. . . honestly, I don't want anything to do with a hotel if it can't accommodate my hotel. I'm serious. I can't even begin to tell you how shocked I am-how gobsmacked-how shocksmacked I am at all these utterly teeny-tiny inadequate hotels I have to deal with-and I'm over here with my hotel layer already in place. And the concierge is like, "But, sir, you're already more hotel than mere mortal." Excuses. If a hotel will not-or even cannot-metamorphically stretch and expand itself and via crypto-biological means spontaneously generate enough mass to be and do and become whatever customers require it to be, well, maybe that hotel-the hotel that doesn't measure up-maybe that hotel needs to just get the heck outta the hospitality game. That hotel might be better off as, oh, I dunno, one of those mobile kitchens that parks itself outside of a bar or something. 'Cause bars can't just, like, have kitchens for some reason. I swear to Christ, people will just, like, insist that their mitochondria get the fuck out but be linked by wires or something-ay-yi-yi-but I'm getting off track. I was talkin' about hotels that don't cut it, so, like, y'know, if it's all hellbent on sticking with the whole hotel routine, even if it doesn't measure up, like, just go be a playing piece in one of those,uh, uh, one of those real estate build'em'up board games. Go do that if you're gonna be so tiny. Also, the towels. Now, I'm bringing my own towels. Of course. But those towels are going to require some means of toweling themselves off-I gotta have towels for my towels. Otherwise, ah, y'know, I may as well just gather up all my towels and just leap right into that gutter. Just leap right in. Me and my towels, rolling around in shit and and and flooding rains and, like, just the general bad vibes of inadequate damn hospitality services. May as well stock your hotel with feces in lieu of towels. Just do that. Full shit, no towels. That would, at the least, be more authentic. In this world of duplicity, at any rate. And I gotta have a concierge for my concierge. An indoor gym that can accommodate my gym. A backup gym would sweeten the deal, wouldn't it? Make that backups for everything: backup concierge, backup valet parking, backup continental breakfast, backup towels, backup escort service-redundancy is the soul of security, is it not? How can you have true hospitality if there is even the slightest chance of not having something ready to fill in for when that first thing falls through? Hm? I mean, sure, my hotel layer has grown in strong, no question, but maybe it gets low on provisions, or gets infested with fleas, well, that's my core motivation for seeking out a properly supplied hotel external to my being. The pay TV stuff all needs to be totally backed up as well. No joke. Nothing worse than when all the metaphysical porno bandwidth is getting hogged by some comic book dorko cosplay con jerkfiends. Of course, I'll be bringing my own porn studio, and library of porn on DVD and Blu-Ray, not to mention the crates of portable hard drives-but I also require assurances that the hotel for my hotel layer will, indeed, have adequate metaphysical porno bandwidth. This should all be standard. But most important of all-and this is key-is you gotta have a properly vast and impressive lobby area for my lobby area. There's got to be lots of intrigue and suspense and shady operators and corner-of-the-eye motherfuckers-the lobby's got to hustle, and it most definitely must bustle-and not because I don't already have mad lobby action going on in my hotel layer. I have that, certainly, not to mention elevator action that would make your daddy weep-but do I have a lobby which can accomodate my lobby, elevators to get my elevators where they need to go-'cause I already have all of the necessary shit within my own hotel layer. I just need it all properly backed up, y'know? Maybe you don't. What's the famous line? "The world cannot live at the level of its greatest citizens." Sure, sure. But I'm not saying everyone needs to manifest a full-on hotel layer. Just back me and mine up, y'know? And so long as I got a backup for that line, I'll do okay. Same deal with the pillow mints. And the pillow mint factory. And the sweatshop complex that assembles the pillows. And the backup sweatshop complex. The basement nightclub plus backup. The subsurface indoor shooting range plus backup. The mazelike network of rage rooms plus backup. The bewildering array of karaoke chambers plus you-know-what. The assorted virtual reality cubicles plus peas-and-carrots. The gift shops plus blankety-blankety. And none of this is actually for me, okay, I think there's been a bit of a misunderstanding, uh, regarding these arrangements-perhaps a, ah, willful misunderstanding, even. No, it isn't-all this-it's not just for my merest personal use. It's about the principle. Upholding that. Keeping in readiness, okay, all this abundance that I have described. Actual consumption, no, there's no pleasure in that. Ha, ha, ha, is that-what? You really thought-ha,ha,ha-wow. I mean. Well. That might just be the ultimate indictment of, I mean, ha,ha,ha,ha,ha-I'm sorry, it's not you that I'm laughing at-really, I'm not . . . look, I'll tell you how and what it all began with-for me. Windex. Okay. Windex. Not even the usage. The readiness. The never running out of the Windex. To always have Windex if needed. That's it. Readiness, is all. I'm not even, uh, particularly bothered by filth, per se, but I am deep into the range of gestures, you see, the performance of, uh, y'know, preparation, stockpiling, uh, abundance, fastidiousness, stuff-on-demand, having no worries, uh, that deep, uh, cushiony something-or-other . . . actuality . . . like . . . I got nothing to do with that . . . although, even I must admit . . . it gets pretty weird . . . when I take a fat shit . . . and I'm all-too-conscious . . . of my need . . . for a backup fat shit. It's conundrum territory, is what it is.
