We have all, at least once in our lifetime, experienced that one particular kind of individual, the sort of irritating and difficult fellow inclined to make affairs incredibly uncomfortable, but in a manner decidedly arranged to ensure it is extraordinarily problematic to know exactly whom their annoying, difficult, disguised, snide and inappropriate selves might really be.
Yes, I understand this all seems terribly vague and singular, but is of course simultaneously obvious and multiplicitous, hiding in plain sight being the clearest way to remain unobserved. Straight talk is invariably circuitous, leading the most forthright opinion to become deviously calculated, illusory events matter of fact, painful experience voided of all feeling. Passion so commonly reflects our apathy, immediacy ensuring consistent delay in any movement. Shakespearean tragic prose inclusive of dull Gilbert and Sullivan libretto, the flowery and highbrow imitating perfectly topsy turvy pantomime.