Confidential . . . on the QT . . . and very hush-hush

Assignment:  Confidential Investigation

Location:        Detroit, Michigan, U.S.A. - undisclosed district

Status:            Pending Review

Priority:           High

Confidence:  I'm dripping with it . . .

This time, kids, it's Michigan.  A large plot of land next to a huge freakin' lake that I've yet to explore on my many extraordinary travels.

I may as well get the warning out to you early:  I'm not promising very much, as I'm busy on a top-secret assignment which will take up most of my time.  For you faithful readers, I'll do what I can.  For all others, there's always the blog of Perez Hilton.

My research of Michigan, excluding my investigative target, has revealed only an affinity for college sports, the Detroit Redwings, snowblowers, Marshall Mathers, American-made cars, and lutefisk. 

Hold it.  I think the lutefisk is actually a Minnesota thing.

The flight into Detroit was largely uneventful, save the normal peccadilloes that seem to set my teeth on edge.  First and foremost, I was solicited while standing in the check-in queue to purchase such amenities as extra leg room, an enhanced baggie of snacks, and some sort of iodized air product that was said to be better than the normal environmental stuff found drifting around the commoners in steerage.

I set my jaw for the chubby United Airlines employee and uttered a simple "No."  

I will not be bullied.  Of course, I also suspect this was the reason I was charged twenty dollars to check my only bag.

It was while enroute to our connection in Denver that the second insult was introduced.  The intoxicatingly cute Swedish flight attendant (I'm not making this up . . . her name was Onya) announced over the P.A. that we were traveling with a passenger who had a severe peanut allergy.  We were further told to refrain from eating anything containing peanuts or opening any complimentary snack bags containing the dreaded legume.  This really wasn't a problem, as UA has apparently done away with in-flight snacks, but it still stung a bit as I watched the lucky bastards in First Class receiving small platters of exotic cheese and complimentary warm towels to place around they're bloated overvalued necks.

The early morning flight made me somewhat hesitant to indulge my habit of collecting those empty little Vodka bottles, so I was forced to suffer the standard reflective mood I get when I'm flying.  My latest in-flight preoccupation has been with pulmonary embolism, particularly since it was reported that our recently departed television pitchman Billy Mays may have kicked from such a thing after his bumpy landing at the Tampa-St. Pete airport.  Incredibly, I was able to keep it in check even though I had thoroughly convinced myself that the tickle in my calf was a PE wiggling its way up my leg to turn out the lights.

Suffice it to say the next time I won't be riding bareback and will instead have a proper fortification involving prescription medication.

And that, kids, is really it so far.  The touchdown in Detroit was uneventful, the hotel has proven itself quite superior, and the weather does not involve snow or scorching heat.

In fact, the only downside seems to be the compact rental car that I'm forced to suffer as a government employee.  I'm sure that circus clowns are given more respect, along with a reasonable liquor allowance, but I guess it's only fair when they're forced to wear those floppy shoes . . .

I can only offer for you the following photo, taken from the window of my hotel at a location I still can't reveal. 

Bucolic nonetheless, right?  Right?