I Don't Know Harry, The French Are Assholes
Not so my friends. Not so.
I'm proud to say that my quick trip to Nice was quite enjoyable. The office overlooked the end of the airport and the Mediterranean Sea, so I didn't get shit done. Actually, I really didn't have to do much, just listen. But that didn't go too well either. Being that I'm a man and all. I've posted a few of my favorite photos for your ocular pleasure.
I'm also proud to say that for the first time in a long time, the travel was uneventful. Except on the way home.
Upon my delayed arrival from Munich to Washington, it occurred to me that I was indeed, one tired bitch. Albeit hungry. And being that the big, round, thick-ass vessel which be runnin' up in the sky so deep it be cryin', yeah, on which was to ferry my ass home, was significantly delayed out of Paris because of a sick passenger so they had to land in Iceland and drop his ass off, I decided to go to Wendy's for some dinner. Number 6, with Chili, and an Iced-T. Biggie Size.
And I ate.
And I read.
And the chili brewed.
And just after 10:00 pm, we were off. Who was to sit next to me but the only person on this entire wide-body jet to turn his reading light on and read. For three and a half hours. And for as tired as I was, I could. Not. Sleep. I ask, what would you do?
Here's what I did. Now we're friends, right? Good. Remember that Wendy's chili I had to wash down my Chicken sandwich? Yeah. No joke kids, I blew ass for three hours. It was relentless. Unforgiving. Adolescent. And ultimately, ineffective.
19B, I bow down.
I'm proud to say that my quick trip to Nice was quite enjoyable. The office overlooked the end of the airport and the Mediterranean Sea, so I didn't get shit done. Actually, I really didn't have to do much, just listen. But that didn't go too well either. Being that I'm a man and all. I've posted a few of my favorite photos for your ocular pleasure.
I'm also proud to say that for the first time in a long time, the travel was uneventful. Except on the way home.
Upon my delayed arrival from Munich to Washington, it occurred to me that I was indeed, one tired bitch. Albeit hungry. And being that the big, round, thick-ass vessel which be runnin' up in the sky so deep it be cryin', yeah, on which was to ferry my ass home, was significantly delayed out of Paris because of a sick passenger so they had to land in Iceland and drop his ass off, I decided to go to Wendy's for some dinner. Number 6, with Chili, and an Iced-T. Biggie Size.
And I ate.
And I read.
And the chili brewed.
And just after 10:00 pm, we were off. Who was to sit next to me but the only person on this entire wide-body jet to turn his reading light on and read. For three and a half hours. And for as tired as I was, I could. Not. Sleep. I ask, what would you do?
Here's what I did. Now we're friends, right? Good. Remember that Wendy's chili I had to wash down my Chicken sandwich? Yeah. No joke kids, I blew ass for three hours. It was relentless. Unforgiving. Adolescent. And ultimately, ineffective.
19B, I bow down.
