This is What Happens When You Pick Up The Phone On Your “Day Off”…

This has been my morning so far…

1)  I read the following headline from our favorite jurnalist, Ned Hickson: This Just In… and snickered like a little girl, I mean, boy.

2)  Encountered a hooker who really wasn’t a hooker (I’ll explain at a later date, promise), who uttered the following line in a voice so smooth the words dripped from her mouth.

“What I offer is never overpriced and its value definitely exceeds the charge. Now, if you’ll excuse me, its way past my head-time.”

3)  Ran into a middle-aged woman who inspired the following tweets:



4)  A supposedly-secure back room – with no back door. Which, of course, led to this tweet:

And that’s all I have for you today, gang. It promises to be an eventful day – even for me – so I’m sure we’ll talk/blog later. See you in the never-boring lobby, kids…

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Two Morally Bankrupt Girls: Part Two, The Motherlovin’ Sequel.

Where were we?

Buzzing bags, group sex (sorta), simultaneous orgasms, well-timed Hook humor… Oh yeah, I got it.


All caught up? Good. Let’s continue, shall we?

The gals had their room assignment and keys already, so we made our way inside the hotel to continue our highbrow discussion of cabbages and kings. Just to refresh your collective memory, gang, Girl #1 looked like this. (Pretty much.)

And her partner-in-naughty-crime was a reasonable, taller, stand-in for Buffy’s old pal, Willow.


We now return to our regularly scheduled bell call from Vivid Video Hell.

GIRL #1:  So, Mr. Bellguy, do you handle many vibrators?


GIRL #1:  He already knows what’s in the bag, Chrissy! We’re in the rabbit’s hole now!

ME:  That’s “down the rabbit hole.” But I get it. And to answer your question, professionally, I handle plenty of luggage that contains all known varieties of pleasuring devices, self-administered and otherwise.

GIRL #1:  Yeah, I let my man handle mine sometimes, too!

Girl #2 opened her mouth, but quickly realized it was better to simply go with the dirty flow. That having been said, she did try to steer things in a different direction. 

GIRL #2:  So, Mr. Bellguy, what’s new?

ME:  Well, most recently, I learned two young ladies who travel with buzzing bags and who are so close they synchronize their orgasms, have decided to refer to me as “Mr. Bellguy”.

GIRL #2:  You don’t like it, Mr. Bellguy?

ME:  No offense, ladies, but I already have a nickname. You can call me “The Hook”.

We rounded the corner to the hotel’s north tower elevators, and even though I knew full well what was coming, but I figured I’d let the gals have their fun.

GIRL #1:  The Hook?

GIRL #2:  But you have both hands. (Gasping.) Is one a prosthetic?

GIRL #1:  Don’t be stupid, Chrissy! I bet it’s cause his dong is curved!

ME:  (Chuckling. I never get tired of that assumption.)  Actually… no. My last name is Hookey. A colleague just started calling me “Hook” one day and the name eventually evolved to “The Hook”.

[TRAVEL NOTE:  If you're ever in a crowded hotel lobby awaiting an elevator and you're surrounded by a dozen seniors and several families with small children, just use the word "dong" in a sentence. Loudly. The crowd will part like the Red Sea and you'll get first dibs on the next available elevator.]

Fortunately, our “carriage” arrived almost immediately. We boarded the elevator. Girl #1 turned her head and stared at my crotch as she moved. (I’ll never get used to that reaction to my name, even though it happens more often than you’d imagine.) Girl #2 was about to join her when her phone chimed, announcing a text message. She quickly donned a puzzled expression as the doors closed.

(Wisely, the crowd allowed us to have an elevator to ourselves.)

GIRL #1:  Is it Mr. X, Chrissy?

I couldn’t let that one go.

ME:  Forgive me for intruding ladies, but Mr. X?

GIRL #2:  My new boyfriend. He’s…

GIRL #1:  Married and a hundred years old!

GIRL #2:  He’s not that old, Jennifer!

GIRL #1:  He takes Cialis!

ME:  Let’s just say he’s “mature”?

GIRL #1:  Fine. Anyway, what’s he want now? You know this is supposed to be a “girls-only” trip! Besides, you’re meeting him in Toronto after this, right? Or did his wife finally get wise and cut his hundred-year-old penis off?

