Client Observation Notes.

 

Just yesterday, I saw that he watched their torsos and how they were manipulated at distance. He had a very sufficient reason to feel ill-at-ease. If training seeks its level in randomized cups, then whose pressure will afford the likely return to a status quo release? The question answers itself, if you ask me. If not, I will bring him straight to you. This will allow for permanent inspection as to the merits of his glade. For some moments now, he has been permitted to hum softly into a shiny all-seasons canador crèpe. Each instant is indeed up for grabs but the girl as he's known her has now been shifted into an overbearing frequency alert. The badge on the cudgel says it all. And now I myself will find a space to mourn a knotting displacement from room to parapet to absenteer. How they sell them is their own bloody business. If they enter my payment system, though, one defective awning could make or break a year's worth of incendiary promotional novelty slippers.

There could now be a wigwam in our trial-edition couvet. Until now, no one has seen fit to raise their voice in defense of my final attacker. When we live outside the reach of impressive realms, then we risk mutual exposure through radically exfiltrative media honchos. Our way of feeding resolves itself into a brisk movement. Only stolid frauds are welcome to try their hand at a fractious input strategy. Each will come to his or her mind in a matter of seconds. If I slip a darning hoop through the window to a reluctant addressee, just who do you think pays for that anyway? It could be a person on his way downtown to perform a banal civic ritual. Or maybe the son of one our brighter citizens will enter without the required wristband. Who could tell whether this gesture was, in fact, 'serious' or not? It would have to be someone we've known for at least a day or two. More than that and I'd need more than a cursory nod. And I won't be wearing anything either.

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Juvenile Stunt: Admission

 

For some reason, I feel remarkably comfortable admitting to my part in a rather juvenile stunt. You should know that I've been home-bound since the accident and I've lost the ability to tell the difference. What I could do, though, was reach through very quickly and then withdraw my hand before anyone got wind of a creeping suspicion. From the way they looked at me, no one would ever guess that I once dated the Swedish puff-ball champion, Ilona Stewart. These kinds of things just come with the territory. Or so I thought until that day in the early Spring of '97. I'd been let go from my job at the Carruthers Parking Light Facility due to unsupervised hiatus clumps. My best friend in those days, Jamie Basnik, had enrolled his son in a tertiary program and I was on guard for skin eruptions which would only complicate matters. Especially where it matters most, which would be right in the cabasa!

By the time I shifted into second form, I knew beyond any kind of shadow that the officers who'd made my life pure hell for the last sixteen years were now on their way to dancing with the wrong end of a hedge trimmer, if you catch my drift. Their names were Eplar Panistode and Rasmin Bastirk. If I recall correctly, the taller one had a shifty gait and the other just couldn't be bothered to make even the smallest effort at conjugal living. I'd seen an article about them in a Sunday supplement several years before things got really out of hand. I'd tried to rein in their activities by keeping them on a short leash. For some reason I got it into my head that they might enjoy a brief excursion to a lakeside mall of some renown. What I didn't count on, though, was the way they would try to intimidate some of the younger busybodies who thought nothing of trashing people's reputations by the truckload. Now that I've had time to reconsider, there's no doubt in my mind that some of our emergency personnel could use a refresher course on basic mental hygiene. It might save them a pittance in the long run.

But now, or so I've heard, everything is ruined. In that some of the folks we attended school with in the early aughts seem to have a strangle hold on effectuating apparent misconceptions. It always seems to bring out the best in people who should have no right to expect a fair shake in life. If I ever have to sign off on a home invasion already in progress and then take the heat for significant breakage of frail items, someone might be asked help me take a calming breath when the whole thing comes apart in her hands. Because if there's one thing you can be sure of, it's that her hands have never really seen anything remotely like the kind of trouble that could get us into hot water. The little booklet which I make a practice to keep at-the-ready is replete with a full roster of planning stage revisions. I already had to take a bath when things went majorly south. But I could always count on some of our Efficiency Experts to try their hand at wheedling a distracting affair to smooth things over. It's when stuff gets a bit 'crinkly' that I usually have to take a leak. If anyone thinks that my family is unlikely to hold off on following through, they should maybe return to an earlier chapter for professional guidance. Because, if there's one thing which remains to be determined, then I'll have one of my suits hand-delivered to our boys downtown and they'll see if they can talk sense into some of our piebald participants. Otherwise I'll be forced to look into the acquisition of a solution-oriented enigma. Don't say you weren't warned. We have ways. And ways to go. Just don't let it stamp you as a quitter.  

