Suspicious Behavior Elicits Emergency Response: CODE: oxcake.

 

The parents of some of the people who've escaped my notice are beginning to evince not a little suspicion. It's true that they used to drive by my house on the random weekend (in their words, 'just to check' HA!). But now it's a nightly ordeal. I try and give them all the room they need, even to the point of providing marshalls who don't mind taking part in a mindless charade. Yet still they question my motives, relationships, hobbies, educational attainment, attendance at Worship Services, blood type, stool status, morning routine, magazine subscriptions, nuclear watchdog crumbcake inspection, drug habits, affiliational proclivities and whatnot and so-on.

I've been asked more than once to stop making a mockery of their concern for folks who never amounted to much in the first place. They have made it known to my accountant that they intend to donate in excess of one hundred and twenty-three dollars to an emergency fund in the event of certain 'dangerous' ideas being bandied about to-and-fro. I've been quite clear to said accountant that they are not to be given the short end of the stick. In fact, I even went so far as to plunge the assembled throng into what passes for artificial darkness. I knew that in this way they'd be very unlikely to find some of the pieces which I'd planned to throw under a bus. People said that obviously I no longer felt any concern about these pieces,.. we all know what 'under the bus' implies, right? They just won't cop to the fact that I said 'A' bus, and not 'THE' bus. You don't think this made any difference, do you? Because if you do, please see me later and we'll see what we can do.

What would you say if I told you that not one of us here will any longer take the risk of being seen in the company of those whose only concern is to appear only weakly attracted, by dint of hard work alone, to the faithless electors who, in the Summer months make our recreation center their virtual headquarters. For real, right? I think a lot of others feel the same, yet I can't get the go-ahead to install any more state-of-the-art units without the say-so of 'you-know-who'. We have it on good authority that someone you know was seen not more than three miles down wind from a very tricky 'incident'. The keys were found protruding by the truckload from a mound in the backyard of a very dear woman friend of mine. She's at her wit's end trying to control your every movement. They tell her, and I second the motion, that even if every particle is washed away in the next few weeks, the training for bio-hazard will continue, days, nights, weekends... you name it. The problem is, though, no one thinks you'd ever be able to any longer affiliate yourself with the underlying pro-cram. For that we need a sanctified spatialist. and this just doesn't describe the person who once offered my parents free passage for the cost of a mediocre cup of coffee. This doesn't sound like anyone you know, does it? Thought so.

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