I'M Not Actually Sorry About That Pun...

A 1-post collection

Challenge #00087: My Apologies for the Pun

End with this sentence: “No matter what happened after, no one could ever say he’d been subtle about it all.”

Public forums like this were what Clayton Endicott had been born for. He had worked hard to reach his station in the Galactic Standards Committee and his people - humans in general and the people of Earth in particular - needed his voice today.

He was going to filibuster the living spit out of the Generic Food Standards bill. His financiers demanded it. His people had a right to enjoy the food they wanted. Not the food they needed. And they certainly deserved the food they could afford.

He had his reader full to the brim with studies and testimonials and data. Enough to keep the Committee busy for weeks if he had to. And a bottle of water to keep his mouth agile during his anticipated hours at the lectern.

It’s all fun and games until someone loses an ‘Aye’…

He would preach, he would pontificate, he would talk until there was blood.┬áNo matter what happened after, no one could ever say he’d been subtle about it all.

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