It's all about fairness.

 

So, it wouldn't be unfair to say that I'm not inclined to go near a person who has not been so designated. But you see, this is not about fairness. It's about the lengths to which some of our major operators might extend themselves to enforce sectional discipline, even if the lowest link in the chain never thinks twice about altering the placement of an ordinary chair. A person engaged in a cavalier frenzy of factional optimization isn't apt to be on the lookout for parlor crypts in which to deposit telltale footwear-adjacent memory cards. You might come to the next meeting claiming to have 'heard it all before'. Alternatively, you could be in the mood for a bracing rejoinder or two while under the tutelage of our foremost Formosan Ice Pokey signatory. The choice isn't yours to make, as much as we'd like to have you pretend that it was. If keeping up appearances for the benefit of younger campers is your idea of a social nicety, then please try one of our new pro-cap dinches. They don't know?

Anyway, everyone here is finally getting along and has decided to begin in earnest to create a Master Page where those who are stuck in the brindles can register to have their clothing donated for the ongoing care of a lab-endowed fictional monster. Their hearts are on fire with love for all things road-related. Including the time you were observed from afar making a rough sketch of a road which you fraudulently claim to have seen in a low-budget film years ago. At my own expense, I took to the stage—in a bathrobe, no less!—to offer a meager defense of your pathetic proclivities in the only way I know how. And that's with butter, rather than glue, if you catch my drift. By the time I was done, a woman was seen crying in a wheelchair on a Channel 16 Action-News segment. The gentleman who compiled the statistics has been known to keep several slimy characters at elbow's length, if that. And, if that is what you're considering, please stop leaving faulty explosive devices in my dressing room. It's just not fair!

By the time I got her up to my room, her hair had started to fall out in droves. I drove to Methodist Central Hospital at 2:87 AM under a Chapter 13 blackout. Still in all, I was able to gather the necessary herbal concoctions and snuck through airport security before my flight crashed. Quite ignominious it was, but I still harbored hopes that my singing career wasn't all but dead, if that. Now I know what people mean when they go around mouthing off to folks who they perceive as weaker by half. Yeah, that's right, you guessed it: it's just a vain 'cry for help'. Anyone with half a brain would have already backed out by now. Instead, anybody who's already been fobbed off on a lucrative relative won't have a problem looking into the nearest doorway for an open container. 'Container of what?', you ask. Carbonated cigarette candy, you fool! And, that's just the topmost layer. Once you're inside, you'll find all manner of people lined up to receive their personal note card. You know what I say to that? UNDER MY DEAD BODY! that's what!

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