But setbacks are just not my stock-in-trade, nor even my cup of tea. This will take some major getting used to. For all I know, one of the children we've promised each other is even now approaching his thirteenth birthday and making do with the paltriest of paradigmatic playthings. Still, though, it's a quandary as to whether we should rent or buy. I'm for taking the coward's way out and initializing a quartertone leak augmentation. If anyone inquires about performance characteristics, I can set them up in a small lounge not far from here and they can take their good sweet time getting used to the way she moves when frustration gets the better of her. And by that I mean that I won't be throwing anything away anytime soon. Yes, you can quote me. I've got nothing to apologize for and neither do you. (Yes you do.)

I can't tell you how surprised I was (and still am) to learn that her estranged twin sister, Pamela Dunkworth, once dated NFL legend Vince Lombardi's son-in-law, Morris Biswald. I just never figured her for that kind of chick. I've been told that she plans to return everything she's stolen over the years and turn over a fresh leaf. Once my own operation is approved, I will count on numerous appearances in the Lower Valley to tide me over until I can see my way clear to mount a coherent defense. What with various showboats taking up all the oxygen in the room (to coin a phrase), I feel certain that anyone who comes to my aid can count on a two-figure settlement when this nightmare is finally resolved. There is every intention here in the community that no one who isn't part of our 'special club' should ever see the light of day again. And by this we mean no malice whatsoever. We just want to talk to whoever it is and lead them into a flimsy little trap. No one will see it coming. Unless, of course, they've been part and parcel of it all along. We'll see.. 

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