Bedpaths to a Transcendent Laminate.

 

Over on the stellacted service rim where I'm buying (or trying to buy) a month's worth of toculent shielding, I sense that a rarely seen novelty re-enactment is about to begin, in earnest this time, before I can even start to make do with whatever holdings I've been lucky enough to preserve from before our Nasty Troubles took a turn for the worse.

It's a boldly shaped iron affair that I use to separate the bins in my workplace into categories of innate usability. It's apparent that the off-red items will help prepare our final ship, even if a stray grin is a price that no one in their right mind has any business paying, unless you count a local person who we've all agreed not to discuss at this stage of our lives. Because time is short and not for idle slippage.

The woman who has sworn to listen intently with her two forward feet planted within the perimeter of a secular archway (this was years ago) can be heard, even now, trying to disguise her dawdling for all to see. It's apparent that this won't fool anyone. Our houses are contaminated with ricketts but she's not the type to strike a pose. The penchants we cherished have been surrendered. No duress. No spam. Do you see?

If the embellishments that were pre-announced for our zone had given us the pleasure that all were promised, then a baleful method of halting forward momentum in a smoothly wicked anomaly could have been ours for the asking. And none of us ever want to be seen to be 'asking for a friend'. Two will get you five that an acquaintance with whom you once dined has now made an appalling decision that will bring the two of you to blows. But the wind is not yet ready to cry. We will grapple and then work together to topple an illegitimate regime—strangle it in its filthy crib if needs be.

You can count on us to insinuate a sounding whirlpon through a dangling set of jhontic cords. This will hold sway in our inky motion, like the telling repast that some feel is their native birthright. Could this constitute a link to a mapping site? Only if we surrender our dedication to holiness at an affordable price. Stability is a must. Please remain quiet. It gets better from here. 

_______________________

August Bonus Material , part 2

 

Attention readers: as with last year's August Bonus Material, memorization

of the below text is mandatory for Members and non-Members alike.

This is due on or by 11:59:59 PM (local time zone) on 31 August 2025.

There are, and will be no exceptions. Thank you.

