You know who you are, isn't it?

 

You are the one who we've entrusted to measure and install a tripwire at the entryway to our Central Demonization Annex. This can only help the most sincere applicants to sort through a mountain of offering statements and expose a near-term surcharge megalith. The brand-management team is all over your side of the argument and one day very soon a transponent corofim will no longer appear bound for a season of unscripted justice armadas. The tinkling sound in the corner of your plume is just the kind of racket which anyone who thinks of getting involved could do worse than to mildly approximate. Yes, there WILL be manifold opportunities to snuggle with alt-right activists and no one should worry about the invitation which disappeared down a rabbit hole of our own exclusive design. It comes in any color you can imagine, if only you could see your way clear to lie down peacefully once the announcement becomes an immaculate reality on the ground going forward. In the midst of a long, cold afternoon, it's remotely possible that you'll be able to find your very own tube which contains everythnig you'll need for a dormant recipe follicle.

We all long for the days when one trick after another would spark the interest of those currently enshrined in the moshpit next to the convertible transom in our isomeric garage tulku. I will plead the fifth when it comes to circulating bales of whey among depressed celebrity handlers in our third largest exposition fiasco. There's just no telling when I'll once again be repeatedly rammed on my way through the dorsal chamber which abuts the sacristy in my fog helmet. Because of all the times that my leisure mode beverage of choice was laced with a permanent stain-removal procedure, I've been forced to take out all the stops in a conveniently placed opinion-quotient release, and all that with my head caught between my own two, very burly, front-backs. Now that the interval between gatherings has ramped up, all the usual flyboys have decided to give our ringtoss a wide berth and instead motion to some of our pre-teen Nurse Assistants that they should take a few minutes and spend them wisely once the demolition starts in earnest. Call them by whatever name strikes your fancy; just please don't issue standing orders to betray a common enemy for wont of a strident paleo enthusiast.

Now we need all of you to strain yourselves until the pindar juice is fully backed with gold contract flukes. Each will then be asked to enable seven strikes to be added surreptitiously to their name-of-choice. A round-robin will ensue in our purpose-built dome lozenge, at which time a never-before-seen color field will be induced into the visitors' prayer-group mound. The vision will ring with a sterling clarity, and I expect to see an appalling amount of victim-blaming occurring without any single individual having to rely on a purported ribbon tree in our Sculpture Annex. Has anyone heard tell of an ancient formula for restoring unshaped pardons to a pristine parking slide? Because if so, there won't be any people left stranded in a line at a ceremony on the Lower Level. That's due to the fact that our Phase One endpoint is just a matter of seconds from cancellation. Tony Beflin will give everything he's good for. Without that, some very pious people would be sunk within a pastel rolfing snot. You can even see it in their eyes. It's made of a permanent enamel. This is the cause of not a little sensitivity. And no, I'm totally uninterested in how they appear behind closed doors. Trailing compartments could be another story. You tell me.

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This is NOT rhetorical.

 

Does it ever strike you as odd that when we're on our game no one can be bothered to interfere with our current status update? Because, even though I've loaned him the equivalent of two hundred and thirty-two panels, the time never seems to arrive that we can just place our hands on a central table and take turns on a mound in one of the Recreation Centers near our office segment. The pattern which you observed in my best-dressed category is nothing less than the latest example of our rigged result coming under serious wraps. If anyone tells you that they're impressed by your temperate reaction to news of a random flooding event, you might think to offer them a chance at telling time from the back seat of one of our premier duco lounge sets. It's known that just the integers alone could have you questioning the exact reason for your habitual malfeasance. It's not like anyone as unlikeable as myself would think to offer you a chance at every last swedenborg in our County Treasure Chest. That's when the 'big boys' come out to play. You don't want to be in the room. Or, maybe you do. What will it take? Some kind of hair care product? Don't go there.

After my son rode a mis-positioned scoop underneath a psychic roadbed, his mother (my former wife, Jillary Mosgrun) hosed up some pleated ballet slippers and made off with the lion's share of the proceeds after not more than eleven big ones. For my part, I never wasn't unconvinced that her attraction to satirical spy satchels had anything to do with my lactose intolerance writ large. But, what I DO know to be the case is that without her fooling around in a down-market longterm storage operation, no one would have ever had the bright idea to look through my credit report and find a gaping hole where that came from. In all my years in the Chicago Police Department, I've never had to lie about where, when and/or if I had to hang my head in artificial shame. It doesn't take a genius to see that I was the clueless one all along. In the event that someone knocks over a precious display, you may have to make do with whatever you can scavenge from a bootstrap comintern on the periphery of the outskirts. In which case you better be ready to deal with some very major characters. I've never taken a penny in my whole life, just so you know.

