That shot of Jameson sure went down smoother than the one the other night (thanks Dan). I'm in the airport bar. Is there any other place to be in the airport, unless you're on the gangplank? Love that word. Is that really what they call it? Anyway, so I'm in this little lounge area, having already splurged on a short massage and a shower (no, Alex, no happy ending). I'm listening to these Brits on TV, on this show called "G"(yes, Lo & K, others claim the name as well). So this show, it's like watching a video game match, complete with play-by-play of every last little minute detail. What an odd concept. Matty would love this! This is quite possibly the weirdest thing I've ever seen on sports TV, or television, period, for that matter. The commentary goes something like this: "Shavaram defends the flag from Jimbob (not kidding) who pirouettes and is caught in the face by a hail of bullets issued from the gun of Sardan." Huh? Just like sports, there's talk of defense, midfield, attack, and so on. "There's sweat dripping off these players", the commentator continues. "They'll be relieved to know that the half-time break is upon them." To which the sidekick, nimble of mind and astute to the end, adds, "Neither team wants to lose this match." Am I in the twilight zone? Or just caught up in a tornado of culture created by the vacuum of the extraction of the Brits from the Chinese mainland when Hong Kong changed ownership. Who the fuck watches this shit? Oh wait, I guess I do. And if Matty were here, I'd buy him a beer and we'd watch together.
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