The mist maker was temporarily removed from the Foggy Bottoms Resort and Spa. County Health was reviewing the facts surrounding the Face of Everyman’s rapid on set of PTSD attributed to this new feature. Disappointment ran high with local song birds and guests who seemed little effected by traumatic episodes of repressed long term memory. Most hung around expectantly until lunch was served on the patio.
Daily new families brought their offspring to learn the basics of life. Poor little Terpsichore had trouble living up to her name. Seemingly the Foggy Bottoms Resort and Spa offered the ideal space to develop skills. the Face of Everyman suggested that Dad hold off on buying that new bicycle until his daughter had mastered jacks, hop scotch, the jump rope and roller skates. Mom started to feel a bit anxious about having more children; at least for now.
The regular session of the Montetorkie school at the Foggy Bottoms Resort and Spa had concluded. Now with the whole Summer in front of them these young chaps were already bored in the first hour after lunch. Only Aristotle had signed up for Summer classes. He was weak in Applied Thermodynamics and had enrolled on the promise of the Face of Everyman to tutor him.
Quacks and fakers sometimes slipped into the Foggy Bottoms Resort and Spa to practice their nefarious arts. Seen here on a security camera image are two charlatans attempting to bamboozle the Face of Everyman. Calling themselves skilled and renown phrenologists these two met their match when they picked Everyman as their mark.
When with solemn scientific certainty they assured him that his shapely head revealed him as a creature of mirth; the stoic sage almost burst out laughing.
Ben and Jerry boasted about the large income tax refund they expected this year. In a sober moment they thought about starting a business; perhaps opening a store here at the Foggy Bottoms Resort and Spa. When they approached the Face of Everyman seeking his wisdom; he offered: “Why not make ice cream and give the flavors irresistibly hip names?”
Mullard awoke cold, wet and hung over. He had slept the night somewhere on the grounds of the Foggy Bottoms Resort and Spa. His downfall began at the gala opening of a franchise fish taco stand poolside; he and others had celebrated in the Bar with Mezcal shooters till closing. Of course, as a courtesy, he was given the worm at the bottom of ever bottle. Him being a bird; and all …