Pastimes indicative of passion incarnate sweep themselves well past the staircase of emotional stagnation and scoop out higher understanding, as though our state of being affords us the time to crank out our pulp and surrender our wills to the greater good (otherwise known as that giant lizard occupying the innermost outhouse amongst the outer rings of the planet we currently refer to as Saturn).
Figurine damage indication is just one of the important areas [here at Gareth Laboratories] where I’ve made myself indispensable. I’ve trained 54 associates–and counting–to specialize in the sixteen elements that directly contribute to the continuation of our great institution. I’ve created a simple mnemonic device for them: HOME SMELLS FUNNY P. I’m not very good with anagrams, so that last P is just kind of sticking out there to the side. But that doesn’t matter very much to me, because it serves as a reminder of the absurd penguin amendment to the corporate charter that Lance’s nephew added as a joke (but then ironically caught on like wildfire when I unknowingly passed out invitations to the zoo’s new special penguin house later that afternoon). Coincidences sure are a bitch.
The bioluminescent bloomenary, a spectacular specimen just discovered in a subterranean cave beneath the land formerly known as Entrenchment Village—since abandoned for Encroachment Peak—is somewhat smooth to stand so tall in such a way, Agnes. We sure have come a long way since the aftermath of those Cleveland fires, and we couldn’t have done it without the chimney sweep frontier project—I believe that with all my heart (and a great majority of my soul, to boot). I sure hope we have the common sense and decency to look each other in the eyes before we swallow our pride, however much or little that may be.
A temper for granted on the northwest side of the pilgrim monitor is just a symptom of the intrinsic capacity for glue-footed rafter people, or so I’ve been led to believe.