Just as it always floats our boat in a bonnet of atrophied warning silk, the saving of three misplaced particles could yield the way to a vision of astounding penises. Why? It will give the willing particles a tune to absorb six or more trembling desiccated majordomos. There are tracts of vellum which prove the opposite but a well known anti-ageism activist has absconded with them and won't play ball. Even though the same piercing solemn tone continued to ring out from beneath my plumber's caftan, not only I, but all of us together, resolved to associate whatever pinching motion remained with one of the three dark-hatted bentamines who led the childish groupings to waylay a Mafia princess.  She had it coming anyway. It's why we pretended to laugh while dying. . The rumor of her refusal to begin shouting was just that, a rumor. It appeared they lacked the room to make a quick turn-around. . That's the kind of thing that sometimes got me into the worst trouble.  If you tried, she'd cuss you out something awful. No. The cannery in the next town over never had it so good but you couldn't tell that by looking. We could forgive those whose lineaments are barely ponderable, but a team of house-bound multiple trace bundlers should know better. But fingers whose love is a starkly panicking fog don't hex the meeting if a sterling isotope can be ingested with little difficulty. Our very glands cry out for a surcease of oxidized blandishments. It gets us out the door and by this point that's all that matters.  The trifling tot who became livid at this proposal is no longer with us. This happened even before the initial meeting. After an hour or so of sponge cream it was as if all our concerns had been misplaced. Mother had engaged the services of bankruptcy attorney, Hiram Fishbaum. I don't mean that no one could identify the source of a physical blow. Any natural pantanelle, with or without obvious harmfull angles, could be absorbed with minimal fixations. By the time a massive stone siltherture is positioned as it unfolds to entrain our collective blanyards, a moment or two will no longer be enough  to check if your likeable patterns will delay the swiftest passage to greet the neap tide with a sharp, if hollow whisper.But I'd be reluctant to put it past her to rehearse silently and if no one could remember seeing her face then a swollen finger would have to do. But even as a trailing disk could injure a careless product of desensitized oafs, my lantern is due to float wordlessly above all the officiants' dearest phantasms. The thing is, it's a known fact that airplanes don't come around here much anymore, due to the fact that we've been declared 'off-limits', or maybe I should say that it's the area that's been declared that, not us as people.When I met him he was a wee bit of a lad, no more than 5'2", if that. True, I'd driven the tractor, tied the knobs, absorbed the assailants into my retinue, alerted the Trans-Factual Cohort and sublimated my esoteric impulses into an obsession with fisking.But I'm no longer hopping mad.. I remember a piece of toast balanced on a headrest, swaying to and fro, almost appearing to launch a mite-sized crumb into the gap where I held a semi-permanent grutch.  I retract my artisinal third limb from a sorting device, launch into a needless expiation and arrive at a brief pre-climax opportunity for banter while offering her a pilfered portion of luckmeat from our stationary trunk. Whenever a pasture is to be excavated, it's only for the pleasure of the degendered scrofulents in our motley assortment of vacated absconders.  The six of us are given to understand that the way he likes it is not to be trusted. So you can see that I wasn't in a particularly stable frame of mind when my brother asked me to lend him the equivalent of sixty-five Scottish farlings to help him settle a gambling debt to an Albanian racquetball champion who'd been diagnosed with terminal Alfa-Baster syndrome: life expectancy fifty one seconds. We're unsure which of the hands belongs to an enemy. . I've been holding his collection of photographs inside a faux pearl embalming pellet. In any event, she likes to rustle papers while she waits. It's apparent that the off-red items will help prepare our final ship, even if a stray grin is a price that no one in their right mind has any business paying, unless you count a local person who we've all agreed not to discuss at this stage of our lives. . I myself, while accompanying my elderly daughter to a clinic appointment, was quite convnced the the latter half of our assemblage was giving testimony in this format. . He pulled a piece of paper from his valise and proceeded to wipe away a small portion of dust from the antenna of my Dad's '52 Volvo Trimmler. Specifically, would I be interested in having her grave desecrated, if it came to that in the near to middle term? Roughly three out of five minsterbhules are scheduled for a re-leakage problem before we've had a chance to get each one of our hands to function brightly once again. . If you can take one solitary marking and transfer it while people sleep, you'll find that all but one of our grungey totems could flip once or twice and fulfill your most egregious philanthropies. Then if you utter one word out of place, or at least not in a place of their choosing, an apology will be in order. When my daughters were young, they struggled with their spelling. I showed them a way to move their cards around so that the letters would line up to make memorization easier. The touching is very light, even while variable. On the other hand, if I gesture wildly near a hotel here in the Valley as a fully fleshed-out peon, then I can expect to be called to testify in the Ricky Moffet rage case. In the event of weakening of the anterior lids, our kids will take on my duties until we can cause a lack of ruckus to unfold in a more natural fashion.Could it be you're asking the wrong question?  For what it's worth, if Joan Daniels ever hopes to delay her brother's serial execution, she would be well advised to retain the use of her right leg for situations of just this kind. When I asked whose concern it was anyway, I was told to 'pipe down'. . If I protested then I could count on my camping area to be lost in a masterful disgrace. In that case, I have to tell you that one of these days, when I get my dander up and take leave of each remaining sense, you'll know that all the little men you feed so impulsively will retain legal counsel and have your barn totally demolished like a pure-brain core in a deracinated grifting swamp.  Moreover they questioned whether a person born without a duodenum would be able to stick to a fine line and insure that any stray assertions would be secured within an imaginary perimeter to be delineated on pain of malice aforethought. No one had told him that this would do no good. This will be gone over later when you're good and drunk. Temporarily loses his eyesight even as his kidney function improves. If that doesn't prove effective, then each person will offer his or her recalibration effective immediately. But the word IS NOT 'vacation'. I am told by those who have already exited that, as the breath elongates, each focussed ideogram will be one to dodge if the story is to become itself not complicit in the opening of the Slenge.This is because today everything will be wiped and I can start anew as if all that's never happened can be approached as a collapsible fontade. It's a possibility that there might  be some sort of colorful activity involved featuring yours truly and a Senior Associate of the Active Measures Squad [AMS].As I grasp the lever it's been my honor to posess, I can't seem to shake the impression that whichever course I'm emboldened to  fabricate will take me only so far in the direction of a barely negligent  tussle.Why does anyone doubt the accuracy of my stated opinion?   It showed that she cared even when I caught her stealing a framed picture of an unwanted table. Unfortunately, she is not permitted to leave her spot under a table near a road which transects a house behind a reversible mountain.There is every reason to expect that I will adjust a belt kept under an old Pilot shark to allow for insensitive squatters to induct a sitting Supreme Court Justice into the Prarie League Nodule. The one where I keep you confined to my reading area is not the one you should be thinking of.  Even though some of us lurk boldly throughout the evening, each of our water meters is blinking an emergency signal. My brother, Steve Bascomb, knows a lot about these kinds of situations. It was municipal property after all. . Everyone will play dead while we perfect mature practices.  It's as if anyone who's ever seen a squirrel is now aching to pin a hat onto a picture of a President. When they found that he'd faked a health club membership to steal hot water on little notice, I decided to dye my hair brown again. You treat this one with care and then take a few small steps in an alternate dimension. Then even someone as guilty of rotten tradecraft as Nelson Riddle can be implored to defend our preferences in a free-floating assassination round-up. It knows that you weep for an elder's consent form to be finalized even though a trial period is set to expire at a moment's delay. When I arrive, you can help me with the kippers. Even though you can tell by their rippling that some pretty awful memories were enmeshed with their struggles, the lightness in their drawling of syllables will permit a sheltered herbivore to draw a blank when asked a question about the basic value proposition.You can see them hum if you watch carefully. The current will help us get accustomed to outdated notions of pantry-ready bezels and a furnisher of actionable nouns is one to have by your side at all costs. He wasn't sure where to go since his home had already been demolished.  