The other day I was eating a cantaloupe that tasted like varnish… or at least how I’d imagine varnish would taste… cuz I’ve never actually ingested varnish. I also had a couple pieces, of that same cantaloupe, that tasted like the smell of an air-conditioned hotel room; you know that faux-fresh scent that punches you in the face when you walk into a hotel room… like a mix of stale air-conditioner-water, Febreeze, and cigarettes? That cantaloupe was a melon! (See what I did there… I called the cantaloupe a melon… melon like a dud… but a cantaloupe actually is a melon. God damn I’m a clever son of a bitch)

Why are hotel rooms always frigid when you first walk in? I like keeping cool, in the middle of the summer, as much as the next guy, but seriously, do I need freezer-burn on my limbs to be comfortable? I think people should form a union against over-frozen hotel rooms. I’m making a stand. If there are icicles dangling from the drapes of my hotel room, and a real live snowman wrestles me for the bed by the window, I’m not staying there; period.

I don’t even care if I end up beating the snowman, and during the fight, someone claims the other available bed, and then the snowman (who we call Inferno) has to call front-desk and get a cot… which he’ll sleep terribly on cuz of those stupid springs that poke the shit out of your back… and that bloody aluminum bar that runs right down the fold of the bed, but it never manages to lay flat, so the two halves of the bed actually slope, in opposite directions, away from the bar… forming a slight ‘v’ shape that contorts your body, awkwardly, at the hips. And then the frame of the bed is always slightly crooked, from being moved from room to room, by employees who don’t get paid enough to give a shit whether the bed is in good condition or not (cuz they just want some spare cash to blow on hookers and church donations) so the damn thing rocks back and forth every time you shift your body weight… and you contemplate putting a coaster, or some toilet paper, under one corner of the bed so it stops rocking… but you don’t really want to get up… but after fighting with it for half an hour, or so, you just give in, realizing that you won’t get any sleep until you remedy the situation. Yeah; poor snowman bastard.

The real kicker is that by the time Inferno falls asleep, the air-conditioning in the room has been turned down to a reasonable level, and he ends up melting anyway. If I were him, I wouldn’t have bothered getting up for the toilet paper used to level out the bed. I probably would’ve spent that time hitting up the ice-machine for rations (but then, I have a functioning brain, while he is just a big heap of frozen water… so I can understand why he wouldn’t think to do that).

I think the worst part of it all, is the next day, you wake up and all your shit is wet… and you haven’t the slightest idea why that is, because you got blackout drunk the night before and the last thing you recall is hitting on some random girl after exchanging shoes with your friend and spilling that beer that you were too drunk to remember buying.

And then you can’t turn on the TV, because it’s shorted out… and the hotel is going to bill that on your credit card… stupid snowmen.

Recap:
Cantaloupe that tastes like varnish and hotel rooms sucks;
Wrestling snowmen never ends well for any parties involved;
Cots aren’t fit for sleeping on;
Hookers and church donations go hand-in-hand, and would be a great name for a band;
That rhymed… unintentionally;
When you trade shoes with your friends, you’re probably adequately drunk;
Hotels charge you for shit that breaks while you’re in the room… even if it’s not your fault.

Tell your friends.

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