This Post Raises An Intriguiging Question: Whatever Happened To Adrian Zmed?

I’d almost forgotten what it was like to serve a bachelorette party, post-party.


One whiff of stale alcohol, cheap perfume, sticky-sweet body odor, body spray and regret refreshed my memory instantly. Incidentally, my memory was the only thing that was refreshed in that room. Cultural convention – and Ton Hanks’ early work –  tells us that males are the master of the party meant to signify the end of one’s existence as a single entity, but trust me, the ladies are every bit as adept as their penis-wielding counterparts when it comes to rockin’ a hotel room bachelor party.

These chicks were spittin, cursin’, coughin’, belchin’ and grabbing their crotcheral areas with gusto unmatched by any male I’ve encountered in seventeen years. But as they say,  the devil is in the details. Check out this inventory of their luggage/belongings/junk:

  • Fifteen opened but unfinished bottles and boxes of various brands of ale, mineral spirits, wine and battery acid.
  • Eight cans of ozone devastating hair spray.
  • Various bachelorette signs and ribbons.
  • Several inflatable male members.
  • A funnel with a plastic penis attached to the spout. (Feel free to shudder. I did.)
  • Two vibrating duffel bags.
  • Six open plastic bags filled to capacity with handcuffs, a whip, fuzzy blindfolds and everything one would need to film a Vivid Video production of Where The Boys Aren’t #20. (To be clear, I’m entirely uncertain of the numbering of that particular franchise; it’s been some time since I’ve had to avail myself of such self-pleasuring aids.)
  • One clear plastic bag filled with folded panties. (No, I have no context for you; I merely chronicle these events.)

And finally,

  • The largest motorized dildo I’ve ever seen. (Seriously, this thing should have come with a waiver, a gallon of ointment, a Bible with which to pray for the safety of your vagina…  and defibrillator paddles.)
  • And no tip.

After a summer of inactivity it was nice to challenge myself with the task of loading all this junk plus actual luggage onto a cart, but I handled the task like a hospitality trooper. As for not receiving a gratuity, I’m still rockin’ a Zen-like buzz from my time off so I wasn’t even phased. This time.

See you in the lobby, kids…


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What I Did After My Summer Vacation, By The Hook.

After several failed attempts to begin this post I have decided to simply hit the ground running.

Actually “running” isn’t accurate at all; my leg still isn’t Olympic material. The good thing is… it never was. And now, my friends, onto my first virtual report from the “field”, so to speak. The bad news? Every guest I served was decent, kind, somewhat generous… and completely unworthy for one of my usual rants.


Not quite.

I every guest I served was generic. However, let’s take a look at some of the guests/individuals I observed throughout the day, shall we? Here are some of the best snippets of information I absorbed during my return to duty.

“What fresh hell is this?”

(Actually, that one was me, reacting to the hotel’s latest security measure, a key-swipe system that refused to acknowledge me as I slid my card between it’s cold, unfeeling folds. Incidentally, I had a girlfriend like that once.)

“Yeah, I let him do it. But I charged him extra. After all, someone had to pay for my ointment!”

(Yeah, I have to admit, I missed the hookers and their wonderful ways while conversing on cell phones in elevators.)

“I still don’t think its fair for them to charge us for two beds when we’re only going to play ‘nurse and escaped convict’ in one!”

(For the record, she wasn’t a hooker, she merely played one in real life.)

“WHAT! You’re pregnant? How is that possible? Yeah… but… no one gets pregnant from the kind of sex we have!”

(Apparently, he was quite incorrect – and hookers aren’t the only ones who need to lower their voices while engaging in elevated cell phone conversations.)

“I love this city! I love the awesome majesty of nature in water form! I love the wonderfully warm people! I love the casino! I love the view from our room! I even love the drug-addled hooker who grabbed your crotch while hugging you at the casino, honey!”

(As Robert Plant would say, that’s a whole lotta love.)

“Let’s never go back home, sweetie!  The Hell with the kids! The little tyrants can fend for themselves, right? I mean, it’s bad enough they destroyed my vagina, do they have to destroy what’s left of my life too? This was some of the best uninterrupted sex we’ve had in ten years! Why should we spoil everything by going back to that war zone we don’t even own yet?”

(There’s nothing like a mother’s love, is there? His response was even better, especially since he knew I was walking right behind them)

“Well, dear, they’ll track us down eventually. Besides, as far as the interrupted sex goes, I kind of like the thrill of knowing the kids could walk in at any moment! What else do we have going for us at home?”

(I honestly don’t know what to say about this. Neither did she, to be honest. She picked a real winner, right?)

And that’s all I have for now, kids. I realize these mere snippets are frustrating to absorb without context, but I am a mere fly on the wall. And the fly must keep moving lest he be swatted.

See you in the lobby, folks. So be careful what you say, I’m always listening…

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Lock Up Your Bags, Travelers… The Hook’s Back.

It’s seven am. As Peter Noone would say, there’s a kind of hush all over the lobby… for now.

That will change soon, I imagine. Then again, who knows what the immediate future holds? That’s what I love about this business; literally anything can happen – and usually does.

