As in all hotels of note, this one comes with the highest of highest recommendations, from the best of best people, though it depends on what you mean by 'the best.' I have a best suit which I wear at funerals, but it doesn't mean that I like it. I wear it a lot now, I guess I'm of that age. A person with a global profile, a power-wallet, and a big mouth, is all it takes to puff up an hotel. Everyone who is visibly a somebody, and even an invisible nobody-noddy, hungers to stay there. The Despicable Inhospitable, is the most expensive hotel in the world. I had to go there, in spite of that telephone call. I took Julie. Julie doesn't know I'm married.
Set off one of the most desolate spots on the planet, The Despicable Inhospitable Hotel, can only be accessed by a ski-plane. I can't take seriously a plane with propellers, it's like being inside an interminable whoopee cushion. Julie didn't know what I was talking about, she wasn't compus mentis, thanks to the Valium and three Barcardi and Coke's. She barely noticed the pop star, Morris Smacker, try hitting on her in the First Class Lounge. 'Who's the grandaddy?' he asked her, as we boarded the aircraft.
It is fair to say that neither the namby-pamby nor the lilly-livered arrived at this romantic Christmas destination in one piece. There were a number of these guys traveling on our plane, they all had that flaky look, especially the younger ones. Within minutes of disembarkation, that nancy pop star was the first to be ripped apart by three hungry bears. Hunger always looks better behind expensive shades. I took off my sunglasses when the snow turned pink.
If you did chance to arrive at the hotel intact, there was no bell boy to take command of your suitcases, no bootlicking receptionist to greet you with a warm smile, nor a concierge to dance attendance to your every whim. Where is everyone? ‘Elivs? Elvis? Ya hear me?’ No answer. A gold key marked for my attention, was left on reception. Julie sighed and stretched out her arms. ‘Let’s just go to bed,’ she said picking up the key. I was thankful Morris had gottten gobbled up and not me. That stupid punk won’t be pawing Julie’s long soft limbs again.