Obviously he knows something we don't

The Romanian delegate seems, by all rights, a reasonably intelligent person. He is an engineer, with a Master’s degree. It can’t always be said that engineers, particularly those with higher degrees, are completely sane, but it’s pretty much a given that they are smart. Maybe it has something to do with growing up in a communist country, where critical thinking is not highly prized, especially under a dictator like Nicolae Ceauşescu. It’s hard to tell. What is evident, however, is that the Romanian delegate seems to believe just about anything that anyone tells him (for instance, parsley).

He mentioned the other day something called “biorhythms,” which he said he uses to predict his energy level and general health on a daily basis. Thinking that this was something that would interest the local envoy, he sent a link, so she could see for herself the wonders of biorhythms. This link was dutifully forwarded to the PRL Delegate, who has no natural rhythm, and thus will take all the biorhythm she can get.

Using your birth date as the only data input, an obscure and undoubtedly devilishly complicated program produces a lovely set of color-coded sine waves, from which you apparently can determine whether or not it is safe to go to work (“If your waves, they are very high or very low, you should stay at home, in the bed, because you could have heart attack or stroke”). The PRL delegate was surprised to learn that while she felt rather average (if a bit tired) today, her sine waves were all peaking, and as such she should be “manic” and confined to bed, lest she give herself an aneurism if she so much as sneezed.

This was a distressing find, as this delegate had already committed to a strenuous interval of aerobic exercise during the lunch break, and to back out would have caused her to look like a pansy-pants. Frantically, she consulted the site’s other magical calculators, and was given a list of words that might be used to describe her day.

(if your parsley breakfast didn't give you super-vision, clicky for a large version)

Drama! Hell! Sacrifice! Exhaustion! Slaughter! Syzygy! Even the words were against her today!

What about the runes? Maybe the runes could give her some good news!

(Again with the clicking)

Oh no! Was she throwing her life away on a game of chance with her cerebral artery? Did the rune indicate her loss of consciousness from brain trauma if she worked out, or her loss of self-esteem from being a pansy-pants who skipped out on it? Why couldn’t the stars, or whatever it is that controls the mystical website, give her a straight answer? This was a matter of life or death or floral trousers!

Maybe in her panic, she missed something in the list of words! Frantically, she scrutinized the nouns for another insight into her plight, and like a bolt of wisdom from the mysterious website deities, she finally understood. Her world was suffused with calm and enlightenment. The walls buzzed with the harmonic vibration of understanding. Then the industrial equipment just outside her office turned off, and the shaking stopped.

Mercenary Oyster Stallion.

Obviously everything was going to be okay.