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"Disclaimer: This blog is not responsible for those of you who start to laugh and piss your pants a little. Although this blogger understands the role he has played (in that, if you had not been laughing you may not have pissed yourself), he assumes no liability for damages caused and will not pay your dry cleaning bill.

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Tuesday, December 29, 2009

Motel You Something

Yes, we're in the Poconos.

No, we're not staying in one of those places with a champagne glass-shaped hot-tub/semen receptacle.

We came here to ski: even if it kills me. And today, after making a wrong turn, I thought it might. At the very least, I took a spill that I was sure had broken both my thumbs. And yetm here I am, blogging on a smartphone- thumbing my merry way into your hearts- God love you and your easily thumbed-through hearts...

So, obviously, my thumbs are okay.

While I'm not usually in the habit of making petty excuses for my varying and colorful ineptitudes, maybe I would have skiied better had I not been utterly sleep-deprived and operating my skis under more of a haze than the average inebriated, blonde-haired, snow-chapped Telemark d-bag, scuttling haphazardly in a fog of Natty Ice and a puffy, goose-down onesie.

The reason for the dearth of sleep experienced by Mr. & Mrs. Apron? Why, the peeps in the room next door.

Apparently, the cheaper motels in the Poconos rent rooms to hoards of donkeys. I was not aware of this little-known business practice, or I might have gone more upscale, you know, like one of those places with the rotating champagne glass jacuzzi and the vibrating toilet. From 9:30pm until at least 2:30am, the mothercunts next door brayed incessantly, at one point drunkenly playing either charades or Pictionary, when I finally acquiesced to my wife's begging me to call the front desk. If anything, this made the donkeys angrier. And louder.

I pictured their room-- hay and feces and donkey hair everywhere. Poor Conchita won'tt like refreshing those towels.

In the morning, I did something I hardly ever do: complain. I know, I do it on the blog all the time, but that's very different. I don't walk up to randomly french-kissing lesbian couples and pull down my pants in real life either. The long and short of it is that the woman at the front desk was very apologetic and moved us to a different room without hesitation.

We'll see if the skiing improves.


  1. I like you because you use words like "dearth." And "braying."
    And "mothercunts," for that matter.

    Also, for the record, for the past couple of weeks it has been impossible for me to leave a comment on your blog from my work. Which has left me quite dismayed. But here I am. And all is well.

  2. All I can say is...KEEP YOUR SOCKS ON!

    And also, don't touch the top comforter...More semen is found there than anywhere else, except for maybe semen receptacles, but that goes without saying.

  3. Good for you. I'm not one to complain in general, either, but when my sanity is compromised, it's on. DON'T MESS WITH MY SLEEPY TIME.

  4. How are you possibly so funny? Just... how? And on a smartphone? Shit.

    PS - I've heard donkeys can't reproduce. So, you've got that going for you, at the very least...

  5. "I pictured their room-- hay and feces and donkey hair everywhere. "

    You make me giggle, all the time. Giggling. Giggling is so ridiculous.

    I never complain either. I mean, like outside of my head. Power to people! Fist pump! Way to stand up to the ineptitudes of the world.


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