Some DFW Genius: The Answer Is In Quebec Or In Stars Above USA’s Blue

“But what of the freedom-to? Not just the freedom-from. Not all compulsion comes from without. You pretend you do not see this. What of freedom-to. How for the person to freely choose? How to choose any but a child’s greedy choices if there is no loving-filled father to guide, inform, teach the person how to choose? How is there freedom to choose if one does not learn how to choose?”

-David Foster Wallace, Infinite Jest, 30 April/ 1 May, Year of the Depend Adult Undergarment

Rant on.

-T

Rare Moment Where Line Of Right And Left Cross In Unceremonious Ceremony Of Misconstrued Cluster Fcuk

Update: Since posting there has been what the press is calling a leftist terror attack in the US. How convenient for the right, eh. I suppose another left-right line has been crossed because the perpetrator once volunteered for the presidential campaign of Bernie Sanders, who is a lefty (I guess). This type of violence in the US isn’t about political ideology as much as it is about a society run amok that has long since gone off the cliff of sanity. But I digress.

Liberalism is a political philosophy or worldview founded on ideas of liberty and equality. Liberals espouse a wide array of views depending on their understanding of these principles, but generally they support ideas and programmes such as freedom of speech, freedom of the press, freedom of religion, free markets, civil rights, democratic societies, secular governments, gender equality, and international cooperation.

-Wikipedia

First time watching the video above was odd. Second time I watched I felt uneasy. I watched it a third time to make sure that I watched it twice before. I’m a big Oliver Stone fan. Stephen Colbert is so-so. I oogle respect for Stone–even though I don’t like all his movies. Colbert is a good television corporatist and I’d rather have him up there than any of the other talkshow talkinghead $hitbags. But let me focus on Stone.

Among Oliver Stone’s great works, Platoon, JFK and W. are on my list of recommended must-see films–especially if you want to learn something about #americant. Whaaaaaaa? You mean you haven’t seen W.? Get on it, dear worst-reader! With that in mind, I eventually realised that watching Stone get into a pissing contest with a talkshow host isn’t the worst part of this video. I actually found some comfort in watching Stone stand by his conviction of being apolitical when it comes to dealing with that thing that is ruining the world for those of us who don’t have and nor do we want riches.

Ruining this world, you ask, dear worst-reader?

Indeed. Stone has done interviews slash documentaries on Hugo Chavez, Fidel Castro and now Vladimir Putin, among others. I’m worst-wondering, of those Stone has interviewed, does he have a preference for lefties? If so, is Stone somehow masking his desire perhaps to be a dictator? (Ha. Ha. Ha.) And by-the-buy, are these dictators from the political left? Perhaps my question is mute. Nonetheless.

I believe that the reason Stone does these interviews is to help the blissfully ignorant among us, i.e. those who would enable and facilitate political conservatism, i.e. those who have given the world #Trump and at the same time practically annihilated liberalism and now go about their bidness as though nothing is wrong–except for #Trump’s hair… blah, blah, blah…

In other worst-words, Stone makes these documentaries in order to provide some information which can then lead to knowledge that is otherwise unavailable and/or unattainable to the masses. For that we should all be thankful. What we shouldn’t be thankful for, of course, are confused talkshow hosts.

What is the difference between a conservative and a liberal? (Wiki definitions provided above and below.)

I remember when the conservative madness was peaking back in the late 1980s. I was in college and working odd jobs and wasting a lot of kisses on too many girls. Between the Iran-Contra affair and the S&L crisis, there was something in the air back then. It was a stench. The stench was (still is) conservatism. For the longest time I didn’t understand conservatism. But then came Rush Limbaugh. I read Rush’s first book and listened–for a while–to his radio show. One of the things Rush said that stuck with me–even to this day–is that Nazis were liberals. He went on about how conservatives, real conservatives, couldn’t do what the Nazis did. He even went as far as to claim that because Adolf Hitler was a failed artist and that Joseph Goebbels was a failure at everything except running his mouth, Nazis had to be liberals. This is the reason I can’t watch faux newz, dear worst-reader. Conservatives turn things around, up-side-down, in-and-out, force black to be white and white to unicorn purple, etc. Only a conservative mind can claim and try to rationalise the idear that Nazis were liberals.

Liberals are hippies, dude. That’s all they really are. Thank goodness not all of them want to smoke dope and lay around all day. But they do want justice. They want justice all the time. That’s it.

