A group of 25 climbers set out for Victim's Peak on that cold Thursday mid-morning. Mid-morning had its heady breast settling urgently on the men (and woman). A starless sky greeted "Old Plantoon" out of his walk-slumber, only to be negated by cherubs in the grinder. I put on the pity-mask and started my speech: "When, in times of (N)ational crisis, the executive branch of our (G)overnment effectively sidelines the legislative branch, the boy named Marty shall rise as if on a liftgate. Marty will re-inebriate the skulkers and terry-cloth display experts. Chance will be renamed as virtue and virtue renamed as burnt umber. You, oh climbers of Victim's Peak, are to be quilted into the landscape as a point of reference for all who dared claim that Marty was a dud."
Your liquids remain balanced: unconsciously!
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