I would have liked to tell you about a special meal we had near a harbor while sitting at a table outdoors on a warm twilight evening. They might win you a few moment of relief but in the end all you'll get is a 'banning order' from Dear Leader. It seems like it got him far since he was never seen again, at least not in that section of our State.But my train dunks your strangely obfuscated rifle to a depth not seen in silent parlors of the ineptly monitored.  They will all come willingly once a trap is cast into the ocean and our women melt into knowing expressions of imprecise religion. But his ripening skills are one oat short of an attentive prolactic shred-moistening Ondatule. Tell anyone you don't know who that is and they'll have you for dinner. It's a known fact that they will try anything to get in front of a situation of their own making. He was the person who befriended my Aunt Sarah during a driving snowstorm back in '02. Hope that they can get out of this thing alive and without an oodle of ducks to betray. They've seen how this thing is likely to turn out and it makes them giddy. It will come even if I don't tell him where I'm staying.And then I'll have you know.  If it were to enter my mind that this particular gambit would fail to help me get back into Outer Space I would endeavour to promise to arrest my innate tendencies to spread rumors concerning sensitive topics among those too febrile to know any better. When summoned into a vestibule of our choosing, a safer course that you might consider would include, but not be limited to, exhibiting the gestures only ever seen in a person twice your age or less. If then, you, or persons known to be aspirants to positions of hypertrophied excision, are observed to seek to activate a re-ingnition of pastel waisting rods, then our final coup de grace will be to balance ever lengthening portions of flood on our neighbor's delicious balustrade. On this she stakes her convalescence as I grip a key to my bosom whose cloth is a name of its very own starkly belittled cousin. Before his emerging prosthesis could be bandied about any further, as if to demonstrate the foldable quality of time itself, one could resolve to never be observed without a tasteful accessory or two. The way we get them is to fabricate an artificial wampum bantry and place it just outside the reach of whichever prancing Hugenot will come-a-calling while we dither and delay any accountability and lounge to our heart's content by the pool of our own flagrant derision. If we wish to get in the vehicle driven by a swarthy intellectual of the 'old school', then we are carefully admonished by a representative of the local Chaplaincy to refrain from delivering our verdict on 'things as they seem' until we have examined every last scrap of paper which protrudes from his lost folder and eased our way into a simple method of achieving the limited success we've come to expect. She rides in the wagon that I've inserted into the pledator device and tries, without much success, to match her hair to the whispered lyrics of a song that we can hear from a neighbor's casual get-together. It is said that he strains to avoid the scalpel when the right word would do the trick. Their beimin is already known to be a lost cause, what with a dandy altitude at our virtual fingertips. Depending on the response, he would notify one of his flunkies and ask them to write a preliminary report. It can proceed to a situation where one or more baseless canards are hurled like so many troublesome relatives into a tankless water heater. The one time I took you to a specialist, someone presented me with a pamphlet where nothing about our situation was even mentioned.  You might be wondering how I knew it was his hair. My wife has been seeing a specialist while I've been away and I'm concerned about some of her unusual experiences. No one ever thought to compare their stability with that of the glorified placeholders who breech the fray on an almost weekly basis, if not sooner. The time is nearing for us to choose one of our number to make a fantastic move. Most people have only read about this kind of thing. She's made it clear that she'll let us know by next Tuesday if we can count on her to begin the process of finding a cure. Some of the lads had the idea that they could get away with singing since no one ever seemed to come through anymore. They're almost here, right while I sit and copy these notes into a balancing index. We notice that she seems more docile than is strictly necessary. The less said about that the better. When I ask her  why I need to see this, she spits on the floor and sashays away in a huff. They'll get a whiff of some new effrontery and I'll have to fire off one or more rounds of non-issure related jeremiads just to keep things where at least one of us was sure to make them stay. We know that with your proximity to power some things become possible in the long run. I was genuinely bemused when she touched each of their heads with a botanical diagram of a non-native species of marigold. After that she became exceedingly rigid and controlling. Most folks have noticed a pleasing odor and asked around to see if they would be able to assimilate it as well. Some people thought she had what it took but others weren't so sure. If the prohibition on firearm ownership in this ratty little burg had not become such a polarizing issure in the first place, I can promise you that people of my rank would have 'take care of business' and seen to it that all our relations would have received a copious supply of negative food, to help lose the weight that they had every right to believe was a form asymmetric warfare. I like to call people on my unit and hand them off to unseen forces where they will be likely to learn the meaning of certain terms and conditions all but forgotten now in this crisis of dullness. They may be empowered to ask you to fill in for those whose opt-in clauses are found wanting in a way that renders them fools for self-removal. The bastard who provided a coating of invisible paint to my freshly minted Triumph 380 is known not only to me but to a non-trivial selecton of townspeople. The reason I say this is that the Officer had all the characteristics, but none of the defects. If I said I've had one of his shoes tested, some would accuse me of telling tales out of school. I won't intend to lock horns with his advisor but will do so nonetheless, attracted as I am to a feebleminded gent who lives inside a local pasture. The way they look through the final cracks would take your breath in a novel direction. It's how most things seem to proceed in this wooden neck. I no longer appreciate it when someone fiddles with their ceremonial bracelet. Because, forgive me for saying this, but I still can't get over the frustration I felt just last week when I tried to hold my own hand in vain. I asked if I could borrow his switchblade for protection. He made a motion with his head that I should watch my step. They live near us in the company of so many organo-phosphates that sometimes a dike is breached and sullen middle-aged donors forget for whom their gender animosity boils. This is where the over adapted additions are seen in profile to yield no actionable clues if a rebound comes into play. When I rise to propound my latest opinion into a reframed blessing cup, we all start getting a newly solid idea of where we could take this thing. Our feeds include files of The Trio escaping with stolen cummerbunds while sporting insolent grins. I called out from the bottom of the driveway and her husband told me that she'd shredded the tickets of all but their slimmest markings. Some folks in the other room are preoccupied with the State Championships. They've assured me that her array of winsome condolences needs to be swatted down like so many toothsome abplanaps. The ones that you'll notice if you linger too long near an unused shelf in sub-basement 4. This will take some doing. She says someone is supposed to bring her in for a try-out. I'm pretty sure she's not indicating where it falls short, but just the people I'm supposed to nudge if their problem presents as insolent. The remains will be on view until midnight on the thirty-seventh. That's when our place in the scheme will be resolved in favor of a mighty few. Ones and fives are good for that purpose. They are framed with voluble iotas of polished copper. The expression of his face earned kudos throughout District 4. I know because I was there. This should get the blood flowing,... if only. Even with a small portion of 'wiggle room', this has put a panoply of projects on indefinite hold. She phoned me the next day to ask whether or not I could help her either bring people together or else drive them apart. The fact is though, it's pretty similar to what it is now except that some of the letters aren't the same and also the order of said letters leaves something to be desired. One of them might be a disgraced former Sheriff's Deputy from Alameda. They are trying, with each passing day, to expose more of our people to diseases associated with sodomy. Especially when even their own houses are fleeing them, you would think that some would take a small measure of satisfaction from the movements of radio-effective fluids. This was never what I would have expected, but now that I think about it, the idea seems to become more and more ludicrously afflative. I acquired each of my companions by pretending to be a person named Ruth Wingate. Any guidance we provide will be contingent on your having melded your options into an ontic flask. They've been inculcating a metallic taste which is at odds with the spirit of the thing. We will no longer hold ourselves to a forgotten standard so long as one in four Americans can't find their own stomach on a map of Holland. She will be asked to wipe someone's face near the last working escalator. Once I started to focus on his troubled marital history, I knew that something just wasn't quite right. Her usual tactic would be to get all up in his face but this time she played it cool. The reddish one is now leaking a subsurface olvinder pall and my standardized friend does not like wanting to look like a petty oxidized banklet.

