AAAHH WRESTLING - AEW, MOXLEY, CRAPPY HOTEL PEOPLE (Patreon)

Oh my god this hotel sucks every hotel sucks help. 

I thought living in the kingdom of The Weed Man was bad, but the lawless wasteland that is "the other hotel across the street" makes me long for the days of that Green Fiend's Stinky Regime. This ghetto-ass poopy-place makes WeedCastle look like Donny Trump's Golden-Shower Sex-Tower, and it's not even substantially less expensive. 400 buckaroonies a week to watch endless Teen Titans Go marathons while stuck to the bed in a solid block of my own frozen sweat because the air conditioner only has 2 settings, "Mount Doom's Microwave" and "Antarctica Level from Twisted Metal 2". It's what you'd call a state of "suspended animation" in more ways than one. 

This hotel hell-cell is stuffier than a hoarder's basement, and i say that confidently as something of an expert on the subject. The air smells like warm garbage and that was before i even put my garbage in it. Now i feel like a real big pig roasting on a spire of frozen fire in a radioactive refrigerator-oven that Indiana Jones couldn't survive in. This putrid pit is as pungent as Pumba's plumbs, perspiring in poo-gas in the Wakandan Sun. The best way to describe my current situation is with this buttwarming, smelly clip from the movie Se7en. 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h8m69o_1PoQ

Also i can't seem to escape the curse of flooding, no matter where on this drowned planet i run to. The shower curtain was fucked up cause the railing holding it was falling off the wall, so i had to switch rooms after the first night because my nightly 3 hour fetal-position power-shower flooded the entire room. 

Look, I know i'm mostly on my own out here on the road, but i hate people so goddamn much even my alone time needs it's own alone time and that's why the shower is a holy place. I don't go in there just to wash my filthy body like some rank-amateur humanoid. I go in there to live my life. I'm a professional shower-taker. I'm on the next-level salamander shit. 

I get in there, in the safety of my rain room, nestled comfortably under the cleansing pressure of the waterfall simulator, I turn off the lights (not needed because the bathroom lights don't even work here anyway), and i slide down to the smooth porcelain floor of my sensory deprivation relaxation meditation station to roll around in the soothing downpour, soaking up the water and transforming into a big fat axolotle like in that Star Trek Voyager episode where that totally happens.

 https://memory-alpha.fandom.com/wiki/Threshold_(episode)

So yeah, by the time i got out the whole room looked like there'd been a monsoon in my lagoon. It wasn't my fault. What am I supposed to do, not spend 3 hours in the shower realigning my chakras and astral projecting my essence through time and space as my body evolves into it's final amphibious form to replenish my vitality and vigor by soaking up the life-giving liquid love of Mother Earth, just because there's no curtain? Sounds like an excuse to me. An excuse for the weak to not be who they want to be or live how they want to live. I don't have time for that baby-core bullshit. I'm a man and i get wet. 

So i may not have shower curtains, or lights, or a livable climate, but what i do have is... big scary roaches. I've seen 3 of these fuckers so far, and every one i've had to battle naked like Beowulf with no weapon but my trusty chancla. Yes, I had to be naked. Don't question it. 

But it's not the bugs that that are my real enemy here, no... it's the people. Specifically, the poor. Gods, i loathe the poor. I rue being one of them. These fucking peasants. These gormless wastes of supposed sentience. I live for the day i've amassed my fortune, and can finally crush them all under my boot heel like they deserve. 

Every day i must dodge the shambling slowtards who groan and limp around the parking lot, on the prowl for someone whose way they can be in. I listen to their inane grunting mouth-babble through the walls, and see them loitering about the hallways bereft of purpose like cro-magnon dullards, as if merely waiting out their empty days for the next ice-age to come and erase all evidence of their nothing existence. 

I too am waiting. Waiting patiently for the day i have the means and power to silence them all permanently. To take my place above the slobbering, slack-jawed masses and exploit them for my own profit like the oblivious cattle they are. Just like my heroes, the righteous Daniel Plainview, the noble Montgomery Burns, and the evil Vince MEEK-MAHAN!

And speaking of Vince... here's wrestling!

Yes, wrestling. The only good and pure thing left in this corrupted world. The only thing i love and the only thing that understands me. Here in my humble beginnings, living out the agonizing tedium of my slow ascent to Godhood, my beloved wrestling remains by my side as always to lessen the stress of Endless Jess and lighten the load of my acrid abode. 

Home is where the heart is and that's why i never go road trippin without my two favorite allies, wrestling and video games. With my trusty SNES Classic to keep me company and illegal streaming sites to project New Japan Pro Wrestling straight into my eyeballs in the blue glow of my elderly life-support laptop screen, brightening my dark world in the pitch black void of the serial killer roach motel where i blah blah blah whatever here's a fuckin podcast.