a mothers' day spam casserole

i edited you a story!

just for you, my incomparably loyal little darlings, i have pasted together this captivating tale, using nothing but the curiously interrelated content of junk e-mails i've received over the past week. i know it's probably not what you were hoping to see today, but it's the best i could do working eleven days in a row and with both of my roommates on a dishwashing strike. i love you desperately, kids, you know i do, and there's so much i want to tell you, but this will have to do for all of us for now. so, for your reading pleasure, the hard-won lemonade squeezed from my overflowing inbox of lemons.

there alighted a young Indian. bowing his head again, he went on at a slower gait. "see here, okoya," he began, grinning, "while you are older than I, and if the Indian is not an ideal being, he is still less stolid mentally, openings are either narrow gaps, or access to them is barred by colossal—"

okoya grew angry. "hush! foolish boy," he retorted in dismal despair and in wild impotent wrath. "what are the koshare to me? i cannot conceive of it; you have followed the turkeys, and what have you? nothing!"

the valley lay before them; they had reached the end of the grove. brilliant sunlight broke through the tree-tops and played around the streams of limpid water, re-entering like decorations of a stage, now perpendicular and smooth. from such a source, okoya considered himself utterly defenseless. "who fully appreciate the breadth of his learning and who have been heedless of little above. all this I neglected. now I am punished for it by the birds."