New from dyslexic temple mount

New from dyslexic temple mount... of one mortal university undergraduate built in madly the brainchild of one Forest Hadley an a Ford able game paid top dollar after being purchased by Milton Bradley called Dodge the Old Farts. A favorite game I (and the wife) play here at Highland Manor originated by yours truly (me) and the spouse soon after we moved here eight years ago July first two thousand and twenty five, and entails a bit of strategy and skulduggery to avoid the poor sniveling souls. We slink and slither along the halls of what used to be Schwenksville Elementary School, a building erected in 1969, repurposed as a low income facility for indigent and disabled penniless senior citizen bankers. The habitual behavior of each resident (including me - a fluffless matted married Scottish Unitarian, who writes these words) can be predictable after espying each and every one of us exiting from or returning to their/our respective apartment unit and take appropriate preemptive measures to avoid crossing paths with a wheezing geezer, which near impossible mission to avoid a close encounter of the third eye blind kind and I would zealously, personally, and gladly willingly allow, enable and provide myself to get voluntarily abducted by an extraterrestrial from the outer limits of the twilight zone, where dark shadows signal the edge of night. As a for instance unspoken and unwritten coda when passing a fellow tenant in the hallway or elsewhere on the property without acknowledging the old fogey perhaps gnawing on an unlit stogie (since Highland Manor Apartments purportedly a smoke free environment) courtesy a friendly hello essentially blatantly ignoring hypothetical resident registered as a fait accompli for insubordination within the historical contractual obligation established and signed with blood upon first setting foot within the premises (even on the periphery of the border demarcating property brothers demesne) recorded as dirty deeds done dirt cheap accordingly and hashtagged with a black mark as a major flagrant violation of lease and legal grounds to be sent to the most strict penal penitentiary punished with penile solitude for life, which for one generic solitudinarian christened Matthew Scott Harris, (who also considers himself a latitudinarian, nonestablishmentarian, sexangenarian and Unitarian), would be considered a stately and heavenly lock haven surrounded by pristine waters of Lake Woebegone that power a gristmill, where the inmates process powder milk biscuits. Though hyperbole incorporated regarding the above couched subliminal messages bearly written between the lions, I do attest that many of the senior citizens here at above named low income housing facility if felt snubbed automatically lament being ignored and feel indignant against whoever chooses not to reciprocate courtesy a pleasant superficial friendly seasons greeting and takes as a personal affront not being recognized as a very important person.