Applebee’s® is the Pauly Shore of restaurants.
“Not now. Oh dear God, not now!” Of course, he said it out loud. He was tense for many reasons, so many; as tense as a tightly wound high E-string on the verge of snapping on a teenager’s Sears® electric guitar. Maxwell Donner was experiencing his first Tinder® date at the Applebee’s® in Tinley Park™.
Further proof that I was/am possessed by the song called “Landslide”. Tada!
Here is a mash up.
She slipped into slow motion, as she heard herself say, “Painting relaxes me.” It was as if she was a car going through the penultimate phase of an automated car wash, and the aggressive swirling wrap-around washers were the truth. Linda Salmon Chase was absolutely apoplectic and befuddled with this newfound truth.
Back in my day, instead of inane infomercials about removing age spots and excess stomach flab at 2 a.m., we had this.
Mr. Floyd Biggenwoch took a long puff from his pipe, which looked suspiciously like a bubble-blowing apparatus, and after exhaling bubbles through the pipe’s bowl, it was made conclusive.
The sound of a switchblade and a motorbike.
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