raw eggs broken, indigestible omelette (too many cooks)

Sorry ma’am but killing your son in the afternoon was an unavoidable eventuality I’m afraid. His destiny lay in that abstract manipulation magic, the mediocre medium of fog of war board room dominance is the message, the only thing apprehended was the managerial depravity, apparently necessary ignorance of inconvenient reality. The relativity of the situation, the ethic conflagration inundation, mortifies a million zipped up lips massacring mouths making conscience-breaking remarks, vainly shaping circumstance to fit the perfect recipe.

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