Up until my recent voyage to Georgia, I hadn’t taken a venture into the United States since my youth. Accompanied by my parents, my experience in this place was always, vague, contained, sheltered – and, well, shuttled. It wasn’t until I had to make the pit stops by choice or by force for myself that I discovered some unsettling truths for myself. I’d heard tales of portion sizes that could feed several, if not hundreds for a reasonable $9.99 – American, that is. But no one told me that there was literally a different sizing system in place there. In particular, when stopping at a Tim Horton’s (A recent Canadian Export in the realm of coffee and addictions), we were able to directly compare when we discovered that our medium cup was masquerading as an American small. My usual large size of coffee was considered a medium. Even our ‘extra large’ had been downsized to a simple large… but the greatest shock of all was the new ‘extra large’. It was a monstrosity. A freak. A thing not fit for man or beast – and yet, yet it was. It was fit for man. In some bizarre stretch of the truth and paper.
When we inquired about the missing size we were used too as small, the slightly greasy post-teen behind the counter scoffed at our ‘shot of coffee’.
Well, some of you might be wondering why I, the more incoherent and rambling of the two of us is bringing you today’s posting. It is because our faithful blogger, the writer extraordinaire, is bedridden with some sort of viral influenza derivative. From the early hours this morning, until mere hours ago, he has made only periodical appearances, briefly shuffling the few feet that separate his room from our facilities, with such agony and effort that without observation of the floor, one might assume that it is a constant battle uphill. Or in the very least, under some sort of heavy restraint.
Let’s all wish him well, shall we?
In other news, some of you might have caught a twitter here or there about the appearance of some feet and a bumper in an episode of Least I Could Do recently. To assuage any further doubts, allow me this. Panel 3, dear hearts. Apparently, we have joined the side of decided Non-Gamers versus those Whom Do Game. In some sort of battle. I’m not sure why. We have a battle van though, so it would seem appropriate that we arrive to help our friends. However, it would seem we have forgotten to bring the Battle Van to the battle, making the entire point of said Van moot. I do go on, don’t I?
I have no idea why I’ve written this post as though I’m some sort of … well look at that, I don’t have the word for it.
See you on Friday!
