Discrimination

Refused the radish suite because I appeared—by some amorphous, poorly defined standard, according to the desk clerk—to be, at the time, a rabbit, my suit against the novelty hotel chain brought me into possession of this small, not really scenic island, where I could hardly discriminate against my ambassador for his puny, unswiveling, virtually useless ears, even if, at the pan-Asian summit dinner, instead of currying favor, as instructed, with the Japanese, he instead favored curry, endearing himself with the Thai, which nation, however noble, simply doesn’t produce the microchips I’m now accused of depriving my companion, who, in her suit against me, claims to have been, at the time, human, and so some processors shy of achieving the consciousness that would have stopped her launching the mining concern that’s given you mainlanders such enviable cookware and quiet, conscience-quieting cars, and, yes, built this palace in which I wish you could see me now, nibbling, nibbling, the last of our lettuce.