The Ohio Monologue.


I was about to lose my flippin' mind on our summer road-trip holiday to Canada. That’s when we decided to stop at this crap-ass hotel outside of Columbus, Ohio- otherwise referred to herein as HELL. 

It’s one of those Hotwire Hot Rates that should list the features as: smells like smoke, and feels like sex. The mattress had enough Bio-Human-Transference that my comforter was legally registered as a sex offender in thirteen counties. To make matters worse, we had been driving for the last ten hours in a rental car equipped with a radio permanently tuned to intolerant Christian televangelists who thinks Obama is Satan, gays belong in Hell, and America is fulfilling its manifest destiny. I would have purposely driven over a small child for something with a bass note that didn’t sound like “Burn in Hell”. The only thing that stopped me from driving to the radio station and knocking the Bible out of their ass was pizza.


Yes, pizza. A three foot wide pizza which I had been salivating for since it was featured on Food Network and I had saved my caloric intake for a week to eat. I was now delirious with low-blood-sugar, listening to how sinful a life I lived from the radio, when I realized I hadn’t ran my dinner plans by my co-pilot Shannon, who just happens to, on most occasions, detest pizza.
Through her shattering rationale and logic, she broke me down into tears. Her argument was that it was humanly impossible for me to eat a table sized pizza by myself, therefore a waste of money. She insisted that it was likely that we couldn’t even fit the pizza box through the door of the car, which would render me curbside in a suburb of Columbus passed out on a park bench with cheese and pepperoni all over myself. 

She could have just said I was fat.


Saved from sin, starving, and tired of driving the purgatory highway we arrived at the hotel. The hotel that I was looking forward to, and had paid extra for, because it had a pool. As we walked in the lobby, there through the adjacent door, was a giant crater, whereby a pool once stood. Closed since winter, I was furious when the gentleman behind the Days-Inn counter took a moment of his precious sexting time to check us into our blood spattered chamber with urine all over the floor. 


Our second room with its twin-sized-trampoline-bed-of-jello was basically the capitulation of our humanity. It resulted in the most unexpected of requests from Shannon who turns to me and declares “I’m hungry, lets order pizza".


I wanted to stab myself in the eye with the car keys but held onto my last bit of sanity by closing my eyes, slowly breathing, reaching for the laptop and placing an order from the only restaurant still open at 11:50 at night: shitty Dominos. I typed my credit-card in, hit submit, and waited for our dinner which NEVER arrived. 


So fuck you Dominos. Fuck you 3 foot pizzas, and fuck you Days-Inn. I hate Ohio.


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