__________________________________________________________- 

The house's location remains unknown.

We. or at least two of the people I've been told about, have been asked to spend some time in a woman's house. The woman in question is known for a certain brusqueness, but we're all about handling it in a way which helps your average wonderful character resist the urge to take a spin. This could prevent some from circulating a Course in Healing. You may have seen it at your local Extension. In case we observe folks getting riled, we aim to sit stiffly, maintain eye contact and pretend to fold our programs while taking needed precautions. It's all a game of averages. Two will get you one that when we get out of this, my sparkling countenance should require no commentary. It will be obvious. Not one of us will have to pretend to be tired, in spite of ourselves, I'm afraid. Someone is always 'going' again. Now the trip could fall directly apart in our hands. A quality will have to give way. Talk is cheap. Validity is a bungler! Cry if you must.

As one of our Elementals is trained to avoid parlor abuse, any secrets uncovered are to be willfully shed like innocent fluids at the call of a notch. Naturally the season is rife with slanderous undercurrents. It will achieve nothing but the overthrow of the reigning apostates of mildness. They've had it coming since before any covers were coveted in a convent. The place where this woman works is a known location. Her demented family associates are scattered here and there as if no one had given a thought to a unifying triumph. It will protect them unless we get there first. In that case, all of our former Teamleaders will be asked to assemble a smartly dressed cabal to chip away at any remaining vestige. Why does it seem like all who bare their incessant insolence are forever protected even as a practitioner of oneupsmanship is pleased to lance a pudding square? They will leave it with us. We won't be like the others. And that's (not) a good thing!

During one of the final episodes I can be seen sighing while sitting on the passenger side. There are hints that a pair of brothers are due to escort a shipment of depleted uranium to within a mile of Corpus Christi, Texas for the 'meeting of a lifetime'. If, after a cliffside residence has shifted improbably, we decide to sign away our stake in a real estate investment trust at the drop of a hat, a prelate who we tow to safety can be expected to renounce any further action points without which the drainage of an ambitional whipwreck can no longer be assured, unless the fighting is revealed to be 'all in fun'. Those kids give me the prodding to keep my facial aspects under the watch of a secret army. They won't budge. 

___________________________

 

Is this a sign of danger?

 

A question has been raised and the answer is 'no'. But, yes, the fact is that we have been getting dangerous counts on higher readings. And this was well before a structure in our immediate flightline needed to be disfigured. If any bonded alerter could be counted upon to take distress calls seriously, we may order a one-time-only Boller-Master be applied even if notifications become a tardy affair of kid gloves worn only on the top swing of lateral insertions. It's been quite a study to don my sky-blue safety smock inside buildings owned by the Lethal Haverstock Corporation. Usually I'd approach someone on site and ask for a signature in lieu of a personal fellowship claim. Now that I've been evaluated as the 'cream of the crop', I can well expect an iron graphic stud to be wedged into a permanent underside placement cofax. You can tell them I sent you. There will certainly be no response to semi-official inquiries. That's how they manage to keep bridge loans off their pending statements.

