I must relate this story to you (oh myriad of three followers, myself included), despite being accused of simply attempting to pass time that would otherwise be filled staring emptily at the clock, the red clock with a gold band, the one that doesn’t work in Kupang, Indonesia. That clock. The accusation just declared, noneless by myself, has some merit, although difficulty may be had in getting the clockful evidence to attend court, not least because at least two of the three of ye know little of its place and station, and the third unwilling to disclose its location for fear of prosecution.
Accusations and counter-arguments aside, I shall proceed with this mighty task of championing the cause and person of Sir Robert.
You see, or rather you read or may already know, Sir Robert has this particular gift of naming ridiculously detailed future events, at times up to a week in advance. Whether it is a gifting or merely voices in his head is yet to be determined, which is not to say that voices in one’s head cannot count as gifts or that they should be given the designation ‘merely’. While they are often considered talents, they should not be, since talents come from within, voices from without.
The story develops, and will proceed to an anti-climax shortly. Rob declared that he would catch a particular species of tuna at a specific location (no less, a Global Positioning Something specific location), within a particular timeframe (for the boat was moving at a pace similar to this pericope), facing a particular direction. And he did.
I promised you a triumphant story of the exploits and skills of Sir Robert. I have done that. I promised a speedy anti-climax. I have also done that. God bless you and, if appropriate, goodnight.