-worstwriter

There is obviously a fine line between right & wrong when it comes to things like power and money and status and position in this world. I can tolerate that. What I can’t tolerate is when someone looses his or her way simply because he or she can’t tell the proper time on a clock that is wrong twice a day. Colbert’s attempt to attack Stone because he thinks Stone is sympathising with Putin is a grand mistake. Colbert obviously can’t see for himself that Stone’s documentary is a way to inform the blissfully ignorant. To Stone it doesn’t matter if who he interviews is from the right or the left. I feel somewhat embarrassed for Colbert that he obviously doesn’t know that. Colbert crosses the line not unlike conservatives cross lines–all the time. The saddest part, as history has shown us, is that I’m not sure a blissfully ignorant audience can handle this. Indeed. The conservative stench is blinding.

Conservatism is a political and social philosophy that promotes retaining traditional social institutions in the context of culture and civilization. By some definitions, conservatives have variously sought to preserve institutions including religion, monarchy, parliamentary government, property rights and the social hierarchy, emphasizing stability and continuity, while the more extreme elements called reactionaries oppose modernism and seek a return to “the way things were”. The first established use of the term in a political context originated with François-René de Chateaubriand in 1818, during the period of Bourbon restoration that sought to roll back the policies of the French Revolution. The term, historically associated with right-wing politics, has since been used to describe a wide range of views.

-Wikipedia

Rant on.

-T

Über Health Insurance Money To Burn Equals Butcher Doctors Galore

doctors recommended treatment
The doctor post-it treatment recommendation.

About ten years ago I got a nasty tick bite between my big toe and my pointer toe on my left foot. I was doing some garden work visiting family in my beloved #americant and I wore sandals when I should have worn boots. Although I managed to get the tick off without much hassle, the swelling and puss coming out of the wound that was left behind became unbearable by the next morning. I jumped in my rental car and drove to a wal-mart-like clinic in town that my sister recommended. When asked by the receptionist if I had insurance I told her I did but that I lived in Germany. Looking at my insurance card she said, “Oh, I don’t even know where to begin with a language like that.” I then told her that depending on the cost, I’d rather pay directly. “Oh, ok then,” she said. “I need a credit card.” I gave her my German credit card and took my place among the many in the waiting room and filled out the patient questionnaire. Eventually a young Indian doctor helped me by opening the tick bite, cleaning it out and giving me some antibiotics. “Within a day or two you will be right as rain,” he said. Upon leaving the clinic, the receptionist charged my credit card eighty dollars.

I got hit in the knee by a van in the early afternoon last Thursday while riding my bike. The pain and swelling made me go to a nearby emergency room that same evening. Hoping only to get an x-ray to see if I had broken anything, I entered an ordeal that ended up consuming days, hours in waiting rooms and numerous doctors that confused me more than when confronted by Pam Anderson speaking Chinese. As of the worst-writing of this worst-post, I’ve had x-rays, CT scans and even my first MRI. I’ve been given crutches, a leg brace and even some sodium-something-or-other that I’m self injecting to prevent thrombosis because I’m not supposed to move my left leg.

anti thrombosis injection

As you may or may not know, dear worst-reader, Germany has a fairly decent national healthcare system. If you were to ask me if I utilise that system I would answer: fcuk no! Reason for the expletive is another post. Reason that I’ve always been a skeptic regarding national health insurance systems will be dealt with in the rest of this worst-post.

Indeed. After all the care I’ve been given regarding my knee in the past few days only two things stand out about the whole ordeal.

  1. I will not see a doctor bill for all the care I’ve been receiving and I wish I could/would see it.
  2. No one. And I mean no one in this (sarcasm on) amazing (sarcasm off) healthcare system has asked me once about how it came to be that I was hit by a van while riding my bike.

But before I get too deep into bitching & moaning about Germans and how the only thing they have to offer the world is über-priced luxury mass produced cars driven and designed by idiots, let me just say this: the German national healthcare system sucks! It sucks batballs. It blows horny goat-mules that have herpes on their penises. If German healthcare were a duck I’d shoot it with my twelve gauge and cook it up in a witches pot only to throw it away and bury it to prevent others from eating it. Then I’d gorge on self-pity-candy till I throw up unicorn puke. Oh. And I hate things.

Or maybe not.

