Weapons-grade Vocabulary.

My stomach is in my throat right now. It’s trying to spit acid on the parts of my brain that remember reading that message. – RecklessPrudence

(#00300)

It had been an ordinary chat in Shayde’s office until Blenkinsop arrived with the lead-lined lockbox.

“Oh joy, it’s a nastygram from Greater Deregulation. Fan-fookain’-tastic…” She got out and donned a pair of gloves, goggles, and a filter mask.

Then, with ceremony and aplomb, carefully opened the box.

Blenkinsop hid behind Rael in his chair.

Never before had a paper envelope been treated with such clinical care.

There were no suspicious powders. No vectors for infection. Yet Shayde was behaving if this letter, printed on expensive cellulose, was radioactive.

“Eff, eff, see, bee,” she recited. “Dubya, zed… that’s a new one… Ex? Yikes.”

It took Rael a few minutes to realize that she was reading the initials of the expletives. “Just how toxic is this… ‘nastygram’?” he wondered.

“Last time I mmmm read one?” said Blenkinsop. “My stomach rebelled and mmmm attempted to kill my brain.”

“Boils down tae 'die in a fire’. They’re slackin’ off this week.”

“What did you do to offend Greater Deregulation?” Rael boggled.

“I breathe,” answered Shayde.

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