C
Crestwell 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.
CIA
Coriander successfully passed all course materials for the Culinary Institute of American; waggishly referred to by some as the CIA. But as art imitates life, “C” was assigned to infiltrate the three star rated restaurant at the Foggy Bottoms Resort and Spa. Could a fresh eye and a critical palate substantiate continued endorsement? The report was damning. Pate tasted like calf’s liver. Wine came in a box. The paella was prepared from the rice swept up after each wedding. The veal was in reality breast of Easter Bunny. Noodle dishes drained and rinsed Thai take-out from the village. As their legal representative the Face of Everyman fought long and hard for a second chance. Coriander could make no promises. It wasn’t up to him. Salads of local organics and new menu items appeared almost immediately. Wines from “E’s” own cellar were served with the first course. Of course, the kindly ol’ pensioner slept soundly high above, in the great manor house, oblivious to the machinations below.
torkelsbirds 