Co-Terminus Pliabilities Unfold Nightly.

 

A tone has been set. And the smallest of the three Mentarkins, plagued ever since my own childhood with the need to spread doubt in ways no foreign individual would find acceptable, nods slowly while manipulating what passes for an 'ear' in these newly robust models. We should like to react to the yellowing baffle in a way which removes us from the possibility of auditioning for a position in the 'subderating knife trick'. Almost as soon as that becomes a commonly held sentiment, I, being the newest, am obliged to uncover an envelope within a barrel of silt.

We now bring it to him. It is said that he strains to avoid the scalpel when the right word would do the trick. Underneath the usual swaths of cloth which litter his desk (we call it 'the pretend desk') is a placid, but very much alive, Eurasian baby. It bubbles to the top with a type of hissing which no one could ever expect from such a living treasure. Those of us who have roamed about in vain take notice and agree to stop filling containers with wasteful amounts of baffage.

Seemingly in an effort to continue appearing to breathe, I abstain from trimming the Wainscott, and hold myself blameless when one so ordered agrees to sit astride the gulf of hindsight, but not to inscribe a pitiable rumor within a lake of false blood. It is by our own lights that the way is clear of badly tethered uxtible planters, or so we hope. The alleged Grandfather, whose faith typified the reigning ideological fentswards of the last century, announces his baleful presence in each of our minds with a tapping that could never be mistaken for any other troubling gambit. I am afraid all over again, as his Final Rites were celebrated just the previous Autumn and it is my duty to inform each of the infirm Ministers who always lounge just out sight in the background. The smell is overpowering and the sleeve is fraid, but hover we will when miniature trains are discovered inside a plaster tree placed provocatively on the grounds of a failed Picnic Preserve. No one is using these things anymore. Now it's our turn to smile, stare and then lie down under the tarps already provided. Go team!

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