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From: Jumpin' Jo Donuts
Category: Other stuff
Date: 29 April 2001
I was pettifogging in the gotham mist, seeking a men’s room. Only a man’s room, for me, dodging the eye umbrellas and shouting “Taxi! Theatrically”, confusing the theatrical taxi driver cruising defensively past the police line: do not cross. The police, and more particularly the fire brigade are absurdly picturesque here, and the cartoon coke lorries that exist only in picaresque bright red santa burlesques? Oh, they’re here too – Gleaming chrome. Gleaming chrome, really. Exhaust pipes that really pipe. There is absolutely no end to the number of public information signs in New York. Don’t Cross, Ways to Save a Choking Victim Emergency CPR Station. The smallest newsstand has a plethora of emergency exit signs, information about the correct employees to carry out the requisite and duly appointed task, the number of individuals who can be safely and lawfully accommodated, employees who - Must Wash Their Hands. This is never the required level of information. If you ave to go that far, its important to wash the hands after the act, not before. Besides, it does makes you focus unpleasantly on the act of employee micturation or defecation, if only where soap is absent from the toiletting area. Bizarre font use. How can a nation be so backwards and forwards? Americans have no respect for cheese a calzone (or calZONE) contains three – and nothing else, but more importantly they break down the salt/sweet/sweet/savoury distinctions with savage disregard that only a jelly omelette can really relate to which. Nicks tickets, nicks tickets? It began to hail, so I hailed a cab, Can the driver be hale, without being hearty? You could call him hearty, but he was scarred for his life – one too many hold-ups I’m afraid, he shaked every time we were held up in traffic, he’ll end his days holed up in his department subsisting on existing peanut utterly butterly jello sandwiches. And yellow cheese. Starbucks, starbucks, starbucks. In such a world, we can produce no insght. We have no firm point on which to stand. However large our levers, they can only be used as hammers to crack a nut - thus our balls are (metaphorically) broken. I resorted to desperate measures. A bladder can carry one across stranger oceans than you have yet conceived of. A building site, inasmuch as this can ever be true, sought to offer relief. I clambered, heavens opened, we tumbled in rough and tumble and I bumbled into the power line causing down time on the Brooklyn line (2,3,Q,C except on Sundays fortnightly). And that, your honour, concludes the case for the deference.
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