The date of our supernal no-fist qualifier is on temporary rolling status. If we meet a preliminary setting inside a boron shade-fill, we can tip all vessels in our favor and go on to wreak a grim pylon on our palladinated ochre stunt car. This will allow certain 'things' to roll into view on the thirty-fifth anniversary of our homecoming to a one-time kidnapping-in-progress. I hasten to add, this was for a student video concerning affordable housing mandates. We took our young daughter to a radiant display of locomotive undercarriages during halftime at the Rosebowl that year. She pledged that her days on the lam were severely numbered. And that's in groups of threes, fours and sevens. This makes all the difference in the world. Some may call it 'a trick of light', but we prefer to think of it as a granting of the penclough redux. It just sounds more inspirational in that league. She will thank you later than is justified. But that still won't buy you (or anyone) more time than is strictly necessary. Get over it. 

_________________________

Message for interested parties only.

 

If we prepare a space directly adjacent to a cardinal point to receive a familial trance of directed energy, then all indications are that one of the Russian tambits from a lengthier protein string should be surrendered at height with no one traceable for absent duty. All around, in whatever camp we move, enforced signage drips with a plague of discoverable valiant juices. Each drop that we harvest is now to be sewn into its own micronutrient shell. 

The Lecture Hall becomes a scene of oblontic harassment, all the more serious due to the seasonal nature of one Circus Boy's contagious gesture of 'plaint and delay'. We encumber him with our naughty oxides and trust that one or more of his keepers are even now settled at a Shintago Blending Lab and arranging for the Boy's transparent older sibling to display some of the netting he uses to catch falling renal debris.

Those who command our colors into any obvious tangent can enter the blameroom only with the expressed, written permission of Major Heat Grayball written all over it. How they will know that our history has a checkered past, isn't something we particularly like to think about as we approach the younger victims. Their solidarity is key to refurbishing a subatomic meeting room facility. Each year at this time, some of us are reminded of the periodic return of generic pipsqueaks, all their flustered comments and the way their hair attracts the best smelling women on the Base. I make sure to write down the locations of the most incessant varmints of my third wife, Darla Pencroft-Basmer. She has such a way with arpeen tri-clops, that you would think she was born with one circulating in her very troubled fluids. And, the not-so-surprising truth is that you'd be right. But that's for another time, not unlike this very one.

_________________________ 

Is there one?

 

I'd given some thought to staying behind, since, right beside us on the peninsula, a blinding grey light could indeed be seen even if adult callers were asked to remain motionless. Those of us in our mid-wheaties tumble about in a reign of shabbiness but any circle that we begin to draw to our performances is one less to fret about when kindness goes to court. There is a prayer, useful in bottom-dwelling situations, which is constructed from the ringtones of stodgy criminal profilers. Don't say we didn't warn you that this kind of investment vehicle is forever associated with our downtime as a National Laughinstock. It will give us the type of meta-fabulous linking twat which always busts through just before the stroke of daylight to the privileged monitors of truth.

Our pristine baking program is embarking on a youth-positive drive for recalcitrance. The hands of all our parents are to be partially shielded from proto-theological barfights. Before we trace any of their emboldened dilators to one heraldic directory, the brain of your typical terrestrial slackjawed Martha is due to be exposed to Martian sunlight in a Federally mandated suffocation experiment. What blooming tribute will you pay if all of our lengthy periods of intestinal distress are catalogued through the efforts of some known individuals who live in a building near a road? 

It happens that I am gripped every day of my life by one or another Champion and asked to delete calypterous gestumes from my ranking pecuniary. I'll still be permitted to live inside a table but the brands of a defeated foe are the last things which link us to a time when something stopped smelling right. It could have been a ploy to delay a morning lockout. Each of my majority-minority companions has given me a lock of hair to keep safe under my pillow while others search the neighborhood for succulent prizes after midnight. No one can tell if your Fantasy Parade brings a known quantity into our negotiations. It seems we've lost our way. The last I heard, we've spent all of our rifles in a tragic misunderstanding. They all live in my Jank. I call them by their names. The only problem is: there isn't one. 

________________________

My first artificial girlfriend (mistakes were made).

 

_________________________________________________

Updated Ontological Primitives.

There is, at just this moment, a 'chain of demand', such that each of our silent runners is obligated to return, shortly before midnight, and confirm, for the sake of some person's ample well being, that all of our shunted fairy-wheels were returned to their place of honour with all pitiable threads barely intact. I hasten to grip the face of a demiological turncoat who has absorbed next to nothing of our atomic fiber theories even while barely making bold with a lionized sister or two. His wheel is in my cistern and I'm slyly aghast at his motley choices when singed materials come into play. What business is it of his to determine where my filmy discharge gets its lacquered patina? It suits our group if he all but shouts his bequest into the wizened eyes of our trip-mounted non-standard sentry decoy. We like to get him all the time and, even if coöperation is the order of the day, no power on Earth can stop us if we decide to alter our celebratory gait in response to any of his locally sourced oxidized jelly-smears. He is known to pander to our older groups who make up the bastard's share of your normative evaguation plantlet.

I am filing a 'misery sisters' request anomaly with the Board in charge of dispensing olfactory pining rods throughout the Greater St Purvis area. They tell me that by one or two minutes past our due date, we should expect a stipulation to unfold in our overcrating which could prevent leaks to concerned parties and bring our threat assessment to an astonishing Level Zero! And this doesn't even BEGIN(!) to add a compromised zest to purgetarian marriages near Slocum's Hut, Montana and the surrounding witless projection imbroglio. 

