"Only four years ago," she thought, smacking the Telemind sharply. It reluctantly agreed to breathe gently. "Now if Melin and Forsander had joined with the Carp Minority Tribe supporters they might be alive today, or at least employed."
Slowly, she shifted her skin-grafted Smegophone to a more comfortable position in her lap, absentmindedly stroking the alarm orifice. Her fingers twitched spasmodically as a Sensory Seven pill erupted in her secondary abdomen, signalling that a pneu-alien force had taken up space in the neighboring time-floss zone.
"Conlog, conlog!" screeched the Telemind, drawing her attention back to the first sentence. "Your Key to Proximity pneu-rated at ‘hopelessly overmulled;’ suggest reevaluation of Karmora, Treflin, credit rating. You thank me."
Chagrin welled up inside of her plastonose as she discovered that, sure enough, her Proximity Key, which she had left coconsciously to the Disaporasor for an extra Earth-week, conspicuously registered ‘hopelessly overmulled’ in glowing white numeralphics.
"Well, there goes the neighborhood," she thought bitterly, "unless I can get Paroofa to put a lien on my plant."
Anxiously, she hummed his number into the Telemind.
"What’s your Key to Proximity?" buzzed a distant mechanical voice.
"Overmulled," thought Treflin.
"Is that ‘almost,’ ‘very,’ ‘inconsiderately,’ or ‘hopelessly’?"
"Hopelessly," thought Treflin, with some embarrassment.
"Somewhat sorry, but your communication cannot be completed at this time. Please prepare for electroshock penalty."
And before Treflin could degraft and discard the Telemind, her head and nose rocked from the impact of a long-wave Miserizer. ‘This simply will not do,’ she thought, as an overwhelming longing for a Memoryphone gave way to grumbling, troubled unconsciousness.