It is, as my friend Michael suggests, “plot gravy.”  With lumps, no less.  I could string a further series of cliches together and still not clarify the situation.  Murkiness prevails.  It practically rules.

There are so many mystery ingredients in the mix that it goes way beyond pot luck.  I’m dealing with master manipulators here.  There is no immediate respite, although the goose is almost cooked.

Till then, it simmers – bubbling slowly on life’s stove, threatening to explode.

Tuber or not tuber, that is the question.
The answer: I yam what I yam, and no, I am NOT a sweet potato!
Sorry folks, this is the result of one too many late night at work. The giddiness is setting in and absconding with my weary synapses.
My kingdom for a neurotransmitter!