WARNING: This one is definitely not for anyone under eighteen (though younger people actually know more than most adults these days) or any prudes. Then again, if you’re a prude, then what the hell are you doing on this site?
Ross is an grizzled old buzzard that I’ve had the extreme pleasure/torment to work with for the last five years. If we were in a classic American-made World War Two action flick, he’d be the crusty veteran sergeant who’s seen it all. But we’re not, so he’s just a frustrated old doorman with a heart of gold… and lips that spew venomous comments on… well, everything.
The hospitality biz can be anything but hospitable at times and so a guy like Ross is worth his weight in gold when things get quiet. Okay, maybe not gold, but pewter at least. He spends his time pacing the Valet Deck writing parking tags for incoming guests (or as he calls some of them, “window licking, A-hole, douchebags), and wrangling calls for bellmen like myself, which gives him plenty of time to crystallize his thoughts on some of our more “interesting” guests.
You may reach the end of this list – but I’m betting some of you don’t – and question my judgement. But hear me out: (Okay, “read me out”.) We could all use a Ross in our lives, someone who allows us to indulge our naughty side without actually crossing any lines on our own.
Read on, but once more, be forewarned, these “Rossisms” are not for the faint of heart. In fact, I’m sure this chapter is going to get me banned or land me on some sort of list.
See that broad? She’s so ugly I wouldn’t fuck her with a piece of frozen rope!
Would I go to Chippawa for dinner? I’d rather suck a cock as long as a garden hose than go for dinner in Chippawa!
[Admittedly, that one is funnier if you live in the Niagara region. Or if you’ve ever been to Chippawa, childhood home of director and serial husband James Cameron. But just go with it, anyway, all right?]
Dealing with some of the guests we get here is enough to make old people start fucking again!
A “Clong” is a sudden rush of bullshit directly to your heart.
How she cried for mercy from her rubber dick called Percy!
[Have to admit, that one makes me shudder and I’ve seen and heard pretty much everything.]
I’m shivering like a dog shittin’ a razor blade out here!
It’s colder than a whore’s heart out here!
It’s flatter than piss on pavement!
That guy’s as useful as a rubber dick at a whore house!
You’re about as welcome here as a turd in the punch bowl at a wedding!
Have you picked up on the theme, yet? Ross means well, I swear, he’s just old. I’m not sure how much time you’ve spent with seniors, but they tend to get frustrated easily. (To say the least.) Not that I blame them. It can’t be easy having to take pills to wake up, go to sleep, to pee, to not pee too much, to be able to tolerate dairy products, to focus, to relax, to remember your name, to forget everything you want to forget and for every other bodily function imaginable.
Come to think of it, I’m surprised Ross hasn’t killed anyone yet, though e’d certainly be justified. Oh well, let’s continue, shall we?
Want to talk an asshole? Put a phone in the toilet.
That guy could fuck up a one car funeral.
He’d suck the chrome off a trailer hitch knob to make a nickel out of it.
That broad is so horny she’d bite the wang right off of you!
She’s so ugly she’d have to sneak up on a glass of water.
Those broads got a major case of horn colic, that’s how horny they are!
I don’t like anybody… so go fuck yourself!
And on that congenial note, I hope you’ve enjoyed these Rossisms. And if you didn’t? Please don’t blame me.
See you in the lobby, kids…