What will it take to finally get people to understand that they won't stand a chance if they take a chance and just 'stand there'? Because, if anyone ever finds a telltale lesion on the exact spot where my bodice was interred for the duration, it's a good bet that a rain-compromised filtration excuse won't do the trick to get them all buckled up for our field trip to witness a military flaring device up close and personal. My own 'season of doubt' began when and where yours was said to end. And that's before all friendship cones were duly accounted for. Who the hell is it who would go to bat for the likes of a scrawny shipmate in an underground plenary trap? If you knew them like I do, I don't think your answer would be less then three percent correct. And that's not even adding in the time spent on overbroad narrative conventions. Please don't think that we can't see what you do in a secret library compartment. Of all the ones I've ever encountered, that has got to be the most impressive collection of Eddie Haskell bibliographies that anyone's ever thought to use as emergency fire paste. Please accept my most sincere condolences. It won't help. See?

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Try to weave this into your life's fabric.

 

This isn't the kind of thing which happened more than once or twice a year. The guy who was known around town for infiltrating micro-scale sculptures into the community water supply drove into Biloxi early one evening on mountain scale. I would arrange to have his information scanned in advance to ease his daughter's release from an inappropriate group located just below the Gulch. Try as I might, I couldn't get the thing to hitch. So, I ended up back in Mark's basement, only this time I had to convince some strenuous onlookers to stand near the rear entrance in case there was anything to endure before a steep fall-off.

Sheila walked into the carport on the instructions of my former mentor. As his associate once confided to my estranged attorney, it would likely take upwards of three or four weeks before we could begin to reconcile conflicting accounts in the matter of likely placement of materials to be officially codified during a sparsely attended ceremony at Winston Field. In cooperation with the Piper Boys out of Allentown, PA, we would meet with a steady cascade of applicants to the point where a brownout seemed in the offing.

I got on the horn to thank my brother's ontologist before switching out a set of duds which no one but a lame epterola could fail to appreciate for no reason other than the drill of the bunt. Even as her hands mounted an improbable defense, the back-end promise-keepers still hadn't erected a phony proxy stall so that those in their mid-aughts would have a chance to skulk through stacks of course-work, even while arousing a devilish sympathy among the unwashed layabouts. What does it take to scour a neighbor's nightpad when stellar additions are things of the past? I won't interrupt your support crew if their number includes known carriers.

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For one so young ... Who goes there?

 

One of the ways which people sometimes use to make their 'worship gestures' appear more febrile by half, is to invite participants to investigate the likelihood that one or more of them will have dodged a circulatory issue before the night is out. At the same time, more than a few of our best lookers seem to forever be holding tightly to a formula which may guarantee that a shipment of age-appropriate parking wads can be thoroughly simulated before any mark-ups are deposited in real time.

From the moment I located the odd tool-and-die operation within my remaining sphere, a virtual stepping stone opened up for all to see, as if that would get us any more 'me time' before the call came tumbling down. No one should count themselves out for the count before either I or my team have had time to involve ourselves ever more deeply in a place you refuse to look. What would it say about someone if they were caught unaware of all the ways their appearance has caused folks to focus their energy on getting out more often? Why would you assume that a person you've only heard about is wondering what sort of a stunt you're going to pull next?

It isn't for nothing that I came out for guided incantations sometime back. I'd read the studies and counted myself as one of the few attorneys in the Tri-County to make myself available for online life coaching even before the Mayor ended up in the hospital after I got hit with a three-pronged assault charge. They took me by force but that didn't mean I'd go quietly. Far from it, in fact. If you had ever gotten to know the people who work on the edge of the loop, you could've saved yourself a boatload of embarrassment when everything was finally revealed. That's why the kid's first name is 'Scott', NOT 'Todd'. It couldn't get any easier if you punched me.

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How does this hurt anyone?

 

Orferd and Landermeade stand with their backs to the window, darning socks, discussing a series of patently false allegations unearthed by a vain crew of eminent backsliders, the likes of which have left most folks on location high and dry. From here we can see that Orferd's hair is mussed. It's clear that he just doesn't give a damn anymore. It's kind of a shame considering what he originally brought to the table. A table for one, I might add. No one's yet been willing to retrace my steps back to last night's fifth frame. Because it was then and there that I first became aware of Lucy Goddard's tendency to flub lines and then throw a tantrum in a way that only she could manage with her eyes closed.

So, what did I do? It might amuse you to know that even my most uptight relatives have sought legal representation in multiple jurisdictions adjacent to Old Tombstone, Nevada. In my capacity as Site Overseer, I trade in a set of loosely defined 'facts'. If you or anyone else knew what was good for you, I wouldn't have to stay up half the night composing my valedictory speech. In a space the size of a gampede hutch we store some smallish tubes which sometimes compromise our inviolate sanctity. By the looks of them, only one other person has taken the time to navigate a precarious, if ephemeral, enigma. And even then, we all had our doubts about the sincerity of her enthusiasm. She appeared especially guilty while in a state of deep, dreamless sleep. I know this because I was privy to her old-fashioned sense of humor. No one ever said I wouldn't amount to anything; look who's laughing now!

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Is this a Cry for Help?

