In the dark of a cold winter night in Manhattan, in her pricey three-bedroom condo high above the Christmas-light-festooned streets of the Upper East Side bustling with harried and wealthy stockbrokers and their families hurrying home laden down with full shopping bags from Bergdorf and Saks, Muzak versions of “Little Drummer Boy” pouring forth from the lighted doorways of every shop and tea house, Margaret Ellen Noonan, beloved Sister of the Order of Saint Francis of Spirits and Libations, was deep into the last bottle of cooking sherry. It was a fine sherry, too good to be wasted on poaching a piece of fish, and besides, Peggy needed to settle down. She had been nervous lately, her sleep
this is probably the funniest thing i have read in weeks.
actually, someone should just stop fucking paying her.
Um, the CDC, probs.
The Great Wall of Who the Fuck Cares.
Burned, not buried.
You appear to be taking this kind of seriously.
*Notes handle*
Oh. Yeah.
At least there's no possibility of you ever being confused with Peggy Noonan.
With modern robotic tech, a mobile guillotine should be a piece of cake we like.
Actually, it wasn't even that coherent.
LA, right?
Billionaires whining about the stock market going up are like alcoholics whining about the liquor store having too much booze in it.
You know who else worried about Senegalese tourists with typhus?
Drink up Peggy maybe you will slip into a coma and free us of your fucking stupidity
Oh the guillotine. The only "smart weapon" ever devised.