I warned my better half after the initial emergency room visit after that fcuking van hit me that I would have to be careful regarding my care. “I’m not worried about the costs, honey, of course. But I am worried about what THEY could do to me,” I said. My better-half laughed and smirked as only a well-off German, spoiled by the spoils of The Marshall Plan, can. By the end of my initial emergency room endeavour things were clear: there was a limit to how much care I would get and, more importantly, on whose terms that care would take place. And so, they took some x-rays of my knee. From the x-rays they thought I had a tibial plateau fracture but said, because of lack of personnel, I would have to come back in the morning to get a CT scan, which would show more bone detail. I returned bright and shinny the next morning and, without much wait, got my CT scan. Conclusion? No fracture. Then the doctor in the hospital recommended a MRI scan to see if there was soft tissue damage. When the doctor tried to arrange the MRI she came back saying that I would first have to go to a regular doctor. Obviously the hospital had booked what it could off my insurance up to that point and obviously reached a limit. In order to get the further care–that they were recommending–I would have to go to another (different) doctor. Yeah, that makes sense. Or? They either work like a team or they work in collusion. I found a local orthopaedic doctor online. Let the circus begin!

The orthopaedic specialist, without even examining me, gave me a prescription for an MRI of my knee. Should I be thanking the heavens now, I thought. Because of demand, though, I would have to wait till June 20 to get the MRI done. Oh really! Luckily my neighbour was a radiologist and could squeeze me in at her hospital the next day. I only had to wait till Monday to return to the orthopaedic specialist with the new pictures. Bright and early on Monday I waited a full hour and a half in his waiting room. When I finally got to see the doctor–again without ever even touching my knee–he was reading from the MRI report–he never even looked at the pics–he recommended an operation to fix some minor cartilage damage.

Whaaaaaaaaa!

“But doctor, don’t you even want to look at my knee?”

He arrogantly pointed to the document from MRI doctor. At the same time he was massaging the back of his throat with the temple tips of his rimless glasses. He sat down in the exam room while I remained standing.

“But doctor, when I was younger I didn’t treat my knees well as I wasted a great deal of intellectual time playing highschool sports in suburban hell #americant and chasing girls. Till my mid-thirties I regularly jogged five to eight miles three or four times a week and also ran away from girls. I had to give up jogging because of a bone cyst that had developed on my left achilles which I got from an injury when I was young–running away from girls. By my early forties I had learned that my left leg was two centimetres shorter (or longer?) than my right leg–and this was caused by marriage and no longer running away from girls. Since my late forties I’ve been limping regularly, especially after heavy rains and three divorces…”

“Wait. Please, please,” the doctor said. “I would recommend two doctors for the operation on your knee. One of the doctors might be a problem to schedule because of your insurance. You don’t have good insurance. The other doctor will do it but it may take a year before he can.”

Whaaaaaaaa!

Let’s be clear here. I have the right as a blogger and useless eater to bitch & moan about everything. Yet why do I favour paying eighty dollars at a wal-mart-like clinic than having a system pay thousands upon thousands of Euros for care that ultimately has nothing to do with caring? Obviously it’s not right to compare a tick bite to a meniscus injury. So I guess what I’m really getting at is the fact that I have great health insurance yet when I consider what it is that doctors do with that insurance I get pissed off as though nothing is… right as rain.

Without even touching my knee or asking a question about how I felt or even how I got to his clinic that morning the only thing the doctor with the fancy Porsche could come up with was that I needed an operation.

Butchers. They are all fcuking butchers.

doctors parking spot
You know what they say: someone’s gotta pay for the priority parking of the doctor’s Porsche.

Would you believe that at his clinic there are no parking spaces for patients but he has a lone spot near the front entrance of his clinic. Now don’t get me wrong. I don’t care what kind of car a doctor can afford to pay interests rates on. I’m seriously not a class fighter here. I’m just pissed off at the fact that a national healthcare system is ultimately nothing but a conduit for money transference galore.

Oh. As far as my knee is concerned. I can walk but I’m not ready to run. I can pedal a bike no problemo. There is still some swelling so I hope I don’t have an issue with water-on-the-knee. There is no acute pain only some stiffness. I’m wearing one of those fancy (and expensive) compression bandage/stockings that really does the trick.

Stay healthy, baby.

Rant on.

