When the Working Week Ceases to Function (or, “George B. Gatsby, Master of Suprises”)

Everybody has to answer to somebody…Ms. China Bell, the telephone enthusiast, has several lines open 24/7, and several clocks on  her wall displaying all possible timezones of this universe and others. She will gladly receive your attention, after the beep.

My point is this, if I have one – every once in a Moon, The Hare must meet with the Powers that Be, and they may indeed be bees. One can pretty much pick and choose who to report to, or choose to suprise oneself by letting The Great Hallucinomus decide. The Great Hallucinomus is a machine whose actual name is George B. Gatsby, and it is a machine, designed to co-ordinate and dis-co-ordinate all the worlds suprises. George is the reason some days pass slower than others, or your Birthday, which should be next year, is acctually next weekend.

Anyway, this is beside the point in my posession. Whomever one chooses, it all comes back to the same Source. The Source is a small, clammy hole in which all things are crammed and out of which the Gooey Essence of Humanity trickles. Its just easier to respond to a face or a voice sometimes.

The Hare’s Profound Meeting, which becomes less and less profound every time, is coming up soon, and he is preparing his speech. What is he to say? He’s never done good things, he’s never done bad things… Recently he has just enjoyed a glass of port and descussed the Classics with René, Oxford University’s Byronic-Junkie-in-Residence. And he has often enjoyed tasteful Middle-Class pornography in conjuncion with the simple joys of a Liquorice Pipe.

Perhaps he might distract them with a Vision, copy-and-pasted from youtube, until he comes up with something truly show-worthy.  


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