Dad's last request to your Mother and I was to shore up our fanciest fences and prepare for an onslaught of deracinated transom whisks. In addition, he asked that he not be named in a faithless lawsuit to be outlined in our Farber's Release Testament. This should continue well in to the coming Holiday Weekend. In the absence of a letter bearing your plagiarized signature recipe, we expect that not less than three of our marginalized Sons of Opulence will be detained in a brace of inflatable district lounge markers. You will find my leading candlefuck ensconced at the midpoint of our reconstructive salad phase. Please try to look in this direction when you hear your name shunted beyond all reason. This will insure a debatable period of unconnected sleep annoyment. Has it ever been any less different? No. 

_________________________

 

Has anyone heard anything about this?

 

I've been told that we'll each be allowed to purchase a chair in real time as conditions permit due to an unforeseen weapons alert on our side of the eternal divide. This pits man against cousin but still enables both sides to break into three halves, provided all enjoyment is engaged while crises unfold at a steadfast rate. The arrival of our skin treatment plan is anticipated throughout the Colony and I will seek a waiver through my person's counterpart in a room not designed with any type of abatement in mind. One of my first firings upon arrival was an Iranian gentleman long known as a mascot of the Luther Vandross Society. He appealed to our group's Activities Director with a Guild sponsorship tattoo in the form of a marvelous specimen of intractable youth. The bargain seemed to be that he would gum up the works on our behalf and I would arrange for his stepson, then a promising lad of thirty-seven, to work during off hours in the sandlot down on Bank Street.

There's a kid down there who, quite literally, had a wallet thrown at him when he went to proofread some copy as a favor to a former friend whose sister I used to date in Ft Dix, New Jersey. Even though he had hair down to here, people still wondered if he wasn't 'all there'. I would take them aside one  by one and demand to know if they'd ever wondered about a little thing that I'd rather not go into at this very moment. They turned to me, as if to a real person, and relayed to me in excruciating detail their plans for the domination of every conceivable battle space. I took a sip of my iced tea, thought for a few seconds and decided to throw them a bone in the only way I know how. They took to it like dogs to water. And ever since then, whenever I need anything, I call one of the executives I met before the War and invite them over to the house to exchange points of view in an eminently candid, yet mature, manner. This is why anyone whose quandary is up for grabs is urged on most local shows to act as if they were about to receive some sensible advice from an unusual source of infernal racket. It will help to keep them young in spirit, if not always the sharpest bulb in the drawer. You've got this. 

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What's become of the 'fabled' Crandake?

 

There's a well roasted crandake, swaddled in its original planter's foil, gathering fumes, sitting in the trunk of our '74 Chrysler New Yorker. My wife and I are set to leave once I find my hat, shave and adorn the babysitter with a much needed optical starter shoe. Our focus is on setting up an emergency field operation in the Coastal area near where we were both born over seventy-five years ago. My pancid is groomed and even the neighbor's troubled officemate has agreed to see that our pond is winnowed to a silvery drop to be delivered with fully documented provenance to the Ike Henry Company upon our deaths in a Springtime explosion of unnatural colors. The trails leading to and through our association with the legacy of Nancy Sinatra are winding and opaque, but in the end offer no relief to the Family of Nations.

As I lifted my wife's head from its place of honor on a medium bedaddled storycord, you can be sure that I said the word that all persons of honor are obligated to pronounce with utmost care. Her clothing is gathered in a formal basket and I am 'up to here' with insolent messages to inscribe on bits of foodstuff that we're leaving to our natural born enemies for their (hopefully) amused perusal. It's remarkable that, even with the advance of years, my stake in the future of the lesser races shines brightly for all to marvel at, even while issuing terse bromides prior to the ensuing melee. I can't get out fast enough. This is what I've waited my whole life for, and now, I'll be lucky if I can crawl through a spandrel of flaps and recover my once pleasant pouch which gives strength to the glowering groomers.

By the sheer luck of the draw, as fate would have it, our Local Assembly has sent word that I am summoned to appear without portfolio to assume a position only rarely documented among otherwise reprehensible nitwits. My wife makes her feelings known, and, for all anyone can tell, she will soon be making a move in a footward direction with a guttural feeling tone that few can match. This could be the spark that sets aflame a lifetime of anpectral becindered breeding wands. I am certain to swallow more than one rumored geo-engineered harker's flume and even the false bill which frames my crested morning groat is beginning to smell of dinch oxides and obligated semen. This is when all friendly patter nixes the roofside and our home in the poach is sprayed with untold gallons of copper-scented gesso. My pewter balsom stand is chained to the underside of a chipper mantel and now, finally, I've remembered the name that I've struggled with my entire life. And, believe you me, it's not something I'm proud of, despite what you may think. Yes. 

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Revelation of the Faces.

 

The Faces at Le Trambeau are to be revealed in a timing sequence first initiated at a semi-annual Approval Board last June 16th. Our rounded sub-group has already been absorbed into a denaturing detail, the remaining members of which are seemingly out of step with the priorities expressly denounced by the outgoing adminigestion. The contents of a letter in our files are to be shared on a need-to-know basis with anyone whose payments exceed the merest guideline set in sand by our third-ranking officient while scouting the grounds for discarded embattlement liners.

