Things That Make You Wait

Many things on the go.

Many things not so much.

Today, rather yesterday, Psycleheads at the top of the Court order called a meeting.

An important mandatory you better bring donuts and your thinking cap type.
Far too many things are here and there…none really under any semblance of control.

With desks cluttered to overflowing in half completed crap, everything and nothing was getting done quickly.
Not to mention the fucking red light.

Noose ends needed to be tied to ensure some closure…not to mention completion.

Whilst a comprehensive list was compiled of things that are being done, aren’t done, can’t be done or won’t be done, a pattern began to emerge.

If you send us things, distraction rules the day.

Early in the day a super special t-shirt arrived.

NOTHING was done for several hours while I marveled in it’s genius.
Followed by subsequent beratements for failing to be the creator (who is OBVIOUSLY a zillionaire by now).

You are welcome to purchase your own, with your money, punch the picture to do so.
You can wear yours on alternating wednesdays.

Plans for Hot August Nights are…slow.

A sound system rental of ear-splitting proportions is STILL required.
A generator, to power same, STILL required.
A panel van come personal sleeper is STILL required to transport demos and explosives.
Demos are still mostly incomplete.

Then.
Just as hope was all but dashed…and more work NEEDED to be done…the man in brown bounced a package at the front door.

Distraction.

Shipped nearly full coast to coast, notta one of these little morsels was out of place.

Individually wrapped.
Bet you can’t eat just one.

Not just the kind of generic Awesome that the Moots Mortals (namely eh and uh) beg for…the kind of personalized Awesome one might expect from AwesomePsycles.
Trouble with all this organized Awesome, we couldn’t seem to locate our EXTRAS.

The bonuses, premiums…royalty…something about a rubberized tool sheath constructed of genuine cat (woman) suit.

Perhaps at the bottom.

Obviously an error.

Adding injury to insult, somebody is going to have to collate the fucking packets all over again.

All was not lost.
As curator of those there straps, one was procured to replace my ‘traditional’ modus attachamente.

Could it replace colour coordinated electrical tape?

Who?
I might just have to send the damn things back, they are clearly defunctive.