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Occasionally, thought-trains derail at the most opportune moments, allowing the plausible deniability of any recall regarding the author's intent, inspiration, nor catalyst.
title: Zehu: A So-So Just-So Story tags: war, school, verse date: 2020-07-20 20:11'07" ;;;;; The following words are not fiction. ``` Zehu hasipur shel katsin beshem Bingo Bee Ayyy NGO Be Aint NGO be no NGO for bingo weren't his name, no! Ratsu lemamen la nahar et ha Ringo bezmansheha deshe vehageshem bli Singo baWadi notru :? ohalim vemotot letsido: khayyalim, shehemtinu lirot; haspaka leshavua, shvuayyim, belakhats; oolai gam kumta imhatseva shelpalkhats! zerem khazak, mibirkaim vamata; takhmoshet beshefa, pkuda shenatata; madim yeshanim, tikim, vesakim; kamuvan gam hamon, hamon, sakinim; rak tipa khomer gelem lasotsiometri, lemniyat hivatsrut od tsava psichometri; plugat tsoarim, yeshenim amukot; ve shomer sheshama: "Au secours, sale cabot." ```
Bits, both rotten and otherwise, preserved arbitrarily; the school tag, while removed from this post, is arguably still relevant.
If you are not, nor have ever been, in the public service, you are advised to read no further; furthermore, if you have been in the public service for a time so short that it left no impression on your identity, and especially if your service was in enforcement branches other than the blues, you are also advised to stop reading. Now that my audience consists primarily of military veterans, medical professionals, and the various branches of police, I proceed:
It is difficult to determine what is permitted, and what is prohibited, in regards to cardiovascular ventures lasting longer than one kilometre, roundtrip. Since this fact is quite distressing, and since I wish the dispensation of advice to last no longer than absolutely necessary, my only advice to those who kept reading, regardless of whether they complied with the previous paragraph's advice, is the less frequent of the two imperatives yelled at me from George Herbert Mangan's window, during the late hours of morning classes:
GHM: DOAN GIT ARRESTID!
Getting arrested -- that is, detained, interrogated, and subsequently released after legal proceedings -- is a wonderful way to increase the town's cumulative viral load for the days in question, and what's worse, it comes almost entirely at the expense of others.
Occasionally, folks making idle conversation use one of the least certain fillers when the talk runs thin. It's easy enough to keep things nice and happy, although that's rarely necessary, since it'd often conflict with that mere politeness of prioritizing honesty over nearly all other aspects interpersonal. One such exchange, most likely in certain cultures although quite certain not to occur to me during the next few days, is as follows:
YOU: What'd you do over the weekend?
YOU: Hah, I bet you spent Valentine's Day all alone, probably getting higher than a kite.
Lest the redefinitions of modern usage accelerate their revolutions so fast as to spin all semblance of meaning out of this cosmic centrifuge we call our world, let's make a brief detour through arguments so ancient as to have been recorded as fact by none other than the editors of an encyclopedia renowned for its editors' inability to agree upon facts: of those responsible for the traditions leading to the day of romance being named after a man canonized in honor of torture and convulsions, at least three are named identically, although imprecisions in the numeration are likely due to another person named Valentinus, and the only consoling fact in this pile of reasons to stop reading history is that the latter did not get beatified! I'll leave further spelunks through the bunk to those both bold and foolhardy, and proceed to continue the answer that I'd begun composing while Crickets chirped above.