intro: No, this is not the one by Maimonides, so you can stop asking.
This segment, this week, is sponsored by the q.i. government branch of q.i. productions, who are struggling quite a bit with getting their feet under themselves, what with having to choose a national colour for the currency, and importing Swiss women to attract more citizens.
the story:
"Where were we?"
"You were claiming to have an answering machine. Do you know how to use it?"
"Wait, do you mean to imply disbelief, with that second question, still, that I don't have an answering machine?"
"No. I was geniunely interested."
"You sure you weren't insinuating anything?"
"Err... no."
"Sure?"
"Yes."
The grandparents were inconspicuous in their absence at this point, save for a small paragraph, and the fact that both people still in the room had forgotten completely about them, not the slightest thought of them again. Not a thought about whether or not they might be hiding behind the door, listening to the conversation that was going on, post-departure. Which worked out well, because they weren't hiding there, nor anywhere within listening distance.
"Right then, fine."
"Great."
"Ehm... actually, I did have a bit of a question."
"About what?"
"Well, this light keeps blinking, until I pull out the cord, the one leading to this power thing here, you wouldn't happen to know how to get that off, save poking it with a knife or anything, would you?"
The grandparents, had they been listening, surely would have had something to say about this latest turn of events.
Sadly, they were never given their voice, and were left to enjoy a couple of hamburgers down at the local hamburger stand in silence, until the old man broke the silence with some comment or another about the old woman's hair looking lovely tonight.
disclaimer:
Thus ends the story of the answering machine, and, for Samuel Johnson's sake, the moral of the story, of course, is never get caught in a room in which your grandparents might unexpectedly burst in. There are a few ways to safeguard against this sort of thing, quite a few of which are frighteningly expensive, but a good, thorough search prior to entering a room and keeping a good eye out when traveling the streets should suffice, to be honest.
One other thing, before we go for this week, and leave you to read your horoscope, reap whatever benefit your gain therein, and then sit idly by your computer, waiting for next Monday to roll around so you can get your email, or, if you live vicariously, just show up at this site, hoping and daring to believe that, without fail we'll show up again with another issue, and, when we do, rinse and repeat:
The q.i. government, sponsor of this week's issue, would like to thank you for your continued patience in their tardiness with the treatise promised some weeks ago. They've decided to hold off to gather a bit more information form other governments how it's done, and will be attending to their own needs in due time. In the meantime, you might wish to begin studying for the national driver's exam, which involves a special trick-driving portion, destined to be a true acid test of driving ability under pressure, whether it be fighting your spouse/significant other or a stark-raving mad chicken.
Yer Weekly Horoscopes. Ok, so the anniversary's over, nothing special this week.