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Collegiate Athletic Roundup.

 

State Championships start Monday. By Wednesday I should have already received some Holy Stones via the Federal System. By all rights, no one has any more say than a very svelte brunette named Robin Morris. It seems that she's the one to whom everyone turns when they're fresh out of some miracle ingredient or another. You can count on the fingers of one hand the times I've caught her peeking into a local gulch in an effort to appear more worldly wise. In fact, I don't know of a single person who comes close to her level of out-and-out flagrance when it comes to showboating through all kinds of anapleptic procedures. Anyone who wants to can quite easily figure out where I hid the charging documents. Yeah, sure, there's been a whispering campaign centered on my ties to the IRA, but for now let's just say that I'm just not the kind of person to get involved in anyone's dietary inversion.

On the crumbling rear staircase of a moribund office complex, you can usually round up a few go-getters and have them do you one better in half the time it takes to get ready for a very well attended affair. On the other hand, if one so vicious is teamed up with a two-bit parlor pony and asked to make a snap judgement, no one would be remotely surprised to find that you've been forced to account for a missing nine-pointed Star of Harold which has been hard to keep track of since Day One. Everyone here knows how hard you've tried to fit in with a geriatric Search Crew in our Nation's sprawling mid-section. It's only right that you try to engage a more solitary lifestyle. They say it gets better as time slips down the shoot. However, if after three years and multiple readings, we find that your ability to sustain neutral interactions with inveterate stage managers has come under question, then by all means we wouldn't hesitate for more than a few minutes to send you on your way to live in a third country.

Is anyone under the (false!) impression that I've crossed some kind of 'red line' here? Because, if so, there's a good chance that some pesky kid has decided, despite all indications to the contrary, to make use of 'one simple trick' to induce a set of very suspicious cascades on the very day I'm scheduled for a much-anticipated tooth extraction. If you ask me, it's all about a basic sense of fair play. Not to mention good will. There's no chance you'll ever see moi pandering to the hidebound inebriants of the lumpen proletariat. They've been on my list for quite a while. Even if one of them thought it wise to pen a little ditty in honor of my brother-in-law's botched vasectomy, that wouldn't give anyone anywhere the right to barge into my Toxicity Hearing like nobody's business. I'll have you know that I've worked long and hard to put a smiley face on a very sensitive set of parameters which we're just now digesting. For all the harm it did to my family's good name, I'd be more than willing to stop draining fungible assets from a seminal retirement fraud. And that goes double for my wife of six long, interminable decades. Please dry your eyes. It's not THAT bad. Hear me?

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Lingering Hypostomy Rumors . ....

 

We are not above holding certain persons' opinions as sacrosanct in the extreme. On the other hand, if the handlers who we've conscripted at flashpoint get too big for their batches, you can count on us to up-end a rivalry on the South Shore which gives every indication of inflicting a topsy-turvy emotional toll on those who stood by in a dank Summer underwall while trying to avail themselves of diametric thought patterns of the first foil. If you ever see me looking out of sorts and you decide that trying to tempt me with a small bit of cake would go a long way to patching things up, you should be advised that one of your closest confidants was seen recently wandering through a women's hosiery trade show without a trace of bonhomie. And this goes double for more than a few others in your cohort of shame. Be warned.

On the back-end of a charming De Chirico scenario, those who have been known to follow us at all hours on all fours are thought to be wielding a scant Bismarck when all that was ever known for sure was the date of an upcoming Enablers' Conference at the Mid-Hudson Holiday Inn in Brisbane, Ontario. I took each of them, one-by-one if needs be, into a used cheesecloth distributorship in the Lower Twelfth and had them swear on Newton's Bible that they would never go so far as to mount a challenge to my remote leadershit prerogative. I stood with my wife and our neighbor, the vivacious Susan Parnell, and we took turns whipping through a variety of worksheets with which you likely have zero familiarity if you didn't grow up on a ranch near a strip mall. Alternatively if you're anything like a run-of-the-mill plagiarist-du-jour, you probably already have your hands full cleaning some of the parts which ended up in your trunk by mistake, if that.

