Hey, How’s It Goin?
We can’t seem to get the waffle iron out of the ceiling. I’m still unclear how you got it stuck up there, but, still, no one makes waffles as good as you so the whole string of cheese can only fester in the wild while random data sits idle in the peckish poodle puddle grupting up the kadoodle buggy drifting down the lane.
We can’t be so sure there wasn’t nefarious nonsense afoot. The evi-toe-dence was clear. So clear we could see right through it. And you know what happens when you see right through! You missing everything along the way and that’s where the mouse is.
There is no better time than last yesterday at 3. We missed the window and all is lost. The super conductor is a fickle fleeting fuddy-duddy and we simply can’t launch until 2038, which throws the whole thing into the throes of never never land. The bunguards are at RAGE. But it’s their own fault. I prattled on time and again about contingency and they wouldn’t hear a thing of it. No, no. I won’t rub their noses in it. They are like zebra’s. They’ll only kick their hind legs harder in return. The only sane solution is sap the spider with the sapper zapper and call it a day.
However. You and I are now free to work on the contingecy ourselves. The lawyers made it clear in the contract and they not only signed but initialed that very phrase. Both of them. Side by side. Such a glorious sight to behold!
I’ll contact you in the morning. We have much to go over and revise.
This is going to be GREAT!
love & hugs & far flinging slugs,
~ Agent Morange