You've got to trust me on this, people.

 

I've been saving my terrycloth quickener for a time about six miles down our through-street where I can count on minimal interference from a hare-brained marshall detector in our midst. It seems he's fond of lumping me in with some of the others who show no hesitation about thinking twice as the situation permits. If I were to lay the proverbial glove on him, each easily evaporated packet would be seen for what it is. And, just so you know, that's what I've been aching to discuss with some of our Junior Associates. The problem is, they just won't come out of hiding in fear that I may try a new kind of binding. This time it'll be the wrists, neck and gall bladder which we've got our eye on. In the coming weeks, we expect to see a new spirit of forgiveness manifest before anyone knows what hit them. Literally. And also, yes, seriously.

People seem fond nowadays of an animated dream scenario under the direct control of an identical mechanism to the one I showed you last year. Only this time, if you call out a special number, we will be able to assure you that only the lower part of your collection would be on view while most participants are forced to stand throughout the second half. This is all part of a thought-responsive intrigue plattern. You are, apparently, quite well practiced in an off-border rigamarole containment octave. It's important to know that you are being noticed by those whose motives are up for serious consideration. If someone in your shoes could do your best to follow me as I pound pavements in full view, then there'll be no telling where you may end up or even if major tissue damage will still be viable, if that. You can save majorly in the next thirty days alone. Has anyone tried to warn you about this?

As for those under my indirect purview, I find myself becoming ever more fatigued by their randomized selection procedures. It counts more than ever if we can observe their hands while they sleep, eat and ride. Even when a miniscule droplet is seen to be perched 'just so', that still won't help them get their affairs in order. The co-terminus spell is set to be cast at the drop of this, or any other, hat. One week and five days from now, all who have seen their loved ones absolved of cherished notions will be permitted a few moments to steel themselves for a roaring encampment enterprise. If our vane issues any promises at all, the one which we believe you'll find most instrictive is not to be trifled with, unless, that is, a stern father-figure can earn a coveted place on a soon-to-be installed stormflight museum tripod. This is exactly where you come in. But not for long. In fact, not ever, if I'm being honest (which I'm not).

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