Excuse me, but where is it written that two out of every five needlepoint executives are poised to enact a tragic, if remarkably feeble, scheme to entice an ever-shifting collection of bonified stakeholders into throwing away untold decades of histomological entrance reports for the benefit of certain purveyors of genuine spurious remedial glamping tufts? Because, from where I sit, there seems to be no justification whatsoever to launch a vindictive power play over a measly bit of artificially scrambled offal. The regime which we seek to install is one which holds fast to a randomized, double-blind color test in cities of the Golden North. Nothing could be further from our minds than trying to mold you and other apparatchiks into exemplars of rational game theory writ large. If we had our way, all duly appointed guardian clones would be surrendered forthwith into a cauldron of speculative trigger-farmings. Does this ameliorate the comfort levels by which you've become so declensively intrigued? Just so you know, it's not our decision to make. As of now, it's completely out of our hands. Treat?

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San Jacinto Library System: Problems.

 

Over the months spent in the San Jacinto Library System, I can safely say that my rights were violated not less than twelve hundred and forty-two times. When it was broadly determined that I could be forced to mount a challenge, it was all I could do to see that everything would unfold in its own rhythm. Now it was my turn to ask folks to please stop leaving things near my personal storage area. There's a kid upstairs who, if reports are to be believed, prefers wallowing in an unmoderated chatroom to engaging in performative theatrics for the benefit of his flagging sense of personal belongingness. We know that to keep him on a tight leash will take some doing, but even so, it just doesn't strike us as too particularly out of the ordinary to see him washing any old stick which might've crossed his path on the way to the hairdresser where his Mom holds court by the hour. Only anyone whose eyesight needed major adjustment would fail to see what kind of conflagration would ensue if any of us got word that one of our favorite Clergymen was arrested for marijuana possession within six hundred feet of an all-girls cheerleader convention.

Why do some people go to great lengths to appear overtly triggered when I mention my degree in Anabaptist Horticultural Semiotics? It would seem that more than a few have time to burn. They get up every morning, rush into my den, spill coffee on my iPad and then call me from overseas to ask for a 'special favor'. I live with my eyes permanently focused on reading material provided at cost to retired air stewards the world over. The problem is, when a guy who should very well know better tries to get the best of a local eye surgeon and then has the coonies to complain that he'd never been given an update on Tropical Storm Luisa, you'd have to wonder if he's all that he's been cracked up to be. Especially in light of his atrocious taste in woolen accessories as such. Now that I have more free time on my hands, I'll see to it that someone reputed to be too old for his size is never given access to a standard aviator bloodboard. No one has any idea what may happen if I'm asked to enter a verdict on the 15th of every month ending in the letter 'w'.

Anyway, so now that we all are feeling more comfortable in our skins, is it even remotely possible that one of your closest friends could be taken by shuttle bus to the opening ceremonies of the Lusaka Games? I'd be more than willing to provide copious references if his or her name is taken off the list for good. But, if one of us is asked to create a 'model cities' program, there won't be much time left to abscond with whatever funds we might be able to scrape up from the leavings of the Permanent Council. I would be more than a little embarrassed to have to assume an alternate identity in the light of underlying flight conventions. It's still hard to admit that my coating is undergoing a much overdue reconditioning. There are sources of light on this island which are not about to be pinned down without some major expenditure of co-terminous funds. I don't say any of this easily. In fact, I plan on not saying any of this at all. The least you could do is to stay close at hand while I douse some of the unused furniture with bittersweet kerosene. Are you in?

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The true scope of this thing scares us!

 

Every one of us has now slid further into a skein of our very own good fortune. The young lady who issued a prompt at the first sign of a hemostatic voltage-alarm bears a striking resemblance to a wan blanklet holding the fort at a bakery's secret entrance. That's because, when she lifts barbecue tongs to the ceiling in an effort to free an errant honeybee from a knot in the core, you can tell that one of her parents has been holding certain 'things' at arms' distance for her whole pafentic life. And, to tell you the truth, this just doesn't sit well with the Preacher's kid that I know myself to be. If I had it to do all over again, I'd try to find a very impressive collection of geometry memorabilia and mount it in a lobby not far from here. After that, I'd try to live down some of the things I once said in a weak moment. Because, who's to say that it doesn't make any difference anyway? Surely not anyone I've ever talked to, if I'm being honest (which I'm not).

