A Bavarian Weekend Story
I’m pissing in a brandy snifter. I always do.
I’m pissing in a brandy snifter. I always do.
The exhaust manifold assumes that you might not read English, so the warnings are in symbols. Specifically, there’s a picture of a hand inside a circle, with a big line through it: a universal Do Not Touch. This was now neatly branded onto my palm.
Like the Dalai Lama, I always want them to make me one with everything, and they did. Oh, yes they did. The fries go on your dog, in your bun, all over the place. The onions, the relish, the peppers – and just a damn good hot dog. Plus the fries were outstanding. Also, don’t install windshield wipers in the dark.
It spit out something that to my untrained ear sounded suspiciously like “bibimbop with kimchi, bulgogi jap-cha, and a Coke.” It then occurred to me just how many ways talking to my 60-something-yr-old Korean neighbor through an automated translator could go wrong.
We had some bread diced fine scattered on the railing for the birds. This being more than the cat could bear to watch, the girls relented and let him out on the deck with us, which lead to a description of how the birds view the large, lazy, 20+ pound cat.