It could only get worse... Jerry stood in the rain, smoking a hand-rolled cig. Why in the name of all that is good and decent had he brought George with him on his trip? He threw a fit when he couldn't get the kosher meal, flushed his crack down the toilet when he was sure that the old lady across the aisle was giving him the eye, and then went into withdrawals at the airport in Scotland, causing him to be singled out for a full cavity search. Having left George screaming at the airport, Jerry had traveled to their hotel, the 5 star Gleneagles. He felt bad for a moment, but he had called George's cell and left a message with the hotel name. So, he should be fine. What was really bothering Jerry was who had paid for the suite at the Gleaneagles. An anonymous individual, who said he was paying for the room 'on behalf of the deceased'. Jerry had only been in the room for a moment, but there was this queasy sensation associated with it, a shimmery quality to the air that caused him to see things that couldn't possibly be there. Who pays for 5 star hotel rooms? Jerry shook his head and lit up another cig. He hadn't smoked in years, but it felt so very good on his ravaged nerves. As he continued to ruminate on his situation, a cab pulled up and out stepped a very angry George. "George is very upset!" he exclaimed, slipping into the third person as he is wont to do. "That cavity search was extremely long and over-involved, and I am pretty sure that you don't need to use the things they were using. " Jerry nodded absently, staring out into the cloudy sky. "The countryside sure is beautiful out here..." he muttered, causing George to get even redder in the face. "Jerry! I am talking to you Jerry! Are you smoking? Since when do you smoke? Do you have any crack? Jerry, I need a fix and soon!" and then...
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3/16/2011 7:57:59 AM
Extending Enabled
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