I don’t remember this room being this cramped. For crying out loud, what did they do to this place? Where’s my plastic furniture? I was weeks collecting that bedroom set!
Oh well … there’s bound to be a few glitches in any complex negotiation. The important thing is, we’re back, baby! We’ve won the right to squat in our beloved Cheney Hammer Mill once again. And when I say “beloved”, well … that’s a relative term. Next to the potting shed we’ve been crammed into all summer, the mill is a veritable palace. Sure, we have to share it with lunatics, but even that’s not unprecedented. (Just take a look through our back pages and you’ll see what I’m talking about.)
All that said, there are a few restrictions on what we’re going to be able to do as residents of the mill from here on out. Maybe it was a mistake to deputize Anti-Lincoln as our chief negotiator with the crazy upstairs neighbors. Our main thought was that he was, after all, an old country lawyer … or the antimatter equivalent of one. It’s that second element we didn’t fully consider. Antimatter country lawyer means the opposite of country lawyer … so, I don’t know … city outlaw? In any case, Anti-Lincoln didn’t come away with the better part of THAT deal.
So this is what we have to deal with:
No Tap Dancing. Okay, this shouldn’t be a problem for anyone except Marvin (my personal robot assistant), who has brass feet and sounds like he’s tap dancing when he’s just walking across the floor.
No Cops. Again, not a problem for most of us … in fact, a positive benefit for some … like Anti-Lincoln, who is (as mentioned earlier) an outlaw.
No Boiled Asparagus. This is getting up my nose a bit. Unfortunately, when I complained about it, our nasty neighbors stuffed raw asparagus up my nose.
Mandatory Clapping for Fireworks. I think I may have mentioned that our upstairs neighbors love a nice fireworks display. Apparently they want to spread the love around a little. And when I say “spread”, what I really mean is enforce through the power of contract law.
No Loose Coins. I can’t figure this one out at all. They prefer that we use paper money. What the hell am I going to do with that barrel full of quarters I’ve been filling since third grade? That’s my retirement, people!
Those are the highlights. There’s more, but I’ll save it until I locate my plastic side table. Thieves!
