Friday, August 26, 2005

Terminal



There is a special little corner of hell reserved for all us.

Did you ever wonder what it would feel like to be stuck at LaGuardia for 4 hours after JUST missing your boss' G4?
It feels like this:

Each bite of "Chicken Strips" tastes tantilizingly like Cipriani's octopus carpaccio.

The crisp notes, bright bouqet, and earthy finish of your Miller Light brings to mind the Sancerre you're not having.

The polyeurethaned bar stool currently contributing to your inevitable curvature of the spine brings to mind - in SHARP contrast - the plush comfort of the G4's corintean leather captain's chairs, deftly ably to angle to a perfect 78 degrees for maximum DOZING.

The delicate over-the-counter perfume of the small shiny woman currently sloshing beers on your laptop brings about an olfactory hallucination of the robust, buxome swede who's just happy to SERVE you.

All of THIS, dear reader, and the promise of a soaked, hurricane-tossed celebrity-clusterfuck on the other end. Positively Yummy!

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