[pshrynk]

Negotiations were closing on an agreement.

"Okay, so, I can play the music I want seventyfive percent of the time..."

"With exceptions.."

"With the exception of no ska, no yodeling, no Slim Whitman especially, no World Music unless it involves South African Male choirs, and no fourteenth century chants."

"And..."

"And no asking the M.A.R.V.I.N. what he wants to listen to."

"I heard that," came a flatly depressed voice from the depths of the Goose.

"That about does it. Now cut me down from here, I'm getting a migraine."

"You're the boss!"

At that moment, the line holding Harv upside down parted and he fell to the spongy ground below.

Vivaldi looked up at the frayed end of wool dangling high in the air. "I think that counts, don't you?"