h a l f b a k e r yProfessional croissant on closed course. Do not attempt.
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Vanessa relaxed in the faux leopard skin chair, idly twiddling her glass swizzle stick in her Martini. Her white dress, off the shoulder, clung tightly to her torso.
She looked up, with a smouldering, sultry gaze through the fine tracery of cigarette smoke issuing from her fake, impossibly long
tortoiseshell holder. Vanessa detested smoking, but the holder looked so cool. Her friend, Veronica, had just stepped across the threshold, holding her white skirt down to prevent the fan under the grate blowing it up over her head.
Vanessa leaned forward, purring softly, "How are you, Marilyn? How's rehab been treating you?"
Veronica replied, "Marvellous, Marilyn, I've met the nursing intern of my dreams. He's a part-time professional photographer with a loft apartment on the lower East Side."
Both of them noticed the serious-looking young man in the dove grey suit, at once. He was wearing round, tortoiseshell spectacles and a serious mien, as he studied the financial pages. He was here every day, and apparently didn't have a job to go to.
Around them, life went on, just like in the movies.
[link]
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Vanessa and Veronica should send a bottle of 'Veuve Cliche-quot' to the young man's (undoubtedly named Roland) table and see what develops. After all, they have the tortoiseshell accoutrement in common to begin a conversation, and then they can do a meet-cute thing where one mentions finances and the other confuses it with fiances. Roland is bound to be confused why they each call the other Marilyn when they have perfectly good given names, but after two or three glasses of champagne it will cease to matter. |
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His name may be Roland, but not here. Here he may be called Tom, or Kevin, or Clark. |
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I'm sure we'd find one of them is dying from a mysterious illness, [jurist]. |
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The autoboner is so cliche. |
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Might leisure suited lounge lizards order martinis (shaken not stirred), while successful young female lawyers alternately commiserate and delight one another with colourful tales of their sex-lives over cosmopolitans, and rugged, bestubbled guys wearing denim and cowboy boots shoot down one "Whiskey, on the rocks" after the other? |
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Interestingly enough, you just listed my three favorite drinks. |
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The power of suggestion! No, seriously, I don't think I've actually ordered any of those drinks - perhaps I should have included a bemused Englishman, looking confused and out of place at the end of the bar, suckling his pint of lager whilst trying desperately not to stand out too much. |
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I'm slightly missing the invention here.
If the invention is that everyone sits
around fulfilling movie stereotypes,
wouldn't that be a case of "MFD -
advocacy"? (Clicks 'OK' and then pauses
to stroke white cat; "No, Mr. Bubba, I
expect you to delete!") |
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"No, Mr. Bubba, I expect you to delete!" |
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Mwhahahahaha - that's clichéd |
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No. The invention is the club itself. Everything about the club is a cliche, even the cliches. |
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I have a feeling that this "club" would attract overly dramatic people. Cliches seem to be a drain on society so I think we should round them up and ship them on an island cruise (since they all would almost certainly be friends we could tell them it was a contest that they won or some other cliche excuse for a bunch of people to go "off-location") and then kill them all in a classic cliche horror movie style. New clubs could be chartered and a way to purge society would be born. |
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No! Off the island, please, and don't send no more! |
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Perhaps there's a need for a Cliché Re-education Program? They seem to get people all hot under the collar, around here. Umm... was that statement a cliché, in itself? |
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A trite or overused expression or idea. |
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So... pirates are cliche? NOOOO!!! |
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What defines this "overused" characteristic? Surely, to ponder cliches is elitest for it presumes the thinker's ability to discern the faults in others, i.e. overusing something. Hmm. I think nothing is overused, really. That is, the "overused" quality is purely contextual and hardly universal. I also think that thinking nothing is overused is overused, so you see why I'll be drinking myself into oblivion tonight. |
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[daseva], you're an icon. |
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Like my (Recycle Bin) icon.
//I also think that thinking nothing is overused is overused, so you see why I'll be drinking myself into oblivion tonight.//
Oh no, not again. |
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Hey, it's fourth of July weekend here in the states. We shoot fireworks during this time. I do all my fireworks shopping at the liquor store. |
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Dunno about icon, but in the past, I've been described as a cult. Or something like that. |
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Yeah, I was called an icont just yesterday. |
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Veronica and Vanessa were just about to order another round of drinks when in walked Vivian, a statuesque green-eyed minx with delusions of iconoclasm. Vivian wore a white pantsuit, having learned from her first encounter with the fans at Le Club Cliche. |
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"Hello, Marilyn" said Vivian as she strode past the two women, her spike-heeled shoes clacking on the slate floor. She paused at the table of the serious-looking young man. Kevin looked up at her, removed his tortoiseshell spectacles and stood. |
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"Ah, Marilyn! You finally made it!" he said as he kissed her on the cheek. "Did you have any trouble finding the place?" |
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Vivian pecked the young man's cheek, then brushed the crimson lipstick from his face. They sat. "Oh Johnny, how could I forget the place we first met." Under the table her foot brushed his pantleg. Veronica and Vanessa fumed. |
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Sorry, [Canuck], the Film Noir House is next door. |
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"Is that black statue a falcon, my Canadian friend?" |
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Well, that was certainly worth it. I'm all cleared up now. |
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Daseva- My fireworks store sells maps for out-of-staters to avoid the cops over the border. If you buy enough fireworks, then you get it for free. |
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[angel], I thought this was in colour. not noir et blanc. |
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UB, I don't have a falcon clue. I thought it looked more like a pigeon on steroids. |
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Zimmy puts all of his barely legible writings into a box in the closet. The "tortoiseshell " makes it all work so beautifully.
I'm so jealous. |
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