The man died.
As he exited the chute and looked around, he started to get a pretty good idea of where he was.
First, there was the heat.
As he exited the chute and looked around, he started to get a pretty good idea of where he was.
First, there was the heat.
Oh, the heat.
But not a dry heat. No. It was a heat that was compounded with sticky, thick moisture, comprised of body odor, causing the man to immediately loosen his shirt, but to no avail. The thermometer on the wall read 115 degrees; the humidity 98%.
Then there was the light. All flourescent. Row after row of sickly vibrating flourescent light fixtures lined the seemingly endless ceiling.
Then there was the light. All flourescent. Row after row of sickly vibrating flourescent light fixtures lined the seemingly endless ceiling.
Windows? Non-existant.
Just then, Roseanne Barr approached him with a short, squat glass of warm, flat, stale beer. She said it was a Milwaulkee's Best Ice, and then started singing the Star Spangled Banner. The man declined the offer and walked on down the hall. Soon he entered a room that had his name above it.
There was a bank of televisions on each wall, all tuned to a baseball game with the Dodgers shutting out the Giants. But there was no audio of the game. Instead, there was a continuous loop of Bobby Goldsboro singing "Honey". Over and over.
Honey.
The man looked at what was intended to be his bedding. It was comprised of a woolen blanket on the bumpy ground, with no pillow.
Just then someone entered his room and introduced himslf. He said his name was Don Drysdale, and that he would be the man's waiter for this evening's meal.
"Tonight," he lisped, "we will be serving Brussels sprouts drenched in mayonnaise, with a delightful main course of tremedously over-cooked and under-seasoned pasta."
No wine.
The man knew he had arrived.
Just then, Roseanne Barr approached him with a short, squat glass of warm, flat, stale beer. She said it was a Milwaulkee's Best Ice, and then started singing the Star Spangled Banner. The man declined the offer and walked on down the hall. Soon he entered a room that had his name above it.
There was a bank of televisions on each wall, all tuned to a baseball game with the Dodgers shutting out the Giants. But there was no audio of the game. Instead, there was a continuous loop of Bobby Goldsboro singing "Honey". Over and over.
Honey.
The man looked at what was intended to be his bedding. It was comprised of a woolen blanket on the bumpy ground, with no pillow.
Just then someone entered his room and introduced himslf. He said his name was Don Drysdale, and that he would be the man's waiter for this evening's meal.
"Tonight," he lisped, "we will be serving Brussels sprouts drenched in mayonnaise, with a delightful main course of tremedously over-cooked and under-seasoned pasta."
No wine.
The man knew he had arrived.
8 comments:
Ha...Any posting with a Bobby Goldsboro reference is pfunny. Cheers P-Man!!
I repent!!!!!
I repent!!!!!
I knew 'twas your hell at first mention of no windows...
...not to worry P-Man for you will rise to Heaven.
verrry nice.
Hey...spell-check, would 'ja paleeze? (just a thought Phfrankie...just a thought...)Free hotdog if'n ya can spot the word w/o spellcheck! (hint...it doesn't begin w/Ph...)
flourescent = fluorescent
One hot dog...Memphis bound!
At least it was not Andy Pettitte as your waiter, huh?
You picked the wrong door!
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