Two (perhaps I am permitted one a year, therefore) quibbles:
One forbidden act here is the yawn in public. Every day I see someone perform amazing calisthenic repression--this in a culture which simultaneously rewards facial hurdles. Quirks in verbal expression born on a small obsessively manicured island half a world away. Go ahead and Yawn. All part of my diabolical plan.
You're very polite, really you are. But here in the capitol city, inside the make-believe walls that keep away the bogans from the wop-wops, there lurks a more sinister foe. One that seems to fester in curliecue redolence in the wake of all these 'regards' and 'Ta's'. A bitter whispered secret which occupies far too much of your lovely days. I've worked with trash-mouthed queens and potty-mouthed boy-men, and ya'll need to give it a rest. Dahlink.
Ah, that's better.
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