Could there be ANYONE to the Left of me?

 

My political affiliations and proclivities have been called into serious question. This does not bode well for our movement.

Could there be anyone left who no longer appreciates the sensation which courses sublimely as most 'things' of value start to give way? 

We will each append our bids with a mixture of desuetude and macaransis. Only a tantalizing brunette is to be permitted access to an underwater hiding place should our previous owner decide to issue a faulty coupon in lieu of a sanitized beefing terp. The gate in the center of the window is scheduled to be adjusted to admit no solemn notes unless the inductee has pre-installed a fanning unit on a floor other than the one which he or she has abandoned before a likely person returns from the Airport with a fresh sensing apparatus, if that. It doesn't take much to creep through a hutch with a diamond blade and instruct a teenage bride in the hard truths of conjugal living. They could give you an insincere hug or possibly present you with a mug of warm, potable liquid. It'll be fun to see what happens.  As for me, I'll be downstairs monitoring your movements with a finely calibrated sense of outrage.

At the edge of combat, the most common complaint is that a colleague's footwear has left initialized nano-scaled prints on the lower part of a particle-board wall at the insistence of one who refuses all entreaties to silently observe patience-free protocols. It could be something as mundane as a lowly houseplant. If you take your good, sweet time at the entrance, we will have every right to band together during the evening hours and see to it that you are impelled to answer for my many deficits. Those on your team have had a hand in each and every instance of my Leader being led into unintentional perfidy until someone got the bright idea to call the State Police in Moline, Illinois. To say that some of us have a fondness for toast of all kinds could lessen racial tensions in the Nuclear Highway Administration [NHA] writ large. If anyone decides to use a 'gravelly' voice as per our instructions, they should also limit their reliance on any sort of mystification. It just makes for a more accurate dump site.

The goal of our entire table-setting scheme is to see to it that one or more of the tesseracts are found within a fortnight of a genuine birthing opportunity. A dream which prevails at the expense of a non-obvious tension-release formula is always preferable to the discovery of a pell-mell inscription on the leader-board of costly compliance procedures. You will know them by the way they slip into position with only the barest of movements. A bit of schmutz on a floorboard is never what gets one through a difficult apostomy. Their seats are in alignment. The coats are 'to die for'. And all their ringed patterns bring gypsum icons to a prestigious, if finicky, boil.  When we count down by threes from ten thousand eight hundred and twenty-six, this should give you enough time to enjoin a solipsistic nomad to fake an intuitive awareness of seasonal cropland referrals. Does this make me want to eat you? Yes, but . . ....

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