After many years of working hard, I decided I needed a vacation. I hadn't taken a vacation in seven years. Fatigued and depressed, it was necessary for me to get away from The Propaganda. Growing disillusioned with The Propaganda, I fled to the Canadian Mountains. With only three days notice, I boarded a plane for Vancouver destined for Whistler Mountain. During the flight, the motion put me into a deep sleep. I dreamed of the mountains, the skiing and The Propaganda. There was no escaping it. I knew I would have to deal with it at some point, just not now. When I landed, I rented a car and drove to the Royal Canadian Motel. Stupidly, I thought it would be nicer. I suppose that's what you get when you don't read the TripAdvisor reviews. That first night I dreamed of the mountains again and as I was descending on skies, I came across a giant tree with a sign that said, "The Propaganda". It was haunting me. For three days straight I skied the pristine powder of Whistler Mountain and dreamed the same dream each night. Finally, after sore legs, a slight cold and a mild headache from the altitude, I returned home. I went to my apartment to drop off my things. It was a relief to see my curtains were closed behind my decorative window. The place was a little dustier and very quiet. There was no time to shower or change, as I had some place to be. The Propaganda called me. I left on foot and arrived at my destination 15 minutes later. The walk felt familiar and energized me, though I was not prepared. "Harry, you're late," a voice yelled out as I opened the door. "What happened here?" I responded with a surprised tone in my voice. "We worked night and day -- that's what happened here. Are you impressed?" Jack questioned. "Well, I think I'll go away more often -- that's for sure." "Don't even think about it," yelled Lucy from the kitchen. "The Propaganda will open its doors tomorrow night for dinner, featuring its all BS entrees," Jack announced. Harry took the menu off the table and read it aloud. "Beef Stew, Bass Striped, Baked Seafood, Blackened Steak, Balsamic Swordfish... and so on and so on. Wow, just like we discussed." Harry and his siblings returned to work on their new restaurant. There was still much to be done before the opening, though Harry was grateful for the time away. The Propaganda was now a reality, not just a dream.
permalink to story: http://5card.cogdogblog.com/show.php?id=40338
Click once to select, then copy and paste HTML to your own blog/website.
Do you have another interpretation of the story behind these pictures? Add it to the collection as a new story!