Executive Decision

This particular set of tambourine excruciations lacks the comeuppance factor that my quarry companion would typically dish out. I’m so used to thinking of my submissive bud as “not without its sassy comebacks,” but this time it’s waxing heavily depressive, not even bothering to mount a modest reprisal.

I’ve made the executive decision to leave it to its own devices; I don’t need a triggered sidekick lollygagging around and confusing me more than normal. Such a distraction could undermine the very essence of my oh so lucrative pastime. I’ll just let it take a little time to itself (I’m generous that way) so it may sort out its existential concerns of its own accord–mainly because I just don’t want to be subjected to the ceaseless whining. And when I say whining, I mean good ol’ fashioned day-in day-out grumbling unlike any other you’ve ever seen, the very peak of which generally verging on psychosis.

Boy, I sure do know how to pick ’em. Of all the quarry companions made available to me, I just had to choose the one with the watery puppy dog eyes. I didn’t think anything of it at the time, but now I have a flat out martyr on my hands who professes to be a beacon of emotions for its less-gifted brethren of the oft-neglected sedimentary sidekick school. All I want is a cheerful little buddy that I can count on to occasionally get me out of scrapes. Is that too much to ask?

Parlor

Perusing the parlor of the Parisian Peruvian consulate wouldn’t be so difficult, were it not for the giant window-washing syndicate purporting to require seven hours a day, every day, to free the egalitarian edifice from smudges and insect remnants that would otherwise mar the immaculate façade and strip its dignity away through a slight uptick in entropic rate that would, over the course of two to three generations (depending on who you speak to on the topic) detereriorate that aesthetic je ne sais quoi, anywhere from 14 to 17% per decade on average. Extrapolating from there, we’re looking at complete disavowal of the skin-deep school of architectural and biological beauty that allowed our “modern civilization” to “flourish” under the spell of charming artifice.

So good luck ever getting into that parlor, and don’t tell me I didn’t warn you.

Milieu

There’s a piece of gentle wood
on that tray, name of Rockefellon:
Nomad Juggler Extraordinaire.
He currently traverses
the water chestnut fields
of Animosity Central,
the ironically-titled
decentralized milieu
for spatially-challenged
graduates of spoken word school.

Thursday Aficionado – 17:56GMT

Caroline is a Thursday aficionado, never much cared for what the rest of the week has to offer. Caroline is a Thursday aficionado, decided that if she needed to devote a day to merriment, the somewhat transitionary day near the end of the week would suffice. Caroline is a Thursday aficionado, and in the near future, she’ll take her love of Day 5 into the high school classroom. She plans to bring cake doughnuts (just dry enough) for her improving students, with the promise of sprinkles if they ace the next quiz. Caroline is a Thursday aficionado who hopes those damn kids will volunteer to receive a decent education through incentivized sugar doling. Perhaps they’ll even find a fondness for Thursday that they never knew was there.

I really wish I could remember anything I’m saying here. Maybe they’re listening. I doubt it.
My nose itches.