Dave and I were watching the tourist channel in my room at the cleverly named New Yorker, which is basically a Holiday Inn on a prime piece of real estate. Whatever city you're in, the tourist channel turns it into Disney World: San Francisco is one endless cable car ride, Boston is a beeah at Cheeahs, and I'm sure that Seattle is "brewing up something special for your trip!" Regardless of where you are, all these channels agree on one thing: You, my friend, are on the epicenter of a bustling metropolis with SO MUCH to DO! Culture AND restaurants! No, really, you can learn AND eat!
In this case we were hearing about their Sex and the City tour, which New Yorkers like to go on at the end of a hard day on Wall Street, presumably before doing a choreographed street dance with Annie and Daddy Warbucks.
Me: I wish there was a real Sex and the City tour.
Dave: Oh, yeah. They take you around the city and then make you go down on a UPS guy.
Me: Then they have transvestite prostitues throw eggs at you in the middle of the night.
Dave: You'd have to work in a lot of puns.
Me: And you'd have to have screaming fights with each other in the middle of the street for no good reason.
Dave: Oh, right, what episode did that happen in, again?
Me: I'd go on that tour.
Dave: Who wouldn't?