Ritual

"What ever it is that you have to tell me, you better have something to say." I nodded. "A silent world would be an ideal utopia for you Ms. _______." "I really," she paused at tried to look dramatic, clenched her jaw and tapped her shoe on the ground twice, then scuffed, "yes, I think that I rather loathe your frequent and flawed - so called - 'obscurity.'" I imagined my day at work would be completely obscure and meaningless to perhaps those who were not aware of my heroic, pathetic intentions to be wonderful, which was therefore equated with obscurity. Clearly, I was losing my mind. Or was my mind losing me? Moral of the tale: Whenever you can't figure out what you were going to say, what the question was, if you really want to be wonderful, you will eventually turn out to be a motorcycle. And my advice, one of the most impressive habits of we obscure heroes, is to just end every paragraph you speak, is to say this simple phrase &q