GIRL #2:  Jenn-

ME:  (Motioning to #2.) I’ve got this, miss.  (Looking at #1.) JENNIFER!

On cue, the elevator opened at our destination. The girls nearly doubled over with laughter and I rolled my cart out and directed my hysterical guests to their room. Needless to say, the hi-jinks continued.

GIRL #2:  (Handing her phone to her BFF.)  I know I’m going to regret this, but look at this message he just sent me! 3-alyson-hannigan-fan-page-facebook

Both ladies stopped to read the message – several times, slowly – as we arrived at their door. Finally, they began to ponder the contents of the cellular transmission.

GIRL #1:  What is that, exactly?

GIRL #2:  I figured you’d know for sure!

GIRL #1:  Why? Are you saying I’m a slut?

GIRL #2:  Are you saying you’re not? I’ve seen you do three guys on a pool table!

Part of me wanted to interject – though not too badly – but they were on verbal fire, so the blogger in me took over and stood by taking mental notes.  If #1 was bothered by my presence, she sure didn’t show it.

GIRL #1:  (Lowering her head somewhat while catching my gaze.)  I didn’t actually do all three!

ME:  I figured that. (No, I didn’t.)

GIRL #1:  I just did Tom and Greg on the pool table at our friend’s house. Billy just stood there and masturbated.

ME:  Well, that’s different then.

GIRL #1:  (In a super high pitch.)  I KNOW, RIGHT?

ME:  Well, this has been more fun than I can articulate, but should we go inside now, ladies?

GIRL #2:  I still don’t understand this message!

GIRL #1:  Ask The Hook. He’ll know!

ME:  I’m not the Wizard of Oz, ladies. There are limits to my knowledge.

They looked at me like lost puppies. Horny, dumb puppies. In tight clothes. What choice did I have?

ME:  What do you need to know?

Once again, the gleeful gals pulled a synchronous explosion. But you know, a non-sexual one this time.

“What exactly is reverse cowgirl, Mr. Bellguy?”

 Admittedly, it took me a moment to stop laughing – though my smile lasted hours – and another moment to ponder an appropriate response that would A) keep me out of the HR office and B) keep me in the girl’s good graces.

ME:  (To #2 while pointing at #1) Let me get this straight: You hang out with this young lady and you don’t know what reverse cowgirl is?

GIRL #1: HEY! I’m not that bad!

ME:  If pool tables could talk…

Both girls broke up, thus reinforcing my faith in my ability to select “targets” that appreciate my “gifts”.

GIRL  #2:  (In a loud, giggly voice.)  Hello! Mr. Bellguy, I mean, Mr. Hook! Over here! Reverse cowgirl, remember?

Sure enough, two older guests just happened to be dragging their withered forms by at that exact moment (of course, right?).

ME:  Okay, ladies, we really need to get inside now!

GIRL #1: So you can show us reverse cowgirl?

Stereophonic giggles erupted, naturally.

ME:  So I can tell you what reverse cowgirl is.  (Even that sounded like something that would land my name in another HR file, but I went with it anyway.)

Finally, we made our way inside (#1 even snickered as she inserted the key in the door) and I did my best to wrap this verbally naughty little encounter in a bow and get the hell out of there.

As if.

GIRL #2:  (As I was busy fulfilling my actual role as a bellman, as opposed to being a sex ed teacher.)  Okay, so my boyfriend sent me a message saying he wants to experiment more. So what is reverse cowgirl, Hook?

I looked at #1 again.

GIRL #1:  I SWEAR I DON’T KNOW! (Her voice was as smooth as a broken bottle being dragged against against a pane of scratched glass covered in sand.)  I DO ALL THE POSITIONS, BUT I DON’T KNOW WHAT THEY’RE CALLED!

ME:  (Sighing. Internally, of course. never let the guest see you sigh, kids.) All right, girls, let’s get right to it, shall we?

GIRL #1:  Oh yeah!

ME: Easy there, tiger. Let’s all pretend we’re mature, shall we? Listen carefully, girls… (Directing my attention to #2 specifically.) Have your guy lay back on the bed – or if you prefer, the pool table – and, facing away from his face, straddle him with your knees on either side of his hips.

