We had barely consumed the last bites of a lovely Hawaiian Kona coffee cake when the atmosphere in Nudeyorker's 95th floor Penthouse apartment began to change.
"Other-Nick", he said to his partner, "Would you please get Nick8 and K8's coats?"
Nudey had a wicked gleam in his wine-reddened eyes.
Disappearing into the east wing, Other-Nick was away for over ten minutes. K8 and I shifted nervously on our feet, wondering why we felt such a sense of unease, why Nudey had such a tight-lipped smile, why there was such an unspoken feeling of dread.
Other-Nick returned, not with our coats, however, but with two full-length, sheared Russian sable capes. And a gun. A 357 Magnum.
"Put these on.", he said in a low voice, "Drape them over your shoulders."
He motioned us to the door while Nudey began to collect the tiny mouldering remains of the six congealing albeit at one time, hours earlier, delicious homemade pizzas. Caviar, truffles, lobster, baby veal, sweetbreads, fois-gras.
"Here", Nudeyorker practically spat at us. "Take these pieces with you. And leave your shoes. It's time for two you to learn a lesson."
So ended what had earlier begun as a wonderful evening. Until the wee hours of the morning, K8 and I were forced to distribute little bits of pizzas to disadvantaged investment bankers and AIG workers, smoking Cuban cigars and singing Kumbaya all the while followed by Nudey and Other-Nick in their stretch Limo. It was anything but pretty and any happy memories of our evening are rapidly fading.
And the moral of the story is: Beware the moderator invite or, would a banning have been preferable?
"Other-Nick", he said to his partner, "Would you please get Nick8 and K8's coats?"
Nudey had a wicked gleam in his wine-reddened eyes.
Disappearing into the east wing, Other-Nick was away for over ten minutes. K8 and I shifted nervously on our feet, wondering why we felt such a sense of unease, why Nudey had such a tight-lipped smile, why there was such an unspoken feeling of dread.
Other-Nick returned, not with our coats, however, but with two full-length, sheared Russian sable capes. And a gun. A 357 Magnum.
"Put these on.", he said in a low voice, "Drape them over your shoulders."
He motioned us to the door while Nudey began to collect the tiny mouldering remains of the six congealing albeit at one time, hours earlier, delicious homemade pizzas. Caviar, truffles, lobster, baby veal, sweetbreads, fois-gras.
"Here", Nudeyorker practically spat at us. "Take these pieces with you. And leave your shoes. It's time for two you to learn a lesson."
So ended what had earlier begun as a wonderful evening. Until the wee hours of the morning, K8 and I were forced to distribute little bits of pizzas to disadvantaged investment bankers and AIG workers, smoking Cuban cigars and singing Kumbaya all the while followed by Nudey and Other-Nick in their stretch Limo. It was anything but pretty and any happy memories of our evening are rapidly fading.
And the moral of the story is: Beware the moderator invite or, would a banning have been preferable?
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