In Amarillo

The best converstation I’ve heard in long time – we’re checking in to the lovely travel-lodge in Amarillo, and in walks Winston Churchill’s long-lost younger brother who’s apparently been wandering around the Texas panhandle for the past forty years. He rolls up to the the kind of sad, emo-Amarillo-hotel-clerk:

WCYB: You’ve got be bloody kidding me…

Clerk: Uh, sir?

WCYB: You’ve got a huge bloody sign out there saying you have rooms for $39.99 and you’re charging me sixty dollars.

Clerk: Sir those rooms are for the upstairs singles, and as I told you, the Jehovah’s Witness convention is in town and has all the rooms booked.

WCYB: Then why do you still have your big bloody sign up (no shit he said ‘bloody’ that many times)?

Clerk: Uh, it’s a big damn sign.

WCYB (turning to us as Liz is signing the bill): And you, you got the $39.99 rate?

We kind of had to leave before we started laughing uncontrollably.

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