Why not let's grease the skids with a bit o' false modesty, shall we?

 

It's just not true that I risked my life to save a shy person from the consequences of his inadequate personality. What I did, though, was hover silently in the background, let him get his footing, and then compensate his enablers commensurate with their stake in the final outcome. No one knows better than a kid from the South Side what it takes to live an entire life free of chemical infusions. During the lean years, one of us always felt free to create a very large circle inside of which we would routinely vanquish thrill-seekers everywhere. The problem was, some of them had just returned from the Interior Theater and required immediate attention. A few would claim to feel a mystical pain. I used a device on loan from the Agriculture Department to root out the spots where their parents had hidden their collections. With that in hand, I felt we had enough to go on. I wouldn't put my foot in one, but that doesn't mean I'm any taller than the next guy, despite what you may have heard.

Ivandola Crepatura was the name I was given. This person was reputed to be all but totally bereft of retinues and could only continue if we agreed to begin an imaginary exercise program. In earnest this time, if nothing else. So, I suited up, swept some odd wrappers through an antique frame and, for the first time in my life felt the pressure release itself from my ever expanding bilge-line. Anyone who was known to scamper could now be held for up to forty-eight hours, no questions asked, no answers given. I  could put one in a headlock myself, if needs be. Instead I sold my vintage corduroy sweatpants on Ebay for a sweet fiver and started to fix up my place. I was expecting a load of them to take advantage of my offer. And not a moment too soon! Within a month there was a plaque at the base of a statue. Staffers young and old would repair to a dusty lounge to relive the glory days of just a few weeks prior. Now that I'd lost vertical function, everyone felt free to lie about my age in the gutter press.

When you live in such a way that constant intrusions become a thing of the past, it's time to ask yourself a very pointed question. However, if like me you never had much to do with yourself beyond mandatory mirror-time, then you could ill afford a moment to reflect on where you'd be if the game became transparently artificial in a depleted nonce. Because, after all these years, what would it take to get you involved in our experimental surgery protocols? The benefits are second to none, but if I were you, I wouldn't let that stop me from pretending to lurk within striking distance of a disgraced tenant advocate. And, if you think you might find one in a rock-bottom railyard, think again, my friend. Consider long and hard if this is what you want on your gravestone. Because, like it or not, not one of my customers can be trusted to canvas an entire area without air support on the topside. And that's only the beginning. With truth on your side, no one can sneak a bitter spool of thread into your portfolio, beyond what your random Chairperson might think appropriate. And then some. (It's okay to look now.) 

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