Tagged: swamp

I Don’t Know Where You Get Off

  • by jenyour conventional seventy-hour workweek
  • a garbage bag full of assorted sweatpants
  • swinging your hips
  • cooking is a perpetual source of evaporation and dampness
  • plenty of caterers have used them

I don’t know where you get off swinging your hips and wagging your finger at me. So you found a garbage bag full of assorted sweatpants in the kitchen. What of it? Plenty of caterers have used them to sop up spills and wipe brows and underarms. Cooking is a perpetual source of evaporation and dampness, for both the kitchen and those who toil in her steamy belly. Perhaps your conventional seventy-hour workweek leaves you fresh as a daisy, but we caterers suffer in the swamp for our art, the art that fills your bellies.

Did I ever tell you that I once won on Iron Chef?

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The Final Ten Minutes

  • k-avatarsmelled like urine and something else
  • promised to be an energizing climax
  • Not bad for a peeping tom.
  • entering its treacherous swamps
  • punched the yellow button
  • Hot, in fact

The final ten minutes of the DVD promised to be an energizing climax, as the rugged and rogueish hero punched the yellow button to deploy his vehicle’s pontoons and give chase through the river delta, entering its treacherous swamps at full speed.

But Julia pressed the yellow button on her remote, pausing the action hero to study the reflection on the screen. A man stood outside her open window.

“Climb on in,” she said, and he looked around like maybe she’d intended the invitation for some other voyeur. Then he clambered over the sill and stood directly behind Julia’s chair. He smelled like urine and something else. Not bad for a peeping tom.

Julia turned to look at him directly. Not bad at all. Hot, in fact.

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