You could try to be a little more circumspect when we notice that some of your notebooks were left out in the rain during a recent news bulletin. We're not in any position to brag, but the promotion which you so long to bring about won't do anyone any good unless a local factory can be induced to stop infecting people's fingers with amateur parking glue. Sorry, but this is just a 'sore point' with folks on my side of the proverbial fence. You see, one way or another, the principal activator is going to take a fall. And when he does, I'll be right there holding my tongue and distributing buffet items to a phalanx of opportunistic Veterans' Affairs officials. In fact, I make it a practice to keep one right here. I'd ask him to say a few words but, at the moment, he's tied up making a lot of calls on behalf of a tertiary organization. Little does he know how they gently chuckle when he leaves a room in disgust.

There is a host of reasons why most of us are no longer permitted to leave the grounds without a miniature tail-light concealed on our person. For starters, you'd have to be 'certifiable' to think that you could adjust expectations in light of some of the portents which have come under our purview during the most recent ratings period. Then there's the quandary surrounding a viscous liquid slowly oozing into a control annex in the nerve center. Each of the usurpers has upheld a common oath and regained consciousness without first signing on to a felonious rack sheet. I myself have kept one under a spare pillow for going on three and a half years thus far. And no, I don't intend to retrace my steps anytime soon. As soon as you get back, there's the small matter of a missing lamp cord which might be to your liking. Please let us know if we can help your extended family find employment in a lucrative sector. I have it on good authority that they can be found most nights burnishing their credentials under a streetlamp near a toxic waste dump of some significant repute. Did I or anyone else ever tell you different? Be honest.

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Colliding Eventualities: Report.

 

If I'm ever called out of a meeting and my clothing gives off a strong aroma of wrinkled paper trinklets, then anyone who lives within a mile or two of my former inlaws should be asked to get their affairs in order because there's a very long road ahead of us. On the other hand, what is it that gives some people the right to loiter in doorways, write stuff in stolen notebooks and look for all the world like a good examples of actionable computer wraiths? I ask because in all the hubbub surrounding our appearance at an annual shielding festival, I seem to have lost touch with my grooming aide and, given the time of year, just cannot be bothered to give her folks a call without letting a few details slip. They're all about keeping a lid on emerging difficulties, whereas I'm never not in the mood to be bowled over by some of the looks I get while I explore dry wells the world over. You can train them once and you won't live to regret it. However, if you go for Number Two, well, .... the sky itself has a limit, if I'm being honest.

So, we worked on her car until midnight the next morning. I'd placed my favorite jacket in a secure duct for safekeeping. Her undergarments were found on a road at least three hours from here to the East. I rounded up one of my premier crews and laid it on the line. They were, by turns, incredulous, disconsolate, insufferable and not a little volatile. No one has paid me to say this or anything else. Which means there's no money in the bank if one of my lackies turns a downmarket key in a very suspicious lock and we decide to move together as one into an overbroad lake in more ways than one. When I say that I have a right to suspect irregular marauders of handscaping a look-see, then no one in their right mind will think it proper to do double duty while a Christian contemplative rides shotgun on a molecular veranda. It's not for nothing that they pack them in groups of three for just this reason and not much more.

It'll be kind of a 'pay-me-down', rather than the more customary 'pay-me-over' affair once we've been assured that a linked fissure will be ours for the asking. If no one ever quizzes you about our plan to inter a noxious monad with the personal effects of an abortive skell, could you please guarantee us that you won't stand near a tank of liquid nitrogen while providing back-up for one of the most halting excuses of an Executive Affairs Assistant that anyone's ever seen? The only reason we feel the need to iron this out is the one which you yourself actually put your finger on when we exposed your teenage daughter to sunlight in the most speculative way imaginable. And yet still you prefer to play the 'dumb' card and go about your business without first getting the go-ahead from our Comintern or one of its many proxies in the field. This will leave a serious mark on the record which you like to keep daily. In view of the above, we'd like to have you entertain the notion of faster-than-light travel when the truth is finally set free to roam about without compunction. You are all we have left and now even that is washed away like a tidal frumcake. Happy?

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