Tuesday, November 24, 2015

An update on our ice box

Yesterday morning at 9 am sharp there was a knock at our door, and there stood the undertakers of Dunogremesh to haul away our ailing little fridge. Please feel free to join us in mourning our loss. Any donations can be made to either Hillary Clinton or Donald Trump.

Now we are in shock. Not at the loss of our white and pure icebox so much, our time of bereavement will pass. No, we are in shock that artfulness overcame adversity. Our lives have not been highly successful by way of social mobility, us personas. We are not prone to winning anything much at all, not lottery tickets, nor bingo, nor the good will of employers in our working years. Authority in any make and model had a disdain for our temperament, so to speak. It may not be a far stretch to say we were considering terrorism as a means of achieving some vindication in our senectitude.

But we decided to attempt diplomacy in one final throw of misadventure in a callous and unjust world before we deployed our vintage pressure cooker (it leaks a tad). The pen being said to be mightier than the pressure cooker we unleashed our bridled tongue in the form of eloquent chimera with "Beestis clepid chymeres, that han a part of ech beest, and suche ben not, no but oonly in opynyoun." It seems our personification hath thusly paid off. Those fools at Dunogremesh Property Management Corporation fell for diplomacy when they could have awaited our pressure cooker, cooking up a stew of cabbage and onions and rancid pork rinds next to their fresh air intake whilst we toked our medical marijuana. They could have filed inordinate writs against us for decimating their air quality, ruining the remaining years of our retirement and gaining the fruits of long years of our Canada Pension Plan premiums.

Yes they lost face, and now we revel with a somewhat new and robust refrigerator. It really is hard to be humble in times like this. One wee note sent forth from the dark and lowly crevices of Dunogremesh's vast domain moved mortals if not the gods themselves. We are the invincible, the champions of pen and ink. They caved in to literary philandering, those one percenters, the wizards of cooked accountancy and demonic rent collection strategy, with legal short pants bent on undermining the precepts of rent control. Eruditeness won out over impenitent profiteering.

It cost them a used fridge, it did. Twenty-five bucks they could have donated to a mercantile think tank. Our allusion to sophistication paid off. Their evil nature was wont to feel complicit in cultural befuddlement encompassing that shade of intrigue in parting with a few greenbacks. May the gods laugh and have mercy upon us all.

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