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the sophisticated hesitatings of my heavily-parallized neoprocessor were proving insufficient to presume more than eighty nectares per liter. this would not do at all. this was all because i'd had the tuna for lunch? why did i have the tuna for lunch. i NEVER have the tuna for lunch. someone was behind this anomaly, i knew it. it had been bothering me all day, and here it was again, coming to a head as my grant money was very and truly on the line. i suppose i'll have to compromise, and put laxatives in the soft-serve machine again. that usually causes a few missed appointments during application week. not the most sophisticated technique, but it IS allowed by the geneva conventions -- as a scholar, i must hold myself to standards. not necessarily high ones, though, they just have to be there. as i drive a standard station wagon, i consider myself covered in this regard. in any case, back to lunch -- this was all starting to smell like the scone incident of 2007, which caused me to mistakenly unleash over 30 kilotons of blueberry pie into the upper atmosphere. to this day, my reputation has STILL not recovered, and i suspected this to be an attempt to put the final nail in the coffin of my career. if this were indeed what it was, i knew who would be behind it: Randall Banister. that dastard, he nuzzled my scone.
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