More Terrible Hotels
Actually paid to sleep somewhere that turned out to be less compfy, private or clean than the bench in the park outside? Tell us all about it.
Or perhaps you'd like to boast about getting upgraded to a sea-view suite next door to Stevie Wonder, like my colleague keeps doing? Over and over...
( , Thu 27 Nov 2014, 9:36)
Actually paid to sleep somewhere that turned out to be less compfy, private or clean than the bench in the park outside? Tell us all about it.
Or perhaps you'd like to boast about getting upgraded to a sea-view suite next door to Stevie Wonder, like my colleague keeps doing? Over and over...
( , Thu 27 Nov 2014, 9:36)
« Go Back
Hotel Wanker
Many incarnations ago, I booked into a budget chain hotel in one of your Earth cities. All was well to start with - female receptionist friendly, everything clean, no offensive odours.
So I took the lift up to my room with light hearts, and opened the door with not entirely unjustified expectations of a decent, clean room. This did indeed appear to be the case - but my attention was distracted by the large, naked, black man sprawled on the double bed, wanking his oiled black cock to the porn channel on the room's TV.
Our eyes met and his face assumed an expression of complete mortification - as, I suppose, did mine - and he stopped wanking - though his penis remained fully erect, rather admirably in the circumstances.
We stared at each other for a few seconds in complete silence save for the groans and moans and cheesy music of the porno movie soundtrack. Then I retreated and gently closed the door, and made my way back down to reception.
Then I remembered the cheerful, young, innocent looking girl manning the desk.
Bugger, I thought. She smiled as I approached the desk and I smiled back, my mind racing, wondering what I should say.
'Er... I went up to my room... and there was somebody in it,' I muttered.
'Oh' said the receptionist, looking surprised. 'Did you ask them to leave?'
'Not exactly,' I said. 'Look, it's a bit embarrassing, he was naked, and -'
'Was he black?' she interrupted.
'Y - yes,' I stammered. 'A big, bald, black guy...'
She asked for my key and quickly processed me into another room on a different floor. I approached this room with trepidation but it was thankfully devoid of masturbating men of any skin colour. (Except for me, later, as I was a man back then, and - well, that's another story).
When I went down to the carvery later, sure enough, the carvery chef was this very same bald black guy.
I'd always idly wondered if black people could blush.
LAIGHTERZ SWEEETIESE!
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
( , Fri 28 Nov 2014, 18:34, 4 replies)
Many incarnations ago, I booked into a budget chain hotel in one of your Earth cities. All was well to start with - female receptionist friendly, everything clean, no offensive odours.
So I took the lift up to my room with light hearts, and opened the door with not entirely unjustified expectations of a decent, clean room. This did indeed appear to be the case - but my attention was distracted by the large, naked, black man sprawled on the double bed, wanking his oiled black cock to the porn channel on the room's TV.
Our eyes met and his face assumed an expression of complete mortification - as, I suppose, did mine - and he stopped wanking - though his penis remained fully erect, rather admirably in the circumstances.
We stared at each other for a few seconds in complete silence save for the groans and moans and cheesy music of the porno movie soundtrack. Then I retreated and gently closed the door, and made my way back down to reception.
Then I remembered the cheerful, young, innocent looking girl manning the desk.
Bugger, I thought. She smiled as I approached the desk and I smiled back, my mind racing, wondering what I should say.
'Er... I went up to my room... and there was somebody in it,' I muttered.
'Oh' said the receptionist, looking surprised. 'Did you ask them to leave?'
'Not exactly,' I said. 'Look, it's a bit embarrassing, he was naked, and -'
'Was he black?' she interrupted.
'Y - yes,' I stammered. 'A big, bald, black guy...'
She asked for my key and quickly processed me into another room on a different floor. I approached this room with trepidation but it was thankfully devoid of masturbating men of any skin colour. (Except for me, later, as I was a man back then, and - well, that's another story).
When I went down to the carvery later, sure enough, the carvery chef was this very same bald black guy.
I'd always idly wondered if black people could blush.
LAIGHTERZ SWEEETIESE!
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
( , Fri 28 Nov 2014, 18:34, 4 replies)
OK
You've stopped posting mildly amusing factoids about fictional people called Rob Fairholme now, so I can put you back on ignore.
( , Fri 28 Nov 2014, 22:20, closed)
You've stopped posting mildly amusing factoids about fictional people called Rob Fairholme now, so I can put you back on ignore.
( , Fri 28 Nov 2014, 22:20, closed)
« Go Back