As we move into a new month, I think you're going to see people who've been shielded (so far) from your way of doing things start to develop rashes neither in nor near their armpits. The fact that up till now they've resisted complaining about the way you've been said to treat a particular landscaper should not put you at ease if and when you discover some discolored markings within a mile of the parking facility that you made pains to avoid starting sometime just after the holidays. No one I've talked to thinks there's anything coincidental about it whatsoever. In fact, they're after me to launch either a probe or a whispering campaign. I don't plan on doing either. What I WILL do is take my good sweet time and make it a priority to include you in a round-robin I'm organizing that is supposed to kick off at just about the same time that your Mother is to be released from the Missouri State Correctional Facility.
I've resisted talking with you during my lunch hour because the way you've been observed to move your fingers while spitting into an empty cup makes my brain hurt. The one time I took you to a specialist, someone presented me with a pamphlet where nothing about our situation was even mentioned. And I found that a little bit hard to swallow. Even when I was digging under your house while you were away, I still had a not-so-funny feeling that certain people would start looking into beginning new types of activities. To a person they look down, smile, don a new outfit and traipse in front of my townhouse as if they haven't got a care in the world. Now they want me to include them in my secksual proclivities. It's plain to me that you've been telling tales out of school. Now I'd like to put in my two cents worth, if you don't fucking mind, okay?
In the space between where one thing ceases to begin and another starts to fade out altogether, you'll find that there's often a minuscule puck (about the size of my left thumbnail seen from five or six miles away). It's no longer purplish but has now taken on a golden hue. At this point I can practically hear you hissing as you sit alone in you den. I know for a fact that there's a Penn State pennant mounted on the wall opposite your blanching unit. People who've been there recently assure me that you still have trouble remembering the time we talked about a particular TV show. You've been known to try to influence a few of the younger members with tasteless remarks—often at my expense. Why do I get the feeling that we're on a collision course? Do you know that I've legally changed my name since our last fist fight? Would it surprise you to learn that one of our mutual acquaintances is modeled after a moderately well known figure from recent history? Is there anything?
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