Seen above in an archived image are the founding fathers of the Foggy Bottom Resort and Spa Toastmasters Club.  Organizational suggestions offered by the Face of Everyman went unheeded.  In the end the noontime Club disbanded and returned their charter.  The two main reasons given:  the catered road kill servings were small and the speeches were to be given in Esperanto.

Security Analyst

Sheldon had an inquiring mind but he wasn’t sure he wanted to be a security analyst here at the Foggy Bottoms Resort and Spa.  The job was more that of a research assistant to the Face of Everyman.  It required checking leg bands and colored rings worn by guests.  The venerable sage never revealed why migration data was important.  Who even knew the location of this remote spot along the Pacific Flyway?  Most folks just stumbled upon it.

ala Carte

Because of the snow storm and staffing limitations Brunch was served ala Carte poolside.  the Face of Everyman missed the decorum that had been the hallmark of service at the Foggy Bottoms Resort and Spa.


CCrestwell had earned his degree from an online university.  He was now a certified Dietitian.  He was here today at the Foggy Bottoms Resort and Spa to enlist the aid of the Face of Everyman.  It seems that the kindly ol’ pensioner had reduced the lawful amount of table scraps for Jays to below caloric minimums called for in the UN Charter.  Surely the venerable sage could encourage those of the manor house to toss out a few bread butts now and again.


As the days grew shorter at the Foggy Bottoms Resort and Spa Gita sang her special song to ensure that the glowing orb would return for yet another glorious Sunrise.  The lyrics had a nice earthy cadence and the face of Everyman spent the rest of the day trying to get the beat out of his head.


The Bucket Bros. Catch and Release had been fishing since dawn without success.  In fact, “C” wasn’t sure that the Foggy Bottoms Resort and Spa had stocked the pond.  the Face of Everyman assured them that “fish abound in these waters”.  To back up his claim he offered to loan them two of his award winning Royal Coachman tied flies adding that a few cleaned and dressed fish would be payment enough.


Holy Moly thought Smedley this must be what an attack of Deja Vu feels like.  He was sure that he’d never been to the Foggy Bottoms Resort and Spa and yet every object in this setting was familiar; right down to that handsomely carved chunk of basalt.  He was even sporting his bright Summer mating colors.  “Hey there old rock”, he called out.  “Where the heck am I?”  Alas, the Face of Everyman remained mute, as he is wont to do.  “S” flew South, never to return to that magical spot.