( I realize my explanation was ridiculously cold, but remember, if I was walking a thin line. One misstep and I could have landed in a heap of trouble. No to mention what the wife would have done to me.)

GIRL #1:  That’s it? All she has to do is ride him backwards?

GIRL #2:  What do you mean, ‘That’s it?’ I could get hurt! What if I fall off? Or worse, what if I fall back? That could wreck a man!

ME: That’s for you and your man to work out. Look at it this way, if he gets hurt, his wife will have to be th eone to nurse him back to health.

GIRL #1:  Not if she finds out how he got hurt! She’ll finish the job! And by “finish”, I mean she’ll rip  his nuts off!

We all laughed at that one.

ME:  All right ladies, this has been… I’m not sure what this has been, but I’m out of here.

GIRL #1:  Hang on, Hook! I think my friend here needs more instruction! She’s a slow learner! (#2 just giggled – of course – and nodded.)

ME:  See where you’re going with this. Love the moxie… not gonna happen.

I’ve got to hand it to #1, she was a trooper, through and through. Rather than let my refusal damper her spirits, she hopped up on the bed and laid on her back.

GIRL #1:  Hop up here, Chrissy!

And so she did, with lightning speed, I might add. Their height differential made the resulting image a little awkward, which actually worked for me. (The last thing I wanted was to find that coupling appealing.)

ME:  That’s my cue, girls. I’m sure you’ll be fine on your own.


ME:  (Holding up my wedding ring.)  I’m married, bound by professional ethics… and terrified of my wife. have a great stay girls. And good luck with the reverse cowgirl… and the married boyfriend.

I headed out, grabbed my cart and started down the hall when I heard a door open behind me.

So close.

GIRL #2:  Hang on, Hook! We forgot to tip you!

ME:  Trust me, miss, I’ve been duly compensated for my time.

GIRL #2: (In a sultry purr while slowly rocking side-to-side.)  So you don’t want it?

ME:  My tip, you mean?

GIRL #2:  Okay, we’ll go with that!  (Naturally, I accepted my gratuity. But #2 wasn’t quite finished.)  Thanks for being such a good sport. Do all your guests talk to you like we did?

ME:  You’d be surprised.

But I know you’re not, my friends. By the way, thanks for hanging in there through this rather lengthy tale. I hope you found it enjoyable. If you’re reading this, VampirerLover… I love you.

See you in the lobby, kids…


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Two Morally Bankrupt Girls: Part One.

In the beginning, when the world was young and free of the scourge of Kris Jenner’s progeny,  a traveler was pretty much on his/her own when it came to answering questions such as:

  • “Where can I find the best trees to make fire?
  • “Where can I find the best trees from which to fashion a club with which to render my mate unconscious?” (At this moment, the feminists are hissing like Madagascar cockroaches. Listen closely, you’ll hear them.)
  • “When is someone going to invent the car or even a wagon? Half my family usually dies halfway through the trip and it’s a bitch trying to repopulate the bloodline when your mate is unconscious half the time”

The modern traveler has many resources available when traversing the world. But personally, professional bias aside, you can’t beat the concierge or the bellman when you’re seeking out those little nuggets of info guaranteed to elevate your trip from the same old, same old to “You did what?”

I know of two young ladies who recently decided to side-step Google, TripAdvisor and even Arthur Frommer’s various tomes in favor of the sage wisdom of their usually-friendly-neighborhood “bellguy”.

“What exactly is reverse cowgirl, Mr. Bellguy?”

Now that I’ve got you snickering/blushing, let’s back this up a bit shall we?

Girl #1 was a petite, elf-like lass with blonde hair, librarian specs and a cute, high-pitched voice that was fun for your ears at first but after a few minutes had you stuffing luggage tags in your ears in the elevator. Come to think of it, all I really needed to do to properly describe this young lady to my readers was post the following pic…

As for Girl #2, she was basically a towering version of Alyson Hannigan.


I know what you’re thinking. Sure, I could spend more time actually using words to describe these people, but I need to be vague to respect guest confidentially. Plus, I’m not a great writer. Although, I do know my audience; you don’t want to be dazzled by wordplay, you want me to get to the good stuff.

And here it is.

