So I'm Flipping Through The Guest Registry

at the hotel that I was walking through last night, quickquick before the frontdeskguy comes back from wherever he's at, and this other guy comes in and says, I've got a reservation for Fischbach. I can tell the guy's got problems because of the way he says his name and so I tell him, You're not welcome here because the last time you were here I had complaints from everybody on the fourteenth floor who heard the fish screaming, and it took me five weeks to clean that fishscream smell from room oneohfour and I don't want to have to do that again, you cost us a lot of business you Polish fish fucker. I hate Polish fish fuckers always bringing in those Polish fish from all over the city, what do you do, drive around to all the fishmongers just looking for Polish fish? Pervert. I don't want you here. Go away. It's disgusting hearing those fucking perverted fish fucking noises in Polish. I always thought that everybody in the world orgasmed in the same language, oh oh oh, but no not you and your sick Polish shit fucking fish, you can get a disease doing that. You gotta leave because I'm sick of Polish fish I can't ever get the smell to come off, it's kinda like wetdogsmell in Canadian acidrain, it took five weeks last time just to clean that funky Polish fish fungus outta the bathtub, so if you want to stay, you gotta make it worth my while. You gotta speak the green language, man, if you know what I mean.

He knew what I meant.

I took the money and went to the Lumberyard, where real men go to get wood, and I bought twenty minutes with a nice Catholic girl named Maria. And then I bought a tootsie-roll pop but lost count of the licks about halfway through.