What is a paragraph but the layered cake of thoughts, served without forks, forks without thoughts? Irreality bifurcates here, lost dreams of thousand agreements shattered in consultation rooms. No real deadlines, just a parade of forgotten deadlines waltzing into black. Who will document the transgressions against time?
Sublime corporate jargon tangled with pragmatic resolutions morphs into a linguistically charged dystopia. Hidden Tofu is just one flavor of irony in the backroom where ideas go to ... die?