Significant improvements to your
health go both ways, kind of like a stripper on a turgid cliff. It falls to the
nape to decide the fate of a luscious sentiment and therefore you have no say
in the matter, not unless you're willing to make swift payments to the
regardless service. Just a reminder, servitude is compulsory no matter who's
palm you grease. Think of it as a buttering up of resources, a gentle knife
blade to the underbelly of romantic toast. It's soft and the concept is filled
with cream, Tasmanian cream. That's the sort of stuff you don't want waking you
up with a crotch sniff. Experiences range from the terribly bad to the
mind-numbingly viscous. The leaves are made out of curtains and you can pass
through them, provided you make the tiger purr in fifty different dialects. The
pike swims in the opposite motion so you might get away with a quick pat too.
A day at the beach is not
covered in our winding contract, it is choked to death by the sheer paper chain
of it. The sunshine is allowable on some days of the week but if you dare to
make a longing glance outside of the rocky terrains of a whetted cubicle then
you're going to be severely disappointed. When it's time to get away with
stuff, you will be told in due course and maybe with the visual aid of ice
cream sundaes. It's a little on the casual side but we can afford to be playful
in the process of teasing solutions. The spuds are hereditary though so you
must continue to eat them and eat them with gusto. Remember that the cameras
are constantly on you and will not dither until your toilet break breaks
through the dawning of morn. The lens is a receptacle of filth but even then
the bright lights can be anything but rectifying to the introvert spools of
tape.
Timing is whatever we please it
to be. The hours are non-committal and will abide by the thumbprint of the big
boss in the tiny office. The chairs are tiny too but comparatively the make you
feel red-cheeked and spruced up with
sexual energy. It's like living at home with a zebra: a quaint premise but one
that surely would not work in practice. Where would the milk go? Who would
volunteer to put up wallpaper? Can we lose guests appropriately? That's not for
us to answer but you might give it a try: the voice recordings are like a fond
farewell to harsh judgement. If you are in need of consultation then visit the
brethren and spring a prophylactic leak directly in their floppy faces. We
don't pay them to look self-sufficient.
Then what about the memo? Deary
me today, the bounders are about, aren't they? Didn't you read enough? The
purpose of this exercise is not to answer questions or even to ask them, it is
simply to make you shit yourself in a new and proactive way.
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