This rant comes to you courtesy of my addled brain and the snapping of my last nerve..
The hotel lobby is filled with construction workers buzzing about like mentally unstable bees with coffee cups in one hand and cell phones in the other. Their machines are filling the frigid air with a cacophony of noises. Their “efforts” have given Jack Frost free reign over what was once my domain and let me tell you, he’s making the most of it.
My fingers are aching, my nose is running faster than a Kardashian when someone opens a book and my head is numb. I’m not merely cold, I’m miserable.
Now I know what a penguin must feel like. A penguin must feel like ending it all on a daily basis, but he can’t. He has no opposable thumbs and besides, getting a piece is impossible when you have no means of achieving gainful employment. He can swim so he can’t drown himself. He could try jumping from an iceberg, but his aerodynamic form just slides down safely.
In short, penguins are slaves to their nature. As am I.
I’d ask someone to shoot me but the gun probably wouldn’t fire in this Arctic air.
Oh well, I’ll be free soon. Think I’ll go home and pour hot soup on my crotch.
Have a pleasant day, my friends.