This 'Family' Isn't What It Seems . ..

 

There's a family that appears regularly on our side of the fence, usually after we've retired for the evening. But once when I was scrounging in the shed for some maple-inflected duct tape, I observed them on the security monitor. Two adults, male and female, and three children, two female and one male, which is why I assume they're a family. They appear to be of Alsatian-Dutch lineage and seemingly have zero fear of dark wooden objects. The male adult, hereinafter referred to as 'the dad', carries with him a neutrally shaded cylindrical ice-posket sled measuring about three and one half by seven and two thirds centimeters. Occasionally the adult female, hereinafter referred to as 'the mom', coughs an odd number of times, most often three, and periodically seven, nine or five, at which time the whole group lies face down on the sandy surface (this is in the Southwest of the property) and 'plays dead' for about fifty seven seconds, before sitting up, retrieving writing implements and paper from their pockets and lightly tapping the paper with their pens/pencils.

After consulting with my wife and our attorney, we've decided invite this 'family' to enter into a web of deceit and lies. Their hair color alone should make this a cinch. We're going to keep this color 'close to the vest' for the time being for obvious reasons. When our son, Lucas Kylie Jr., graduated from the Naval Academy at Annapolis, Maryland, I had the bright idea of forming a squad of kendricks to uphold a standard of dignity and forebearance in the nearby towns. No one of this variety has seen fit to approach us with a plausible solution. 

When my handkerchief was stolen at the MiniMart on Presidents Day eve, it was all I could do to not fail to call in my chits from the negligent parties who comprise the lion's share of thought-leaders who infest the Council Flats down the way. By the standard of excellence that we've set in previous decades, there's no doubt that an extension could be made available in which to store a pervasive vehicle. The paint will be offloaded at the Port of Baltimore and my gift to a search party near City Center will consist of a balsa wood replica of Joe Dimaggio's World Series ring.

But if anyone is wondering about the crew of deaf-mutes who have almost completed the construction of our new septic system, they should (please!) relax, as they're likely to inflict only the most unavoidable frottage, to the point that I'm regularly called out-of-state. I'm not sure if I haven't yet forgotten to neglect to write something. If it comes to me later while taking a shower I'll be sure to post an update. It's not my intention that anyone should be kept in the dark. Sometimes less than desirable events occur in conditions of negligible light, even while sometimes to the contrary notwithstanding. Peace out.

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