It took me fifteen minutes to load my luggage cart with the Dazzling Duo’s belongings: Two minutes to clear out the trunk and thirteen minutes to stand around the valet deck and ponder important thoughts and images that, if revealed here, would get me kicked off WordPress – and beaten by my wife –  while the girls cleaned out water bottles, coffee cups, fast food wrappers, magazines and various odds and ends out of their Prius. Finally, Girl #1 handed me a bag and the ball began to roll.

ME:  Uh, miss?

GIRL #1:  Yes, Mr. Bellguy?

ME:  You may want to take this bag back to the car and… adjust it?

GIRL #1:  (Giggling.) Whatever are you talking about, Mr. Bellguy? What’s wrong with my bag? It’s a Coach bag!

ME:  It’s a Coach bag that’s buzzing.

As expected, the ladies gasped, dropped their jaws and looked at each other with matching “What did he just say to us?” expressions. 

GIRL #2:  It must be her electric toothbrush, right, Mr. Bellguy?

ME:  You mean the toothbrush that’s sticking out of that other bag?

Silence momentarily reigned once more.

GIRL #1:  Uh, well, what can I say, Mr. Bellguy?

GIRL #2:  Don’t say anything! Aren’t you supposed to be discreet, Mr. Bellguy?

ME:  Where’s the fun in that?

Laughter reigned.

GIRLS #1 and #2:  (Simultaneously.)  You’re hilarious!

ME:  And this bag is still buzzing.

Stereo laughter erupted again.

ME:  You’re cute when you laugh simultaneously, girls.

GIRL #1:  We do all kinds of things simultaneously!

GIRL #2:  No we don’t, Jennifer!

GIRL: #1:  Sure we do, Chrissy! Don’t you remember that time we went out with Jamie and Chris? And we got soooo drunk? And we wound up in the same room at Jamie’s house, where we all started doing it… but not together… and we both… you know?… at the same time?

It was my turn to be silent. Though not for long. We’re talking about me, after all.


ME:  Not to worry, girls. I don’t judge.

GIRL: #2:  Thank God!

ME:  I blog, but I don’t judge.

BOTH GIRLS:  (Simultaneously, of course.)  You’re hilarious!

All this before we even got in the building. There’s more, but I like to keep my audience wanting more. On that note…


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For Your Pleasure: A Quick Glimpse Inside My Marriage.

This is a day of rest for many – including yours truly for once – so I’m going to keep this short and sweet.

A Typical Day In The Hook Household

VAMPIRELOVER:  (Catching an unwanted glimpse of her beloved as he bends over to retrieve something from the fridge. And yes, that’s me.)  Hey, Boy! Nice undies!

ME:  (Or if you prefer, “Boy”.)  Yeah, they’re my Superman boxers. You bought them for me, in case you’ve forgotten.

VAMPIRELOVER:  I must have been out of my mind.

ME:  Or you were in love?

VAMPIRELOVER:  Same thing.

ME:  Nice. Anyways, I like ‘em. They say “Faster Than a Speeding Bullet” on ‘em.

VAMPIRELOVER:  At least they got that right.

ME:  Nice again.

That’s all, folks.

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Some Laughs And A Call To Arms.

One of the best things about blogging – besides the fame and fortune and the opportunity to pester Ned Hicksonis the sense of community bloggers feel towards one another.

Here on WordPress, I’m not just a bellman with a Viking-size axe to grind, I’m a valued member of the most dysfunctional – and fun-lovin’ – family to ever shatter the interweb. Granted, I’ve been an absent member of that family ever since I went up against the forces of gravity… and lost, Big Time, but I’ve been working my way back into your good graces one post and comment at a time, right? It’s taken me some time but I’m beginning to get back into the swing of things.

In that vein…

Top Ten “Interesting” Things I’ve Overheard This Week.

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again (right now, in fact), bellmen are virtually invisible… which means we get to overhear all the best stuff. Whether we’re on the elevator, lurking walking behind guests/hookers, or delivering luggage, people just seem to pay no heed to our presence. Come to think of it, forget Bond and his STDs (come on, you know he’s had everything by now), if you want the perfect secret agent, get yourself a bellman.

And now, on with the show.