While the Faces are considered a National Treasure, no one who has arrived at our complex in the last three years has shone the slightest compunction when it comes to expressing anti-social niceties in lieu of phantom exposures of our primal offense allotment. This has got to stop. At the earliest opportunity. For this reason we believe that you, with your airtight composure, might be able to move the needle into a position which gives us breathing room while our sadistic Client List is opened for inspection by the precious few of our lads to escape the wiles of a certain Ms Antoinetta Pfizblunk. She has the eyes to prove anything that I care to throw on the table absent an outbreak of crosstalk in our sedulous Canberra outflow. We can hide each of the tricks you'll need to prevent a dry heat from overcoming the assembled hordes of entitled hypocrites.

Once we're certain that you've settled in and require no additional supplies, a drastic Southern wind will be your clue that the time is right to deploy one or more deputies to mount an attack on rueful icebreakers who are indebted to our station in their personal Key of Life. This will help secure our lock on backwards-facing prairie terminoids which we have good reason to believe are behind a fallacious campaign of critical panty theory. Those boys fly low over our house when all else fails to gel at the random touch. What we wouldn't give to arrange for our showrunners to contract an infectious agent in the course of their abdominal near-term queefing lark! I wouldn't put it past them to wait inside a slo-mo room and bite their time just to see if it works. Nothing should be offered if we can't round up a paltry omplet or two. This way no one on our team will notice if you accidentally-on purpose sail into a fanking bourse. I will tell you when you need to get ready. Until then, please wait near the end of my wagon. Everyone will help pull you into position.  Who is that?

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Precession to a Ritual.

 

In the days leading up to the Ritual of the Golden Paper, we seek to remain gently ballasted with the crimpings only observed on-spec when minor children are involved. If not, we go about our lives as if everything on the surface is subject to its own command. But deep in our collective marrow, where compliance suits compulsion to a radio-mounted 'T', we attempt to formulate the least common one-syllable question ever conceived. It begins in the way which is guaranteed to elicit little impetuosity and even less annoyance. Which is all to the good, since time is short, and, once the shooting starts, it's anyone's bargain as to who gets to stick around without causing undue alarm in a long forgotten depository.

Our friends are in the business of giving us 'moral support' if nothing else. And by that I mean we haven't seen them for months. This can't help but bring on uncalled for remarks when a date is finally set. Until then, no one is urged to remain patient, for in that lies the quickest route to  certain disappointment. I wouldn't want the person who will one day marry my infant daughter to have any misconceptions about where I stand with respect to the adisability of appearing well prepared for the occurrence of 'less-than-optimal' events, things, places and (most especially) people. Look, if anyone knows how tough it can get out there, it would be me. So, I can well understand that in your current mindset, there's not likely to be even a hair's breadth of daylight between your position and that of an at-large individual when it comes to sabotaging my career. Jealousy is a very jealous master, but so is something else.

This is where bargaining comes down to the wire and anyone who still insists on holding their own could get caught out with no flotation device in sight. In the event that you should find yourself lying down face-first in my foyer, here's what I want you to do: You should immediately make certain that I've received whatever diminutive tokens come to mind when I make a brief remark. Failing that, it could well be that I've reached a 'decision point' and all idle banter is a strictly 'no-go' program. I will be offering plasmic rebates to those whose footwear most closely coincides with prevailing industry standards. As my common-law husband Kevin Moffit is fond of saying, 'what is it that makes you think there's something I should know about?'. And, when he says that, what do you think I do? I'll tell you EXACTLY what I do: I leave speculation to all the invidious nincompoops out there and go straight to the heart of the matter. Which, for the most part, involves trying to convey an attitude of innocent circularity. This meshes well with some of our senior people, as they've already made it plain that I'm on the chopping block  for being kept around after everything 'goes dark'. And, if this sounds 'too good to be true', then you don't know the half of it, and probably never will. God. 

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Filamental Stability Agreement.

 

The stability of our modern filament is something most of us can agree upon, even if we've spent not a little time overseas. My wife seems to have a habit whereby she takes it upon herself, lengthwise as is her wont, but normally the longitudinal routine is one for the dumper. In my own way, I want to give our neighbors time to adjust to a novel configuration. With every fiber of my sheeting, I feel put out that no one was able to foresee our forced removal to a landlocked jurisdiction. The air in those parts has a well-described tendency to hasten a drying action in an aphasic skin condition. All of us were fooled, therefore there wasn't even one on-boarded person who took steps. Or took any of this seriously at all. And this was even before I collapsed on the sidewalk in front of the Courthouse. I had gone there to collect a statement from a Rabbi who moved too slowly for most of us. His very speech patterns betrayed his guilt to even the most stultified of us. I can only thank my God for failing to keep his word.

You asked about that. Yes, it was lit quite brightly. But my feet were already dangling dangerously close to an infant power structure. The cries that you could hear at night would make your blood crawl. And by that I don't mean to indicate any resistance to facing an ever changing situation. Even a stack of patterns in my crawlspace no longer gives us the courage we need to eviscerate a sullen witness. When his hands shake, all our cherished formulae reveal themselves as uncanny in their proflimancy. If you are unwilling to perform a mild act of heavy lifting, then we're afraid that any excuse you proffer may prove useless in the end. The end of what? Could we for once not 'go there'? But I'm afraid we must.