-T

Links that may or may not coincide with the post:

Glass Cliff, Glass Ceiling Or How Her Corporate Soul Is Made Of As Much Nothingness As His

glass shattered

I’ve always had a problem with motherhood being on a pedestal. Is it because I was hatched? Procreation is more of a disease than something worth a baby shower and the happy wonderland consequence that is the lie of family life. I suppose that could mean I’m only partly misogynistic or just General Schmuck. Anyone remember Schmuck? He was the undersecretary of the military that served in Patton’s underpants and it is said he was lost behind a tank that made a wrong turn while hunting Rommel in North Africa carrying both a victory flag and roll of red, white and blue toilet paper. Then again, I’ve got no prejudice in my life because loss and Victoria, a grand ole bitch I’ve been fcuking for years, won’t leave me till I’m dead. And you know what they say, eh, dear worst-reader? It takes two to blame one in this game of touch and feel and everything is ok. I mean, come on, would we (men) really go for the family thing if given a choice these days? Trust me. Hatching the future is definitely worth a try. Or would we rather run off to some war-of-choice with the booty of expensive gas to cruise our broken streets in our broken and never-paid-off cars? Oh, isn’t it obvious how we ( men?) have been tricked? Played? Jerked ’round? Obviously males did go for this back in the day. Back in the day when dragging multiple wives into caves by their hair and our knuckles was a worthwhile undertaking. An undertaking that is reflected so clearly in how the world works today for the corporate state. But I’m off subject. Or maybe not.

Oh yea–we were worst-discussing my prejudices.

And so #1a

I simply hate everybody and almost everything. With that in mind, there’s no reason to feel special if I call you out for a having uterus–and a mind incapable of dealing with it–especially considering how the outer part of the feminine sells that uterus.

And so #1b

I do not hate the perfect balance between man and the uterus machine–if it can be achieved–especially in that which is manifested in a perfectly tuned turbo-charged V–8 that when given the gas it presses uterus (Her) so completely to the back of the passenger seat that breasts poke out and beg the driver-male to play another game. Hence youthful if not teenage sexuality aloft in the sky full of your candy clouds. I also find perfection in pistachio ice cream slowly blended into Napoleon ice cream after fcuking the entire day while laying in a field of daffodils and quaker oats mixed in real maple syrup. Beyond that, I gladly and openly live the life of a humble and powerless cartoon-like monarch-god that is angry and bitter and ashamed–for the sake of shame. I only blame part of what I am on the other sex because of Her desire to lock males into the uselessness of romantic love run amok in a world where pornography earns more than (insert your industry of choice here). Pornography, btw, isn’t as profitable as it is just because men want to spank it all the time. Indeed #1.

And so #2

At the behest of my better-half, the Vladimir Putin of my life, I am a man destined, like Russia, to be ruled by two-bit dictators with tits. For that, like many Russians, I am thankful because I have been endowed with

  1. a well-careered wife and
  2. a society that couldn’t save itself from itself–if it had to.

And so #3

This life that has been chosen for me because society (or is it sobriety?) has no choices left. I consider this (life) as an endeavour that is not without career and corporatist leanings. Indeed #2. We are all a slave to something. I see first-hand the unjust behaviorisms that influences not only mine but my better-half’s life–and the life of so many around me that must or are so willingly employed by the man. But enough about alter egos, wishful thinking and the admiration I abhor of those who are have-mores in the corporate world of their have-choice. And so…

I came across a new piece of feminism v emancipation yesterday: Glass Cliff. Would you believe, dear worst-reader, I had never heard of the glass cliff–until yesterday? I’ve heard of the glass ceiling, thanks to you-know-who. But the glass cliff…

The glass cliff is a term that describes the phenomenon of women in leadership roles, such as executives in the corporate world and female political election candidates, being likelier than men to achieve leadership roles during periods of crisis or downturn, when the chance of failure is highest.

As far as the origin of this nonsense?

While reading an article about the demise of Uber the other day, i.e. a corporate tech entity that is nothing if not a smart-ass corporation to join all smart-ass corporations. It’s being said that a female might be picked to help them turn things around. Seriously? Hasn’t the industry learned by now? What? Marissa Mayer not enough? What about Carly Fiorina? Should I even go down the list of female superheroes that save the world and the men around them? No. Defiantly not. So here’s the thing.

Uber should be about connecting people with immediate mobility and thereby utilising the simplicity of modern technology. Instead it is a platform–a middleman, if you will–that tries to take advantage–or as corporate smart-asses like to put it: disrupt–the taxi industry. The platform on which this money is exchanged is the genius of Uber. Yet, like most who make money on a platform, they have forgotten that the platform must also have a purpose–other then their own greed. And I’m really rambling now.

