But what if GRETCHEN does mind a bit...

Well then, I would have to foreTinker about my own brain in order to trampsificationalize some strength out of her predetermined will not to accept my Mirth. She prefers that I am grimly and utterly uncheerful for the lot I've pulled down of the extravangantly shelved and boxed set of circumstances that I hail from. She's not about to supply me with her too few and ner highly cuoff'd and bow'd boxes all with regalia and stuffed to the gills. She will want it up front that my lousy life hath no offering to make your extravagantly seldom said set of details come out on any climb for more shelf space. So there you have it Gals. Whence'd the blame for stratagem fails YE, it's for you not having placed your higher level'd experiences on the bottom shelf'd wrung, that SHE can lower her eyes at that tableau of terminal ailment and suffice it to a level for not wanding any will to chanter/blaat or churble yer fate against her high ones which shall not need for any 'glowing' ner e'en thr 'going thar', and that you'll never have to produce any proof that there are higher shelves in your bucket for throwing out all the life in your brains and heart you will overly champling at a bit ner byte with will to share. Get it out of your system. They CAN't CARE. They don't have space for it in the brain, even if there was some on the shelve around behind the cowardice stashed into need little piles behind YOUR ever so lightly piled cans o Mirth now dearthing.