MetaTalk

Haughey stood at the massive glass windows of his permanent residence at the W Hotel on Third and Howard in San Francisco. He'd had the top three floors made into a single towering space with 40-foot ceilings. The elevator flowed to a smooth stop in the center of the space he shared with his wife, Kay, who was now standing near the Henry Moore reclining nude eating a pomegranate. "What's the weather," she asked, although she could see perfectly well what the weather was. After all, those were some big fucking windows.

posted by mrbula on Dec 8, 2001 - 25 comments

"MetaFilter," he repeated testily. The truth was he hated his own site. An unruly beast broken free of its chains and now whipped about by an unruly mob intent on banishing Salon links and killing anyone linking directly to a rich media presentation without due warning. I had stopped going months ago before it became trendy and horribly chic - or before Haughey's magazine spread appeared on the stands, replete with his naked, supine form in the centerfold, scars and all.
posted by solistrato on Nov 7, 2001 - 28 comments

I think Lance finally hit upon the perfect motto:

"Like a great train wreck involving hundreds dead in a chemical spill that strips the skin off babies and puppies and makes the entire population collectively vomit up blood, I keep coming back to look some more."
posted by jga on Jun 11, 2001 - 22 comments