Pool_1

>> Signs <<

It wasn't that things went suddenly bad no matter how it seemed. There were warnings, or at the very least - oddities. Doctor Wagner, the Lucious W. Wagner, MD, running off with his secretary? Him? The prude of prudes? Hardliner of harliners? Hypocrites' personal archangel? The very thought was juicy. People just wanted to swallow that hook. And besides, she did have legs up to her neck and great knockers. And her? What did a young chippie see in that crusading old fart? Money. Yeah, he had some. But enough for a really hot babe to trade in her goods? And, where'd they go? Where could they go? Did that gel? It did if you wanted it to and forced the incongruities to just melt away into think-fog. Sure there were all sorts of papers scattered about which indicated a hot and sordid relationship. But why was that kind of shit so easy to find when the really important stuff, the stuff Wagner was known for, was nowhere to be found? Took it with him? A man succumbs to pussy and takes along key legal documents for his plunge. Doesn't anybody think? No. Sorry, the correct answer is no. No. They don't. Not if the facts aren't biting them on their own asses. Weird shit could have, should have, served as omens. See? The problem with portents is that you have to be cued in, primed, receptive. Involved. Even then, you have to be instructed in the fine points to even notice them. Now, right there, that's a big drawback, along with ambiguity. So let's say, for instance, when you, Pharaoh, hot shot decision maker for the worlds first great power, are suddenly up to your dufuss head dress in frogs, do you call a French chef? Really. What the hell do you make of a frog plague? Uh oh, frogs. One bitchin load of them. Does that do anything for you? Do frogs everywhere EVER mean