They're big. They're blonde. They have humongous carnivorous boobies. The boobies may have been surgically augmented, surely those things are not that big normally, even if you are rich. They just have to be unnatural. They are the "real housewives of why on earth is she watching this crap-i-stan". Yes, the apartment mate has the teevee on to the tacky channel.
Actually she's the only person here who ever has the teevee on.
We share the teevee room, which is where it is.
Both of our computers are there.
For some reason she is talking like a monkey. And demanding to know where her banana daiquiri and banana flambé are.
They are important, dammit!
The sales person on the phone may be confused by this.
Quite likely that isn't the banana fairy calling.
"You no interrupt! Is wrong!"
After a full day of Marin, I can sure handle a bit of surreality.
What I have far less comfort dealing with is a television set filled with enormously breasted overly underdressed blonde twitheads. These women all look like trophy wives, and are vacuous beyond belief.
It's too much like Marin County.
At the end of the day I told the boys in the lounge to head on back to their cold unhappy households and rejoin their hated ones. It had been real.
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