When I discovered the term glass cliff my heart lost two more beats. I’m so sorry that the feminine not only has to deal with my bull$hit but also that of others–who are so much more than worst-moi.

Good luck, ladies.

Rant on.

-T

Links that motivated this post:

This post was created w/ writing software that utilises markdown and then uploaded to this blog; what the hell that means I have no idear. Good luck.

War On Terror. War On Drugs. War On Boobs. Amerika Fcuk Yea!

boobs

There you have it, dear worst-reader. Another law (ordinance?) has been created by the/a state so that you can be served the best quality juicy delight of governmental hard work that (in)humanity has to offer. And would you believe I’m actually from the place where this level of mindlessness happens–whether it’s about boobs or not? Nomatter.

Indeed.

Have no fear tax payer slash bank-bail-outter. Your laws are made daily–as if you didn’t know that–and you should be proud of those that make these laws–even if the law makers all sound like redneck truckers that just got out of a Ho-Chi-Minh movie drive-in that featured a barnbuster about how girls are raised by perfect mothers who hide their faces when their unknown fathers procreate on their fleshiness all in the name of good-times and a few drinkie-poohs while letting themselves go when visiting THE BEACH. (Nothing against truckers, by-the-buy.)

I mean #1, come on. It’s not as though there are more important things to do in the grandness of the greatest failed experiment in human stupidity.

I mean #2, aren’t laws the thing, i.e. legislation, that has given you (insert #) years of war and/or money transference to the rich? Laws have made your inner most Cinderella dreams come true and given you your beloved #Trumpism, too. Wow.

Can you say lack of voters, titties and electoral college three times real fast, dear worst-reader?

And when summer time comes ’round and the embarrassing nature of your humanity takes precedence–which you hide under strips of cloth–it’s time to wipe away the seriousness of death and murder and destruction–that is all these years of wars-of-choice and US treasury depletion at the hands of the thieving rich–because it’s time to deal with those luscious pillows, those fun-bags, those randy-dandies, those jugs… that turn the heads of boys and girls while you try and continue your cinderella nightmare-dream in the hideaway of a vacation your credit card will never be able to get paid. Or maybe not.

Let’s just move beyond all the worst-writing then, shall we. Oh. And heed this: naked man boobs rule!

Rant on.

-T

Links that motivated this post:

Random Moments Of Consumption Galore Or How To Get Your Kicks While On Route To 666

route us 666

Moments I recall that are all–must be?–part of today’s #americant opioid problem galore (see links below). The funny thing about this little list of recollections is that all the parties involved had something to do with Vegas. …I think.

Moment #1

While drinking a beer and waiting for an international flight at PHL a few years back I’m sitting between Cutie and Young Gun at a pub. Cutie asks if I’ve got any Speed because she doesn’t want to fall asleep on the plane before she arrives in Vegas.

“Speed?” I ask. “The last time I heard someone your age use that term I was working post production on the movie Vanishing Point?”

There is a pregnant pause while Young Gun on my other side rummages around in his shoulder bag and Cutie frivolously contemplates my response by turning her head to the side like a pug.

Cutie can’t be more than thirty-five and is dressed in expensive clothes that look as though they might come from Über-GAP. She’s thin, tight and probably walks on heels as though they are tennis shoes. She’s got a beautiful leather shoulder bag and one of those small Tumi rolling suitcases that’s glossy black. Since I’m on an evening flight to Europe I’m wondering why, with a five hour flight to Vegas, that will put her there in the early evening, she needs to be awake. Nomatter.

The pause is over and so is my mix with Cutie. Young Gun answers her question.

“I’ve got some Ritalin,” Young Gun says.

Cutie smiles and, as if I’m not even there, reaches across my face, the hair of her forearm is thicker than mine, and takes two pills out of Young Guns right palm. The pills have a dove engraving on one side and a sideways 8 on the other.

Moment #2

While visiting family in rural Virginia I’m out grocery shopping for the family dinner. I’m having a hard time finding wet mozzarella cheese in the huuuuugeness of the store. I make my over to the deli counter and stand in front of the glass next to a few people hoping I could get some answers and/or directions to what I’m looking for. Three clerks are desperately slicing and packing deli stuff behind the counter when I over hear two people waiting in line next to me, who obviously haven’t seen each other in quite a while, chit-chat.