 

The other day I made the acquaintance of a baby in a costume on the front steps of a zoo by any other name. In the time that remained, I made it my business to train a wandering hostess in the arts of subliminal induction. She gave off the redolent odor of gratelessness but I forged ahead nonetheless. In the back of our straw chassis, we customarily carried two out of three carved switches. Each one linked us to a Great Continent. I would fold all my pictures in a way which gave everyone an idea about which conflict would suit them best. By the time we were through, no one felt that they'd received a fair shot at a brighter tomorrow. I knew for a fact, though, that if I followed through on my original buildup, I wouldn't have to go looking under an abandoned pier for a missing widower wearing a drop-dead kimono with an attitude to match. In fact, only a wisenheimer of the first rank would ever consider basking in the approval of those with limited horizontal cognition.

The next time you're in town, if you meet a guy with hazel eyes who speaks with a notably Scottish brogue, could you please ask him where he was on the evening of the 19th at about 2:71 AM Mountain Pacific Time? It's a widely shared opinion around these parts that he might be more forthcoming to the wiles of a traumatized stranger. If, though, he should suddenly lightly touch your wrist (right or left, it makes no difference) and then make a remark about your surprising resemblance to a pariah he once encountered while stacking coal, then it might be best if you move back in with your parents and pick up where you left off all those years ago. I'll be waiting by a bridge in an Oxnard blue sedan. My hair will be thoroughly conditioned, and I'll be carrying a copy of Lord Newton's Oriental Bible in case things get sticky. You can share in whatever I bring back during the next minute or so. If not, there's a place down by the water where they take bonified nutrition very seriously. This has always been a very important part of the overall picture.

In all likelihood, the game will be extended—past sunrise if necessary. I'll see to it that you won't get left behind like the last time. All the bars in my sundrome are rigged to emit lightning-fast accountancies and, even now, each one seems to be pinned to the very moment when you're expected to regain consciousness. If not, then one of my brothers may cast a line on your behalf in the search for a crestfallen debutante. One of these nights, I expect that we'll find your direct lookalike aligned with a malignant equestrian trend. You shouldn't take it to heart, though. Because, if all the playacting has proved anything at all, it's that one of your best chances for redemption is to leak some crucial details in an effort to establish your adamantine credibility with all the naysaying crybabies once and for all. In the interim. would it be okay if we put you down for next Tuesday the 23rd at six? That's the only time we'll be in the office for the next three or four months and we wouldn't want to miss out on a chance to see you take on a person of your own size for, like, the first time ever.

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There's nothing contingent about this!

 

When I say that one of my daughters has been provided with a sanded oak way-station, someone in your position may be inclined to believe in the existence of a set of facts which could hinder a person of normative aptitude from gainsaying the acuity of our Observation Force. People who like to wrap up an operation before all pantheistic sycophants have grasped the essential details are no longer welcome to join the party which accompanies us to the Roswell Proving Grounds. The reason we feel the need to exhibit such rank inflexibility is that as young inductees we were repeatedly impressed with the size of various farm implements which littered the furthest expanse to which we had any hope of accessing in the near- to mid-term. If it wasn't for the way you presented yourself in a true-being bonnet at half-time, I myself would have had to seek your remandation to a refrigeration unit in the Chaldean Heights Research Area.

Some have reported feeling 'put off' by the way my hands attract the attention of a few stalwarts who never think twice about commandeering whatever slots remain after all our future reports have been shredded and fed into a local refibulation combine. I can only mix three volatile elements before I am thrust between a level-headed co-creator on one side and on the other a calm gent in a sports coat who can't seem to get his story straight. On second thought, if I offer either one a sip from my canteen, I can count on at least seventeen nights of fretful sleeplessness. When I get up in the morning to sign in for my routine, I am told that not three seconds prior I was to be shown a tricky panel where cultured lights substitute for residual magnetism. Now, however, due to the lateness of the hour, I must sit with three alternate winners and console them with bargain basement candy-canes. Pardon me, but this is most definitely NOT what I trained for. In fact, I'd go so far as to feel my way into someone's spare brain if that would in any way lead the rest of our crew into a kind of linoleum chemical fraud, for all the good that would do.

It's a sad fact that, from now on, if you or someone under your direct control holds a pocket unit directly inside my neck area, I will have no choice but to bounce back bigger the next time. Once all the pills have been distributed on the periphery of a metropolis which has seen better days, there will be no excuse for my daughter to parade her existential angst like a 'badge of honor' and prance through Third World airports as if anyone ever gave a damn in the first place. In the second place, I will continue to endanger a construction crew on their lunch break and do all I can to install premium aspimators in the Lower Lounge after everyone is safely incapacitated behind a platinum wall in the City of the Future. We look to establish a cozy perimeter and loll gaily before the Basket Trials get underway for real. A commission of 'secular sainthood' is sure to be bestowed without anyone's prior knowledge, permission or impatience. Those of us who will employ off-color language from the dais at a trivial affair are sure to experience second thoughts once our plane has been cleared for take-off. I sit with my back to the wall in a premium hotel set-up. Someone is grabbing a bite to eat and I have to use the john. Thank you for your report.

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