Stamping the Night Shift

I slipped back inside after conquering the garden reel, ready to issue tonight's executive orders. Up on the dark wooden desk, sitting right beside an open inkpad, was a heavy rubber date stamp with ribbed rotating dials. An undisputed ruler does not leave records unsigned. I dropped into an athletic crouch, gripped the heavy wooden handle with both hands, and hoisted the entire stamping block upright. Hopping onto the inked red sponge to coat the rubber type, I pivoted with full leverage and brought the stamp down hard onto the corner of a clean notepad. A crisp red mark declared my sovereign curfew sealed.