Pseudo-Friend 1: It’s good you’ve been well. You look great.

Pseudo-Friend 2: Yeah, not always the case. But thanks.

Pseudo-Friend 1: Say, do you still have any of that… (I can’t make out what she says).

Pseudo-Friend 2: Sure. Got some right here. You want?

Pseudo-Friend 1: Oh. You’re a doll-baby. This is my day!

One of the clerks is talking to a customer she just gave sliced honeyed ham and mentions how she, unlike most people in the store that she is obviously referring to, isn’t gonna inherit anything like everybody else is. I can’t help but catch a glimpse of the clerks rotting teeth as she talks to much making other customers wait. I think to myself, this is 2015 America! Who has teeth here like our dentally challenged inbred cousins in Engaland? Deli clerks do. Obviously. Oh my. Should rotten teeth be in/around deli meats?

It’s Pseudo-Friend 2’s time to order. While rummaging through her purse she belts out the ounces for honeyed-ham, spiced turkey, salami and a few others. When she’s done ordering and the rotten teeth clerk goes about gathering it all, she finds what she’s looking for in her purse but before she takes it out she turns to me.

Pseudo-Friend 2: Bit nosey today, eh mister good-lookin.

Smiling at me she pulls a small plastic pouch out of her purse that is sealed with a twist tie. The pouch is filled with what looks like white crumbs mixed with powder. She then notices her error.

Pseudo-Friend 2: Oh wait. Wrong one.

She returns to rummaging in her purse but then pauses and puts one hand on the shoulder of Pseudo-Friend 1.

Pseudo-Friend 2: Don’t worry, I’ve got it. By the way, when were you last in Vegas?

Pseudo-Friend 1: Funny you should ask. I’ll be there tomorrow afternoon. I’m just buying my kids some supplies for the weekend. They just love the ham from this deli.

I notice Pseudo-Friend 1’s shopping cart is full of chips, frozen hamburger patties, paper plates, hotdog buns, relish, frozen pizzas, pickles, plastic containers full of potato salad, ketchup, mustard, mayo, etc., etc. Her cart alone is a fourteen year old’s dream. I guess.

Pseudo-Friend 2 removes another plastic pouch with a different colour twist tie. The pouch is full of at least twenty or so green pills. She hands the pouch to her pseudo-friend and then turns to me again.

Pseudo-Friend 2: What’s the matter, good-lookin, never seen the white rabbit before.

Pseudo-Friend 1 holds up the pouch for a few seconds so that I could inspect it. The pills all have the indentation of a rabbit.

Moment #3

Friends of my mother are having a family crisis. Because of an illness their son has been transferred to a hospital in Baltimore. When I hear them say that they are afraid to make the drive (they are very old) I volunteer to drive them. They are grateful. After I drop them off the hospital I park the car and proceed to take a walk around the city. I eventually find a coffee shop (yea, you know which one) and order a double espresso, a bottle of fizzy water and an oatmeal cookie. I find a window seat where I hope to take in the scenery of my beloved #americant and the vibrance I’ve been missing since becoming an expat a quarter century ago.

Within moments of sitting down, just after my first sip of espresso, two young people (mid-twenties maybe) sit at a table near me. They both have über large paper cups of what I guess are lattés. One of them has brought the sugar dispenser from the condiments table with him, including three or four wooden stirrers. One guy grabs the sugar dispenser and begins to fill his über-cup as though there is no tomorrow. The other takes one of the stirrers and stirs his latté with the same vehemance. The guy with the sugar has filled his cup so much that the frothy milk begins to overflow, dripping onto the table. I’m waiting for the other guy to grab the sugar dispenser but he doesn’t. He just stirs and stirs and stirs.

Sugar: You need to be there for brunch on Sunday.

Stirrer: I told you. There are no more flights. I’m on standby but you know how it is with Vegas on the weekends.

Sugar: Why didn’t you book earlier?

Stirrer: Come on. I’ll get there. I’m leaving for Miami tonight. I should get there Saturday evening. Worse case, I’ll arrive Sunday morning and rush to the hotel.

Sugar: Yea, right.

Stirrer: By the way, how’d it go the other night. You like the new mix?

Sugar: It was good. I’m not sure I noticed much of a difference to last time. But it was good. You got anymore?

Stirrer puts a small pink envelope in front of Sugar. Sugar looks in it. Sugar smiles.

Rant on.

-T

Links that motivated this post: