RESIST THE CONTINENTAL BREAKFAST
You may be tempted because what the hotel serves in the morning and insults the French by declaring continental is usually free. But let's take a moment to examine the fare.
-boiled orange juice
-picked-green napthalene-ripened juiceless fruit
-a selection of Otis Spunkmeyer factory baked goods made out of oses and vapidity
-hard boiled eggs from out of a bucket. It's too much trouble to boil eggs and peel them. So the hotel has Sysco truck in five-gallon plastic barrels full of hundreds of pre-peeled eggs submerged in preservative brine. When and where and by whom were these eggs laid? Boiled and peeled? Sealed in their bucket? You will not be able to find anyone at the hotel who knows. They are "fresh" only inasmuch as the subaltern who ladeled them out of their bucket grave did so this morning. They taste like depression.
RESIST THE CONTINENTAL BREAKFAST
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Names. We need names. Where is the Lady with the Short Fingers? What about Ditchweed Guy? (One day, all day, I couldn't get the name "Ditchweed Guy" out of my head.) Does the subaltern have a name? What is it? Mr. Polyester, perhaps? When is the real Nom returning to this blog instead of this lifeless imposter? Have too many Reese's Cups put the real Nom-inal Blogger out of commission. Has she spent all of her egg money on candy, which caused her to go into a diabetic coma? Did you know that a comma and a coma are both about pausing during our life's sentence? Admit it. You did not know this.
I did not know that. Awesome!
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