He’s got utilization behavior problems, see, and so it’s no surprise to me that Garney is gonna fondle some sweet girl eventually. He’s done it before, even, so it’s not unexpected and far as I know there’s no resolving a mental situation like his, so sometimes he’s gonna automatically fix a spoke with tools no stopping and sometimes he’s gonna fondle a set of breasts and the fallout of the latter situation is where I come in with the mediation business. The former just ends up with useful hands, a fixed spoke and no need for mediation, so seems clear which of them I’d prefer. As they vow.
Broader problem is we’ve got food enough for centuries and a pile of these red things look somewhat like rubies but aren’t rubies sitting near my back room but I preside over a city of slobjools and hoggers and far as I’m aware the others aren’t ever going to find me.
Ils n’arrivent pas, as it goes.
I practice French sometimes on micro-Nathan but he doesn’t speak French and I just tell him it’s the word of THE LORD even though clearly it’s not the word of THE LORD just French. He knows even less about the word of THE LORD than he does THE LORD himself but appreciates a biteen of theatricality so it suits everyone, me with the revelating and he the idiot guffawing.
Waited quite a few years in this place. They don’t put much thought into maps or even really spatial organization given the houses all open outwards and the trees aren’t brown, so I wouldn’t begin to know where we are save some part of the big orb. Least the drinks are nice enough and we get a good perspective on the sun.
Originally there was quite a bit of hope about the search mission, and I even had the subjects fired up about the prospects of getting refound but now they’ve got heavy cases of refound fatigue and I don’t blame them much. This one time we mistook some animal-types cross the grass dunes for horseback-men and macro-Albert came close to soiling his new robes. These days he wouldn’t change for the magi themselves.
Not sure I would either, all things said, though they never will be.
I’ll be the first to tell you I wouldn’t have chosen being a king. I was more of a fiddler and I preferred the word bricoleur even more but I’m not much of either now and must admit I fit most parts of the definition of “king.” As they vow.
Tomorrow evening is the big fallspring gala, and the local customs and celebrations will be on full display. Rhinoceros petting might have to end with sunup unfortunately given the influx of chalky saplings. All in all the subjects enjoy themselves, and the one who got fondled is claimed to be an excellent dancer by a wide set of sources. Hopefully we avoid excess brouhaha this week and the mediation keeps tension low.
Repeat the good phrases and skip the difficult to pronounce ones. Gossip is good around here, tends to make for a laugh or two, but that’s really all there is and will be.