Look, this is for the good of ALL of our children. They will risk their daily protein allotment to secure even one or two more seconds of a churlish ballyhoo. I have supervised their role-playing condiments and continue to sacrifice what little I have left to see them enter a voluntary program. The brown-haired one is starting to ask questions. The other two prefer to be left in a shallow netherworld where likeminded sandbots are heard to hum a chalented frill. In any cave where you can still find yourself silenced, a world of fascinating crud awaits the discerning nincompoop. In their own way, they pout and squirm, and yet, in all that, they take no quarter. Why? Because it fits their notion of lovable bastards to a 'T'. And, you don't have to take my word for it. Just ask one of the people who you knew a long time ago. They aren't my type but I've heard you had some luck. Until recently, that is. More on that later. Scoop. 

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It goes without saying . . ....

 

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If anyone doubts the truthfulness of this account, they'll only have themselves to blame if [DELETED].

 

I'll be very straightforward about this. There's a woman I've been having difficulties with for the past three or four days. There's every indication that she is serious and I may have to move very slowly to avoid repercussions. Her hands are everywhere, but still, no one feels safe without first checking the floors, ceilings and walls and where they meet. The corner is never an effective location from which to launch a meandering tirade. Why? Because, silly, that's where she waits through the night for larger forces to enact impecunious deeds. On behalf of the Advisory Committee, I am empowered to reduce all resisters to temporary ash. The heaps you see in our freezer are proof that life can sometimes be less than a smooth ride through a 'magical' countryside. For all I know, you've decided to join them while I was on vacation. Any excuse to get out of lugging my stuff will suit you just fine, is that it?

The woman in question is thirty-four years old, has auburn hair, wears see-through contact lenses and, through all this, has maintained a steady focus on overcoming a mild odor problem. It is a well documented fact that her blood type is O negative. She feels not a little pride when she thinks of the progress she's made. Her husband, Jim Bifford, has been living a lie for lo these many years. He's been pretending since Day One that he wasn't Hispanic. Through DNA forensics, we've determined that his maternal grandmother grew up in Peru and was raised by an Austrian father and a Paraguayan mother.

The woman first came on to my radar when we were co-assigned to the Security Detail at the US consulate in Leningrad, USSR on June 12, 1967 at 10:47 AM. Later that same day it was discovered that she had stolen the remainder of my fabric softener from the utility locker that I shared with her as a matter of course. Of course the denial was equal parts fulsome and lunk-headed. I'd had enough. So I got in my car and drove down to the Jersey Shore. By the time I got there, it was after midnight and everyone was asleep. To say they were 'tuckered out' would be an understatement. I tried whistling, but that didn't do the trick. Then I set a few small fires to see if I could get a rise out of some of these jerks. The next day I submitted my papers and was granted a full let-down. In hindsight, it seems that some folks got the wrong idea. I knew she had it coming, I just didn't see how. Let's see if you have a clearer idea now, shall we?

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Pending Excavation: Report.

 

There's a pending excavation in my segment for which I can only feel a larger-than-life trepidation, even though I've been preparing for the prior three or four minutes. The blond woman, who everyone believes used to date my podiatrist, is passing out sheets from dog-eared hymnals bearing a single non-integral number. They seem to enjoy grabbing the sheets and using them for various fun and games, all the while knowing that someone has worked very hard to make sure that all contingencies have been provided for, taking into account each person's individual dietary needs and restrictions. When I enter one of the shelters, she sees me and immediately scrounges for a bit of dough that may have fallen by the wayside when no one was any the wiser. I think later that I'll give her a 'G' for trying. But first I have to get a hold of one of the guys who made her cry at bedtime the night before I flew in from the Coast.

When my older sister married one of the Helmer boys (the younger one, I think), I approached Barry Schiffman to see if he could arrange for a group of average looking young organ donors to put in an appearance at a guest shot I was making at the Hotel where the wedding would go on to be canceled. Before this could be seen for what it was, I named the tallest of the donors to my Honorary Commission on Judicial Ethics. When I made the move he was confined to a convalescent facility for naturalized immigrants. His wife was expecting their second child and had become impossible to deal with due to her position on gun control, abortion and homosexual agriculture. Now it was my turn to turn heads while I walked my dog in the rain on St Patrick's Day.

When I got back and spoke very softly into one of the improvised ears it had been my choice to embellish at cost, I noticed that a bland shade had been placed across my cubby hole and I no longer had access to a vat of accelerants I'd been saving for my upcoming spree. People had always doubted my dedication to duty even though personal hygiene was never an issue. In fact, the personal 'Best in Office' award had been mine for five years running. Some of us had caused a loop to become caught in a ratchet, much to the consternation of our local person. We didn't think twice since his hair was never anything to write home about, if you can catch my drift. Once he appeared in my den after midnight early Wednesday morning, I asked if I could help him settle into a better rhythm of give-and-take and come-and-go. He replied with a shrug and a muffled cry for help. I appealed to his person to be there in the morning after I broke my foot in a pick-up basketball game. He even sat near me later that Summer at the Stadium when my wife served me with papers. I dropped a pencil accidentally-on-purpose and now, wouldn't you know it, my chiropractor has suffered a nervous breakdown. It's his own fault if you ask me, not that you would,... but still. 

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