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Who else but the nefarious, hooded Time Keepers in their Chrono-Castle built just on the other side of the hours has the power to compel you to wake up an hour earlier than you did yesterday? Does your spouse have that power? Your children, your boss, your God?
You will recognize your master by his bushy eyebrows and his jeweler's loupe.
(It's probably important to note that this conspiracy extends past clockmaker-controllers to retail establishments spread throughout the land expressly designed to collect, store, and redistribute one's personal time. Walgreen's, for example, routinely tells me that they need ten to fifteen minutes to "finish up" a prescription, regardless of when the prescription is called in. The time I spend wandering the store or avoiding the odors of the opiate-eaters is shoveled into the semi-trucks idling in the alley behind the pharmacy. And Stride Rite Kids, who boxed up the wrong pair of shoes and thus ensured a second whole trip to the mall on a rainy day? Surely they packed our wasted hours tightly into a parti-colored shoebox placed high out of reach on one of the storeroom's furthest shelves for later transubstantiation into gold, uranium, or a Clive Cussler paperback...)
My mind's been psychedelicized.
1 comment:
You know to much....
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