Thursday, August 12, 2004

Plans to post stories about my trip are delayed because I had hoped to illustrate them with photos from the disposable cameras, still in my suitcase which is who-knows-where. So this won’t be a vacation entry.

Instead, it’ll be about People Who Deserve a Beat-Down. Namely, American Airlines.

And here are some other variations on that theme:

If you insist I try your recipe for a food I insist I don’t like, for example, borscht: Beet down.

To Old Man Osterman who’d always shout, “You damn kids get off my lawn!”: Peat down.

To that one kid who would tear across Osterman’s lawn with soccer shoes, just to spite the geezer: Cleat down.

No Halloween candy?: Trick-or-Treat down.

You should always use a firm, friendly grip when shaking someone’s hand. If your palm feels like a dead fish: Greet down.

There’s a girl in my office who feels guilty if she has half a protein bar for lunch. Then she walks her anorexic pencil legs over and asks, “Mikey, do I look fat?”: Eat down.

That same girl always complains that the air conditioning is making her cold. I’ve got another explanation. Food = energy, or heat. No food, what do you got? A desire to turn off the AC and make warm-blooded mammals like Mike sweaty and groggy in the office.: Heat down.

Hey, don’t rest your filthy shoes on my coffee table.: Feet down.

Ronald McDonald: Meat clown.

Guys, save us all from the hearing the hackneyed stand-up routines about the battle of the sexes in the bathroom. When you’re finished with a woman’s toilet: Seat down.

Dept. store salespersons trying to sell me schlumpy slacks: Pleat down.

Atkins Nazis who remind me of the carb content in the bagel I’m trying to enjoy: Wheat down.

If you’re a successful actor who squanders his talent because you’re a fucking hophead drug abuser: Beat Downey, Jr.

Not nice to Fleece?: Bleat down.

Spare me the boring details about your stock portfolio: Wall Street down. Or: Beat Dow Jones Industrial Average.


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