1)  “So I told him, I didn’t mind so much if you brought your ex into it, but I have draw the line at your stepsister! A girl has to have standards, right? She is hot, though…”

2)  “Great news! It’s cleared up! yes, even the dripping! We’re good to go tonight!”

3)  “They want way to much for this room! All we’re gonna do is mess the bed, shower and desk, anyway! The stains wash right off!”

4)  “That was some good weed! I’m starving!”

5)  “He was fantastic, Meg! Best three hundred dollars I ever spent!”

6)  “Really, Harold? It’s been so long since I’ve had sex I don’t even remember who gets whipped first!”

7)  “Seriously, Carol? We just got here! I need to sit, eat and take a few pills first! I’m not a sex machine!”

[ Truthfully, he really wasn't. But I'll say this for Carol: She was a gal who knew what she wanted. She began undressing in the other room while I was still dropping off the bags. Told you we were invisible. ]

8)  “I’m horny, dear!”

[ Gotta love those elevator rides. ]

9)  “Guess what I just realized? I forgot my ‘sex bag’! What am I going to tie Greg up with? It took six months of manipulating just to get him to leave his girlfriend behind and join me here! Bitch still thinks he’s straight!”

[ And the topper... ]

10)  “I’m not worried about it, your parents will never know we were so wasted we smashed their Bentley and had sex on their bed… and the washing machine!”

Remember, kids, I’m not talented enough to make this stuff up.

Now that I’ve entertained you, I have a small request. Consider it payment for the yuks. Anne St. Vincent, a valued member of our family, is hurting right now; her soul has been bruised by love’s sucker-punch. She needs to be held, but since technology hasn’t made virtual hugging possible yet, we’re going to have to try a different approach. Come up with your best reassuring line, click on the link below and send our beautiful friend some love. That’s an order, kids!



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An Update and A Hooker That Looks Like Charo.

I’ll wait while you all Google “Charo”…

Done? Good. Let’s move on, shall we?

The State of My World:

1)  It’s bus season – which, contrary to popular belief, isn’t a period of time during which bellmen are permitted to shoot at bus loads of tourists – and my bad leg (yes, I’ve become that guy), is aching like I’ve gone two rounds with Tyson or ten rounds with Sasha Grey.

(I’m most likely going to pay for the Sasha Grey remark – once my wife Googles Sasha Grey, that is.)

2)  My second tome is currently filled with 42,500 words, some which are actually grouped in a coherent order. Unfortunately, my artistic drive operates on an intermittent cycle and so I’ll experience a week of hyper-activity followed by a drought. On the plus side, I’ve learned the value of pacing from the nuclear disaster that was my first book, so this time around I’m going to write at my own pace and choose the right words, tone and order.

3)  I’ve pitched several projects to various individuals and corporations over the course of the last few months… and I have yet to hear back from any of them. Credit where credit is due though; Robyn Lawson has been the greatest cheerleader to ever wave her pom poms in my praise. You rock, babe.

4)  Bus/conference season has meant I have had fewer encounters with “regular-but-no-so-regular” guests. Fortunately, a single encounter can stretch pretty far…

A Conversation With “Morgan Freeman”

Seriously, I’m not being racist; this gentleman was a less-refined version of Freeman.

MF:  (While answering the door for yours truly.)  Sorry, you had to knock so many times, pal! As you can see, I’ve been a little busy!

With that, he directed my attention to the interior of the room, where five details stood out like Kevin O’Leary surrounded by puppies.

ONE)  The room smelled like the Seventies. And I don’t mean the sweet sounds of soulful rock music. No, I’m referring to the musky, pungent odor that can only be produced by the collision of two not-so-beautiful bodies making the Beast With Two Backs.

TWO)  There were damp hotel towels all over the room. I’m not exactly certain what this guy was doing, but it involved copious amounts of water.

THREE)  A self-pleasuring device of considerable power and size – it was buzzing like a neon sign in Vegas – was humming away on the bed. Yes, these people knew I was on my way to the room and they still left the vibrator out -and running. To most guests a bellman is virtually invisible.

FOUR)  An extra-large paper bag, overflowing with various costumes (Batman’s hood stood out) sat in the corner.

FIVE)  A twenty-something, Latin, paid-escort/hooker (yes, I’m certain she was a hooker), the spitting image of Charo (as she looks now), was flexing like a body-builder in the middle of the room. She was a pleasant, smiling, well-mannered young lady… who was just horrible.

