Anne, I do, indeed, have in my possession a somewhat defective chocolate bar--the correct nomenclature, I believe--for something that might under other circumstances shoot the ears off an Easter Bunny.
Inasmuch as the police here are not permitted to accept gratuities--speaking of gratuities, where's Spazz, who is very likely a gratuity herself--except from businessmen on their beats who hope to increase the attention given their shops.
For that reason I cannot offer the chocolate bar to the chief of police as I wished because I might be arrested for the act of carrying it to him. I am unable to telephone the chief anonymously for two reasons: (1) The Patriot Act prevents one's doing anything anonymously, and (2) Bureaucrat's telephone ladies act as 7-headed dogs to prevent anyone's getting through to their bosses.
Thus, I am hoodwinked, hamstrung, and hogtied. Perhaps the correct move would be to give the candy to someone I despise but they are all on the other board and inaccessible to me. Another would be to feed the chocolate bar to the neighbor's dog, causing her to contract worms and drag herself in agony across the lawn.
Therefore, I suppose I have to leave it to George Orwell to invent a condition under which, as with Neverspeak, the chocolate had never hit the mold and remains in an immense cauldron in Hershey, Pennsylvania (not to be confused with John Hersey who invented Adano).
I hope this clarifies the situation.
[Billy did not participate in the creation of this post and for all I care does not endorse its content.]
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