A Cautionary Tale.

 

From her own lips it was not at all unthinkable that a verdict would be rendered, at distance if needs be. Still, those of us who stood to gain could take pleasure in knowing that her perspective was not without its very own zone of impactive tussle. We could lift a measly tribute and have it for her by the following week, except that time itself was rumored to have begun a process of telescoping which, quite frankly, has some of our most eminent physicists scratching their balls in wonderment. Try as we might, each of us has to face the real possibility of having to go without in the near term. What rankles us, though, is how your average passerby will seemingly go to any lengths at all to appear unconvinced. Our appeal to some well-armed colleagues is all for naught. Which leaves us no alternative but to seek redress through an informal arrangement of the fifth kind, thus confirming the unadorned suspicions of amoral data brokers from Day 1.

I have it within my power to transgress all prior novelizations in one fell swoop. But this shouldn't encourage like-minded refugees to begin scouring the countryside in search of clues to the whereabouts of a missing bannister. Because, even though I'm one of the people most enraged by her high-handed tactics, I will still leave it to my betters to breach a flaccid barrier in service to an emaciated agricultural agent. He will be a force for our own incipient removal to an isolated Summer residence where our sleep habits and morning routines can come under the kind of scrutiny which any fair-minded adult would have a hard time denying. The lone service provider who we've seen underneath our area was forced to admit to having waited for smaller members to take the hit. Otherwise, he told us the other day, he might never have been able to tell his family about where I did my post-graduate work.

From the way she styles what's left of her cotton-nibbed mane, the feeling in the room is one of incisive declension. Yes, I continue to roll my smallish cylinders just to the right of the can on the floor of the Third Annex. My erstwhile compagnard, Jerome Afgew, thinks it wise to prepare ourselves for an unballasted reliance on sybaritic cow-herds if things go our way. If not, we could be looking at more than three dozen training sessions, courtesy of Joe Ivy Associates of Bangor, Maine. They will most certainly deploy the most up to date lighting technology and no doubt bring in timing prods by the boatload—literally! Meanwhile, I rest in my ballow, trunk in hand, beasterage at the ready, hoping for a common solution to an age-old conundrum. It irks me to say it, but I'm only mildly ensnared by her seemingly eternal rapid-release response. Not that it doesn't rub the other fellows in a way which says, 'You can't get there from here!' Please, if you're reading this, try not to get too puffed up. It could happen to you as well, and probably will, if I have anything to say about it. And I do. Plenty, in fact. Wouldn't you like to know? No.

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