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  • "Yellow matter custard, dripping from a dead dogs eye" -John L I strolled in on a balmy Monday afternoon, and was immediately greeted by the concierge. After some playful banter, she located an open room and had me whisked to my accommodations. There was a bed, two TVs and a bevy of portable latrines to help make my stay as pleasant as possible. The chambermaid assigned to my lodging sweet talked the shirt right off my back, and provided me with an exquisite gown which had the touch, the feel... of cotton, the fabric of my life. What luck, I had arrived just in time for happy hour! Since I probably looked like I could handle my liquid, they started not one, but two IVs... and plugged me into the EKG. I looked like Keanu Reeves from the first Matrix, after he was awoken. Now Mr Neo may have been skilled at dodging bullets and combat kung-fu, but I'd like to see him roll over on his side, unzip, and take a leak into a plastic bottle, maneuvering with only one hand, while an old lady screams in the next room from her blood draw... all this without spilling a drop. It took a while, but I was finally upgraded to a new private room. Looking at the bed, I thought back to all the lodging advice I've ever received. You don't know what kind of DNA is on the comforter, and they never wash it. But here, I also had to worry about the extended set of bodily fluids... like vitreous humor, which coincidentally is where VH-1 came from. It was essentially a nod to John Lennon's obscure "Walrus" lyrics. I'd love to give this place a 5-star rating, but I've NEVER been to a hotel where the maintenance crew enters the room every 3 hours, flipping the overhead light on, startling the crap out of you. It's like... dude, I'm in here for a heart thingie. Are ya TRYING to scare me into a flat-line? And the comestibles, while filling, wasn't the flavor circus I had found at other eateries. But I've got a feeling after I get the bill, it will prove to be more expensive than a night at the French Laundry.
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