MediaWest part 1
May. 31st, 2001 10:50 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
phosfateI'm back. I'm back. And I'm awake now.
Ann, you ask me, How was your vacation? And I say, it was swell. Apart from the flying, which is like riding a StarTran bus only much, much higher and with smaller seats. 5:30 a.m. takeoff. I leave you to imagine the sheer horror contained in those three words. Or two words. I'm not sure how you count 'em.
Tragically, stuffed Kero-Chan's voicebox ("LET'S CAPTURE SOME CARDS!!!") was accidentally ripped from his torso over Missouri. St. Louis airport is still as skanky as I remember, only now with a franchise Cheers bar for that extra touch. Detroit Metro is still there. Found Susan in spite of the fact that we'd neglected to set a meeting place.
Bus to car rental place, as ever. Nice Hyundai Sonata. We were momentarily buffaloed because it was equipped with a CD player rather than a cassette deck, and neither of us had any discs, until - "Wait! I made two CDs for you!" and Susan produced two discs from whatever music service it is that she subscribes to. One was They Might Be Giants, the other an anthology of TV themes by punk bands. It contained a track by The Pink Lincolns, the gleefully homicidal tones of which pretty much set the tone for the weekend:
So no one told you life was gonna be this way
Your life’s a joke and you’re all fucked up anyway
Seems like you’re always stuck in someone’s rear
And you haven’t had a bath in days, a week, a month, or a year
But –
I’ll be there – FUCK YOU!
I’ll be there – FUCK YOU!
I’ll be there – FUCK YOU!
‘Cause you beat up on me too…
Susan lost the most meds/least sleep contest, and drove us to Lansing, as I attempted to pogo within the comfines of my safety harness.
NEXT: Mrs Hudson has been knocked up.
Ann, you ask me, How was your vacation? And I say, it was swell. Apart from the flying, which is like riding a StarTran bus only much, much higher and with smaller seats. 5:30 a.m. takeoff. I leave you to imagine the sheer horror contained in those three words. Or two words. I'm not sure how you count 'em.
Tragically, stuffed Kero-Chan's voicebox ("LET'S CAPTURE SOME CARDS!!!") was accidentally ripped from his torso over Missouri. St. Louis airport is still as skanky as I remember, only now with a franchise Cheers bar for that extra touch. Detroit Metro is still there. Found Susan in spite of the fact that we'd neglected to set a meeting place.
Bus to car rental place, as ever. Nice Hyundai Sonata. We were momentarily buffaloed because it was equipped with a CD player rather than a cassette deck, and neither of us had any discs, until - "Wait! I made two CDs for you!" and Susan produced two discs from whatever music service it is that she subscribes to. One was They Might Be Giants, the other an anthology of TV themes by punk bands. It contained a track by The Pink Lincolns, the gleefully homicidal tones of which pretty much set the tone for the weekend:
So no one told you life was gonna be this way
Your life’s a joke and you’re all fucked up anyway
Seems like you’re always stuck in someone’s rear
And you haven’t had a bath in days, a week, a month, or a year
But –
I’ll be there – FUCK YOU!
I’ll be there – FUCK YOU!
I’ll be there – FUCK YOU!
‘Cause you beat up on me too…
Susan lost the most meds/least sleep contest, and drove us to Lansing, as I attempted to pogo within the comfines of my safety harness.
NEXT: Mrs Hudson has been knocked up.
