The fine art of making excuses

The fine art of making excuses which achievement, deportment, endorsement, and indictment (more serious than rigging an election) jump/kickstarts (a divine comedy of errors) not reason enough to be deported), but necessitates more than a facile effort linkedin to a working knowledge of familial genetics ofttimes discovering, revealing, and unearthing locked up figurative ghosts in the closet, and/or shocking insights courtesy vis a vis mapping lineage of descendents whose deferment being proactive when deciding with absolute zero or very little shadow of a doubt versus someone analogous to yours truly (me), who offtime fumferes concerning the course of action one will assertively, decidedly, and proactively take and keep to their word, whether the issue in question rather classed as superficial, I will iterate after writing a particular for instance as follows. When asked (courtesy the missus) if I ever plan to use the new hair brush purchased at CVS a short time after getting substantial lovely locks clipped, yours truly responded "when my hair gets long again" despite promising myself that donning the guise of a baby boomer long haired pencil neck geek got nipped in the bud, but subsequently (hypocritically) explaining to her the necessity to practice making excuses lest one forget the delicate art to thwart due diligence to maintain irresoluteness. Whether avoiding taking figurative bull by the horn stance, (particularly risky business if one happens to be the matador enraging a monster red eyed bull by waving red cape in front of said animal - analogous to Ke-mo sah-bee) or evading asking Bill Thurman, a portly non ambulatory resident here at Highland Manor, (whose Tuxedo patterned therapy feline one of the most common coat colors for shelter kitties - a bicolor also called piebald cat with white fur combined with fur of some other colour, for example, solid black, tabby, or colour pointed named Corbin an affectionate loveable kitty, who administers love bites), who rightfully owes me five dollars for asking me to clean his carpet, but hate to remind said person, cuz he promised to pay me, and would rather he square the marginal debt (rather than triangulate him by circling round the issue courtesy the missus) of his own volition, and thus resorted to communicate with him telepathically, and perchance a whim will prompt him to leave a voice and/or text message gently coaxing poet of Perkiomen Valley (me) to lend him a helping hand such as withdrawing cash from an ATM machine or whisking boxes away to be recycled or reused at Liberty Thrift store or Worthwhile offering perfect opportunity to jog his memory nonchalantly.