No rhyme, no reason, just jollification

“Set the diflugulator to maximum ungerscrunch.”
“Done.”

A booming hum throb of pulsation.

“Crank up the turdledonk slowly… slowly.”
“Check.”

A rainbow cascade conflagration.

“Now let me adjust the peddlequanch settings.”
“Methinks one more peddlequanch notch and it will reach the kloddflack peak.”

A whistling jet stream in exhalation.

“Good, very good.”
“Careful, we must not exceed the gumbletunt threshold.”

A squeal of steel for want of lubrication.

“Maybe a touch of oiggleflipoil?”
“I concur.”

A few drips here and there for mollification.

“Perfect.”
“Wonderful.”

A silence full of admiration.

“So what is it?”
“It’s a… it’s a…”

A frantic ruminate for stimulation.

“It’s an Iscranulder Vermantic Pasdockall Device!”
“How absolutely magnificent.”

A dual deep sigh of appreciation.

“So what does it do then, what is its purpose?”
“Is it not obvious?”

A desperate search for inspiration.

“Do you know yourself?”
“Unreservedly I do. Can you not deduce its function?”

A subtle state of indignation.

“How it works, yes; what it does, no. Please, a hint?”
“A hint! You are a Scientist and a Fellow of St Bartleby College, just as I am. You, Sir, should not need a hint!”

A barbed retort of professional assassination.

“Indeed, Sir, are you doubting my Fellowship of St Bartleby College?”
“I neither cast nor reel in aspersions.”

A charged air bursting with vexation.

“Cup of tea?”
“Please, yes.”

A golden brew of conciliation.

“Nothing better than a fine sip of the Earl Grey.”
“Indubitably.”

A so British response for social salvation.

“I see that you admire those old boots by the stove. They are a reminder from my discerning wife to keep my feet firmly planted upon the floor.”
“Aha, my good lady is also of the same mind set.”

A pause as each considered their spouses lack of appreciation.

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