MF:  So, what do you think buddy? You think she’ll love me forever?

ME:  As long as your credit’s good, sir.

MF:  Oh, you’re good, son!

ME:  It helps if I have good material and guests with open minds, sir.

MF: Yeah! Well, anyway… can you store our luggage? I’m going to take my lady for lunch. Is that okay?

ME:  I’m sure it’s the least you can do, sir. (Especially considering what she had to go through to earn her pay.)

MF:  Oh yeah! See you soon, Mr. Funny Man!

And that’s the state of my world and my offering for today. See you in the lobby, kids…

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The Hook Finally Returns.

I’m back in uniform… but up until now, I haven’t really felt like I’ve truly returned to the typical, run-of-the-mill, everyday, atypical, out-of-the-ordinary life that I live between the hotel’s walls.

Did that sentence make you dizzy? Good. That’s merely a fraction of what it feels like to be a 21st century bellman in a thousand-room hotel in Niagara Falls. In my world, the atypical is typical. Out-of-the-ordinary is run-of-the-mill. Up is down. At any rate, let’s get back to today’s business. Namely, sex behind thin Pressboard doors.

Can you believe I had difficulty starting this post? Makes sense, I suppose. After all, it can sometimes be difficult – or in this case “hard” – to begin coitus. Everyone has their own specific ritual/starting point.

Some people lock eyes with their partner, each tuning into the other’s primal urges (which many of us don’t indulge in often enough, sadly). And then they tear each other apart like two rabid wildebeests, as it should be. Clothing is shredded. “Loved bites” and light bruising are inflicted.

Others are far more regimented. Candles are lit. Music fills the space. Lingerie and fancy underwear are donned. Silk bonds are are prepared. Various devices, some mechanical in nature, are inspected and powered up.

Yes, I’ve led an interesting life, kids. What of it?

Some begin with light kissing on the neck and other erogenous zones, while fingertips conduct a feather-light inspection of every inch of their partner/prey’s quivering form. After moments that feel like separate eternities, the kissing finally becomes deep kissing. The two forms slowly become one, each desperate to fill a single space in the universe. Breath is exchanged. Waves of sexual electricity flow like summer rain. A collective mountain is scaled until…

This is getting pretty hot. Excuse me, won’t you?

Okay, I’m back.

You’re probably wondering what precipitated this naughty post. Not that I blame you, this sort of thing isn’t exactly in my wheelhouse. Or is it? I mean, as a bellman I’ve overheard more lovers engaging in illicit lovemaking than a prison guard. In fact, this exchange filled my consciousness through one of the hotel’s aforementioned Pressboard doors yesterday afternoon…

BABE:  (In a young, throaty, frustrated tone.)  This… isn’t working for… ow!… me, Peter! We’re going to have to switch it up. AGAIN!

There was silence, save for a few gasps, for a few long moments.

BABE:  PETER! I’m speaking to… you! Stop… Get out of me, will you?

PETER:  (In a ragged, weasly voice.)  Seriously, babe? I’m almost there!

BABE:  Already?

That’s what I thought.

PETER:  (After “disembarking” the carnal carousel.)  Well, yeah! You know how hot I get when we play “Peter and Gwen”!

“Peter and Gwen”? But he didn’t call her “Gwen”.

BABE:  But you weren’t even playing it right! You weren’t calling me “Gwen”!

Told you.

Another moment passed. “Peter” was no doubt weighing his options. Finally, he realized playing along with a demanding, imaginative lover was better than playing alone.

“PETER”:  Okay, so what are we playing now, Babe?

BABE:  Let’s play “Naughty College Librarian snaps and interrogates and tortures the chronically-late Science Nerd Grad Student!”

You have to hand it to Babe, she wasn’t exactly original, but she was thorough. 

BABE:  Or wait! Let’s play “Zombie Stripper eats the Dirty Cop”!

I blog corrected. She was quite imaginative.

Yes, being a bellman does make one take on the role of Peeping Tom temporarily  (is it peeping if you’re listening?), but it’s all in good fun – from my side at least – so it’s all good.

See you in the lobby – and behind closed doors – kids…


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