That’s right, I’m back, bitches.

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I’m Almost Back To Form, But Until Then…

I’m still not ready for a full-fledged return to blogging, gang, but I’ll be back in the hospitality saddle on Thursday.

In the meantime…

Top Ten Excerpts From The Nerd Version Of Fifty Shades.

10)  “She was as wet as Aquagirl.”

9)  “I set my phaser to ‘vibrate’ and dove on her like Kirk on an Orion slave girl.”

8)  “She tied me up with her magic lasso and interrogated me like Batman.”

7)  “It was obvious she would be the death of me; her vagina was my kryptonite.”

6)  “She made me harder then Benjamin Grimm after he went ten rounds with The Blizzard.”

5)  “I took one look at the selfie she sent me and exclaimed, ‘Holy money shot, Batman!'”

4)  “She emerged from the bathroom dressed like Black Widow. She was an agent of S.E.X.Y.”

3)  “”Just thinking of her made my batarang spring right out of my utility belt.”

2)  “I could never tell her how I felt. If ever I envied Superman’s x-ray vision…”

1)  “After hours of passion, it was all too much for me; I spilled my web fluid all lover her Amazonian chest.”

See you in the lobby, kids… Finally!

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Seven more minutes of childhood; a father’s wish for his daughter the morning of 9-11

The Hook:

I’m not in a place from which to offer a significant opinion on such a significant day. Fortunately, Ned Hickson is ten times the writer I am. Read his thoughts and allow them to move you.

Originally posted on Ned's Blog:

I’ll never forget how I felt this day 13 years ago as an American, a firefighter and as a father — and how each held its own kind of hurt that has never completely healed. But of the three, being a father watching the sparkle in my then six-year-old daughter’s eyes noticeably fade just a bit continues to be the memory that lingers most…

image My alarm clock went off the same as it always did back then, coming to life with the morning news — my preference over the annoying, high-pitched alternative of chatter. Instinctively, I swatted the snooze button and bought myself another seven minutes of sleep.

In the years since, I’ve thought a lot about those seven minutes, and how the simple push of a button postponed a bitter reality for just a little longer. When the news came on again, word of the first airliner crashing into…

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Help The Chicks Out, Will Ya, Folks?

There’s nothing like a selfless act to take your mind off your troubles, friends.

I’m putting my own self-doubts/troubles aside – hopefully, for good – to help out some kick-ass, independent, trailblazing chicks. Collectively, they are one-in-a-trillion. They are an inspiration, regardless of your gender. They are  The Indie Chicks and they need our help.

The Chicks are currently running a crowd funding campaign to keep their print magazine on the shelves in stores across the country. They have about $9,000 left to raise and only about 5 days to reach their goal. In the words of Chiara Mazzucco, The Chicks’ CEO/ Editor-in-Chief:

“My team and I have busted our asses to get this publication on the shelves and are stuck in a fund limbo and can’t pay for the Fall issue. Anything you could do to help would be amazing and I would owe you greatly.”

So there you have it. So if anyone out there needs a kidney or a Gal Friday, whip out that credit card, click on the link below and leave the rest up to Chiara.

Click Here To Enrich Your Soul And Make Some New BFFs:

That’s all I have for you today, my friends. Support The Chicks any way you can and you’ll feel better about yourself tomorrow. Yes, even you, Ned Hiickson. See you in the blogosphere, kids…


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If Only All Of Life’s Problems Could Be Solved With A Crowbar.

That Ahab dude had his white whale. Batman has the Joker. Ned Hickson has his shoelaces – and that wooden lion. And me, gentle readers?

I had several pieces of rotten lumber on my garage.

Until today, that is.

It took over two months of healing but I’m back to my old self – almost. My spirit is still fractured, but my leg is good for a few hours of activity. Today’s daily allotment of movement was focused on tackling my personal nemesis. And so I rose from my disjointed slumber (the lunatics were free of the asylum on my street last evening; the wife and I were awake for most of the night for all the wrong reasons), and headed out to the garage for Round Two.

Crowbar in hand – and sawhorses nowhere in sight – I attacked from below. Debris rained down upon me, clouding my vision and covering my shaking form but I remained steadfast in my resolve. In the end, the boards slowly moved forward…

Until at last…

They broke free and fell to the earth below!

My entire summer was shot to Hell, my love life was devastated, I was unable to provide for my family, late-night visits to the bathroom became major operations, Fan Expo is currently raging on without me (dammit), but when all is said and done… I won.

When you’re a loser like me, you have to take pleasure in the little things, gang. And trust me, I’m a world-class loser these days; there are currently reality shows based on every occupation under the sun (sand castle designers?), but no one will give the world’s boldest bellman a shot. I can’t seem to finish my second book. Hell, I can’t seem to do much of anything these days.

But I’m still swinging and I always will. The truth of the matter is, venting is the only therapy I can afford and I always seem to feel better afterwards.

Enjoy what remains of the day, my friends. The weekend awaits, storm it with all your might. I’ll be on the porch struggling to validate my existence. But for today, I’m a winner at last.


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