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So utterly unremarkable
I've already forgotten what the hell is going on. No, seriously. I've
gotten through seventeen words and I've already bored myself half
to death. It's not as if this pleasant Celtic pub was like the fiery
pit of hell (now that would be exciting) or even a semi-traumatic
episode in my otherwise sedentary life, but was just another in a
long line of relentlessly ordinary drinking establishments. I mean
I've been in some real shitholes--including some redneck, half-lesbian
trailer-masquerading-as-a-bar stinkfest with a floor whose cracks
revealed the dirt three feet below--but even though these places elicited
nothing but excretory adjectival derision, at least they brought out
some emotion (even though that feeling was somewhat akin to poop).
This joint seemed like a perfectly acceptable place to grab a beer
if you were indeed living in Cerberus' lair--if that tunnel to the
underworld were decorated by Crate and Barrel. Don't get me wrong
here (and why would you what with my mentions of hell and crap), this
place was perfectly pleasant, and was in fact rather comfortable and
well apportioned. But, like a furniture showroom, it was just too
vanilla and sterile for any true personality to show through. [MF]
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