There's nothing contingent about this!

 

When I say that one of my daughters has been provided with a sanded oak way-station, someone in your position may be inclined to believe in the existence of a set of facts which could hinder a person of normative aptitude from gainsaying the acuity of our Observation Force. People who like to wrap up an operation before all pantheistic sycophants have grasped the essential details are no longer welcome to join the party which accompanies us to the Roswell Proving Grounds. The reason we feel the need to exhibit such rank inflexibility is that as young inductees we were repeatedly impressed with the size of various farm implements which littered the furthest expanse to which we had any hope of accessing in the near- to mid-term. If it wasn't for the way you presented yourself in a true-being bonnet at half-time, I myself would have had to seek your remandation to a refrigeration unit in the Chaldean Heights Research Area.

Some have reported feeling 'put off' by the way my hands attract the attention of a few stalwarts who never think twice about commandeering whatever slots remain after all our future reports have been shredded and fed into a local refibulation combine. I can only mix three volatile elements before I am thrust between a level-headed co-creator on one side and on the other a calm gent in a sports coat who can't seem to get his story straight. On second thought, if I offer either one a sip from my canteen, I can count on at least seventeen nights of fretful sleeplessness. When I get up in the morning to sign in for my routine, I am told that not three seconds prior I was to be shown a tricky panel where cultured lights substitute for residual magnetism. Now, however, due to the lateness of the hour, I must sit with three alternate winners and console them with bargain basement candy-canes. Pardon me, but this is most definitely NOT what I trained for. In fact, I'd go so far as to feel my way into someone's spare brain if that would in any way lead the rest of our crew into a kind of linoleum chemical fraud, for all the good that would do.

It's a sad fact that, from now on, if you or someone under your direct control holds a pocket unit directly inside my neck area, I will have no choice but to bounce back bigger the next time. Once all the pills have been distributed on the periphery of a metropolis which has seen better days, there will be no excuse for my daughter to parade her existential angst like a 'badge of honor' and prance through Third World airports as if anyone ever gave a damn in the first place. In the second place, I will continue to endanger a construction crew on their lunch break and do all I can to install premium aspimators in the Lower Lounge after everyone is safely incapacitated behind a platinum wall in the City of the Future. We look to establish a cozy perimeter and loll gaily before the Basket Trials get underway for real. A commission of 'secular sainthood' is sure to be bestowed without anyone's prior knowledge, permission or impatience. Those of us who will employ off-color language from the dais at a trivial affair are sure to experience second thoughts once our plane has been cleared for take-off. I sit with my back to the wall in a premium hotel set-up. Someone is grabbing a bite to eat and I have to use the john. Thank you for your report.

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