I think Grandma Heaved all over my hotel room. Not
literally, kids, figuratively. Cause that would be
I am in this weird little hotel somewhere in the
English countryside. It's called the Smoke House.
That really doesn't sound a particularly pleasing name
for a hotel. Who likes smoke?
My room looks like somebodys grandma through up
flowers and doilies all over it! Not my grandma, of
course. She has much better taste! But someones! My
room is covered covered in flowers and the walls are
pee yellow. Mmmmm. NOthing says loving like urine
Now I am off to Leipzig where my hotel resembles a
Soviet Insane assylum off in a creepy field with
Gee my life is fabulous sometimes!
Peace out, yo!
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