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[Replaced_Texan]

Originally posted by Tyrone Slothrop
That book prompted one of my favorite book reviews ever:

• So I tried not to think about it. But when I heard the book was actually coming out, I started to worry. Among other things, I knew I would be asked to write the review. The usual ratio of Friedman criticism is 2:1, i.e., two human words to make sense of each single word of Friedmanese. Friedman is such a genius of literary incompetence that even his most innocent passages invite feature-length essays. I'll give you an example, drawn at random from The World Is Flat. On page 174, Friedman is describing a flight he took on Southwest Airlines from Baltimore to Hartford, Connecticut. (Friedman never forgets to name the company or the brand name; if he had written The Metamorphosis, Gregor Samsa would have awoken from uneasy dreams in a Sealy Posturepedic.) Here's what he says:
  
  I stomped off, went through security, bought a Cinnabon, and glumly sat at the back of the B line, waiting to be herded on board so that I could hunt for space in the overhead bins.
  
  Forget the Cinnabon. Name me a herd animal that hunts. Name me one.

Unforgetting the Cinnabon for a second, I'd like to point out that there is no place to buy a Cinnabon at the Southwest terminal at BWI. There is, however, a Cinnabon stand at Washington National though Southwest doesn't fly to National.