The Conquest Machine

A man writes (he says, “in a partial snit,” (since his wife has temporary custody of their huff) and says he fears that even if he does quit telling other people what kinda guy he is, that he’ll ultimately have to apply it to the way he talks to himself also.

Everything’s
two dimensional
until a man looks at it.
(Even then,
most stuff
stays that way.)

They are always working on the Conquest Machine. (And do not ask who “They” are, unless you want to be either conscripted, dismissed or disappointed by vigorous events.)

In his continuing, hearty attempt to develop the undevelopable, this one chap is presently working on a form of “non-astringent revenge.”

One guy kinda whispered, “Oh, I can’t begin to tell you how many times I’ve thought this dirty little exciting secret,” and his partner replied, “Oh yes you can.”

J.