Post by adcooper on Jul 2, 2013 7:16:58 GMT -5
MOSCOW, Russia, July 2 -- Passengers arriving at or departing from Domodedovo Airport in Moscow today have been startled by odd sounds and odors emanating from the transit area.
"We're here to investigate spies," remarked Brian Williams. "What in the devil is that smell?"
"Yeah, I'm about ready to blow my stack, too" fumed Scott Pelley. "This place reeks of second-rate broadcasters."
George Stephanopolous grinned broadly, as though he knew something the others did not. Or maybe just because he always grins broadly.
Just then, a petite British woman followed by a rather bald dog breezed past with carry-on luggage that seemed suspiciously large and appeared to be leaking hay. Immediately behind her rolled a California girl in a 12-speed, iridescent purple chair. She carried a cooler full of hamburgers and heart medications tucked under her cardigan. No one noticed that, though, because they were staring at her bumper sticker which said, EXPECTO PATRONUM! which is, coincidentally, Russian for EXPAT PATRIOT SPIES, but she didn't know that.
Meanwhile, nickering and cussing sounds emanated from the travelers' lounge. This seemed to prove the presence of a cowboy and his horse, but actually, it was a conversation between a known Tri Tek 14 abuser and his legal expert who had just flown in from Salt Lake City. The felon was nickering with remorse, and the Utahn was swearing about the difficulty of getting a proper gimlet, in Salt Lake or Moscow. "At home they put 7-Up in it. Here, it's all vodka!" she groaned. "Doesn't anyone have a proper bottle of gin?"
Scott Simon appeared at her side and pulled a flask from his sport jacket with one hand, and reached for his NPR tape recorder with the other. (Yes. Tape recorder. It's publicly supported radio, you know.) Legal ethics forgotten, Luci Lawyer gazed into the adorable face of her favorite commentator and whispered, "Yes, please. I'm your biggest fan." Now it was the cowboy's turn to swear.
Meanwhile, a fine chestnut horse wearing designer sunglasses strolled unnoticed past the baggage claim, through customs and onto the tarmac, where a large UPS van stood idling. "Come on, Rad. Get it in gear or we'll be stuck in rush hour," said the driver.
Just as he was about to board the truck, Rad looked over his shoulder and saw the Brit with the wheeled hay bale and the chick with the burgers racing toward them, followed by a shouting crowd. "Прекрати, пожалуйста!" they all cried.
The Brit broke a heel on her go-go boots and had to hop onto the hay, which was now being towed at top speed by the purple race chair. The closely shorn dog ran ahead of them.
Drawn by the scent of hamburgers and anticoagulants, the cowboy was showing remarkable speed, too, and he rounded the corner from the opposite end of the terminal.
They all hopped in and slammed the doors shut just in time, and the driver sped away. "That was close," panted the cowboy, as he turned toward the driver.
"What in blue blazes?!" he shouted. "You're not Zen! Why you're...Edward Snowdon! What have you done with Yvette?!"
"She's back here with us," cried the others from the lavishly appointed cargo area of the truck. "No worries. Brooks brought lunch. Let's eat and run!"
"We're here to investigate spies," remarked Brian Williams. "What in the devil is that smell?"
"Yeah, I'm about ready to blow my stack, too" fumed Scott Pelley. "This place reeks of second-rate broadcasters."
George Stephanopolous grinned broadly, as though he knew something the others did not. Or maybe just because he always grins broadly.
Just then, a petite British woman followed by a rather bald dog breezed past with carry-on luggage that seemed suspiciously large and appeared to be leaking hay. Immediately behind her rolled a California girl in a 12-speed, iridescent purple chair. She carried a cooler full of hamburgers and heart medications tucked under her cardigan. No one noticed that, though, because they were staring at her bumper sticker which said, EXPECTO PATRONUM! which is, coincidentally, Russian for EXPAT PATRIOT SPIES, but she didn't know that.
Meanwhile, nickering and cussing sounds emanated from the travelers' lounge. This seemed to prove the presence of a cowboy and his horse, but actually, it was a conversation between a known Tri Tek 14 abuser and his legal expert who had just flown in from Salt Lake City. The felon was nickering with remorse, and the Utahn was swearing about the difficulty of getting a proper gimlet, in Salt Lake or Moscow. "At home they put 7-Up in it. Here, it's all vodka!" she groaned. "Doesn't anyone have a proper bottle of gin?"
Scott Simon appeared at her side and pulled a flask from his sport jacket with one hand, and reached for his NPR tape recorder with the other. (Yes. Tape recorder. It's publicly supported radio, you know.) Legal ethics forgotten, Luci Lawyer gazed into the adorable face of her favorite commentator and whispered, "Yes, please. I'm your biggest fan." Now it was the cowboy's turn to swear.
Meanwhile, a fine chestnut horse wearing designer sunglasses strolled unnoticed past the baggage claim, through customs and onto the tarmac, where a large UPS van stood idling. "Come on, Rad. Get it in gear or we'll be stuck in rush hour," said the driver.
Just as he was about to board the truck, Rad looked over his shoulder and saw the Brit with the wheeled hay bale and the chick with the burgers racing toward them, followed by a shouting crowd. "Прекрати, пожалуйста!" they all cried.
The Brit broke a heel on her go-go boots and had to hop onto the hay, which was now being towed at top speed by the purple race chair. The closely shorn dog ran ahead of them.
Drawn by the scent of hamburgers and anticoagulants, the cowboy was showing remarkable speed, too, and he rounded the corner from the opposite end of the terminal.
They all hopped in and slammed the doors shut just in time, and the driver sped away. "That was close," panted the cowboy, as he turned toward the driver.
"What in blue blazes?!" he shouted. "You're not Zen! Why you're...Edward Snowdon! What have you done with Yvette?!"
"She's back here with us," cried the others from the lavishly appointed cargo area of the truck. "No worries. Brooks brought lunch. Let's eat and run!"
lol