Well, 'Berta and I have just about got over the double whammy of our jetlag and then we have to sit through 90 minutes of the glorious gooners trying to do their Cheslea impression in order to hold onto the one-zero advantage they held from the first leg of their unprecendented Champions League semi final. As you can no doubt guess, the last few hours have been taken up with us frantically trying to book our flights to and accomodation in what is commonly regarded as the most romantic city on earth - although why on earth we've decided to watch the game in Darlington when it's being played in Paris, I really couldn't tell you...
So, you'll understand the obscenely long time it's taken for us to post up e review of our annual Swipefest convention we recently.....convened, I guess... in New York City. So, without further Emmanuel Adebayor, here it is!:
What can I say? The flight was simply AMAZING!:
New York, New York! So good you have to queue for several days just to be let in! (I did tell Roberta that it was maybe not the wisest thing to be wearing her "I'm a terrorist - Lock me up!! T-shirt - although the guys in Homeland Security were keen to follow up on the slogan advice on the back: "Go on, let me in and you can rub my tits!") We saw no one pissing on the Koran from our cell by the way - so don't believe everything you read! Although they did seem to be treating some of the arab guys in the cell next door in a little, shall we say, over familar fashion...
What is true is that we had entered the land of the free. You can do ANYTHING you like there - it's crazy. Well, apart from sit on the steps in the sculpture garden at the Museum of Modern Art.
Still, at least by following the camp commandant's instructions, we got to see this little beauty!
Yep, Folded Dog Turd VII is maybe not Matisse's best know work - nor her most subtle - but in my book, it was almost as much fun as all the nudey ones!
The Hotel was OK. There was a roof terrace, but unfortunately the views were rather spoiled by THIS monstrosity:
I dread to think what Prince Charles would say. Mind you, who really cares what's going through the mind of a pampered ponce who imagines himself stuffed up some horse-faced aristocrat's twat acting out the role of a menstrual absorbent? Not me, bub! At least the septics had the balls to boot the poncing monarchy out, even if they haven't learned to spell - color....I ask you...
Still, they couldn't have been more hospitable - even if the climb to get at the 'Buie decanter was maybe a tad on the long side...
And with a plentiful supply of the essentials right next door...
We really couldn't have asked for more!
(Well, there's always room for a couple of scantily clad illegal immigrants compliant to the point of slavery, but you get the general idea...)
More laters...
Love on y'all,
Bob
© 2006 Swipe Enterprises
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