Wednesday, June 16, 2010

this is the sexiest shit i've ever seen.

pack your bags, bitch. WE GOING.

Private. Irresistibly convenient. Yet a world away from the everyday.

The Champagne Lodge and Luxury Suites is a boutique hotel featuring spa suites that offer seclusion and privacy while pampering you with all the contemporary conveniences of modern design. All of our 38 suites include CL standards such as an oversized whirlpool tub, walk-in marble steam room with rain forest shower, stone-encased fireplace, LCD/plasma TVs, surround sound system with cd/dvd player, wi-fi, wet bar, luxurious bedding, bathrobes and more.

You will find our staff to be subtle and discreet, yet attentive to your needs. Our personal concierge is here to complement your CL experience with dinner reservations at a local fine dining establishment, tickets to Chicagoland theater or concert and sporting events. Whether you're looking for a private getaway or you're in town for business, plan to relax and indulge yourself at the deserve it.

you are BUGGING OUT OF YOUR MIND if you don't think this is right up my filthy back alley. whoever wrote this shit is a marketing GENIUS. who wouldn't want to stay here? just look at all the sexy ways they lure your dumb ass in:

PRIVATE. well i know i love privacy. and i'm sure you love privacy. you wouldn't want to rub all over a hot bitch in a room full of spectators, would you? duh. TOTAL WIN.

IRRESISTIBLY CONVENIENT. now here's where it starts to heat up a little bit. these two words on their own are alluring, i guess, but when you put them together? panty moistening. because it's one thing to be irresistable. it's quite another to be convenient. but IRRESISTIBLY CONVENIENT?! that's fucking amazing! i mean, to be SO convenient that you're irresistible? what else on earth is that awesome? starbucks? mcdonalds?! even though there's a golden arch every fifteen goddamned feet it's not so hard to resist a #2 meal that takes just long enough for you to regret having walked through the door in the first place that you are powerless against it. i can't holler very often because that delicious poison murders my digestive system, but every time i am in a mcdonalds that fast food is just slow enough to make me think about how quickly it's going to kill me.

YET A WORLD AWAY FROM THE EVERYDAY. oh, thank god. because i absolutely despise my everyday, and the further i can get away from it the fucking better. i desperately long to be transported to a magical faraway (but totally convenient) place filled with couples massages and overpriced champagne packages, yet not so far that i'd be stranded in a stinky whirlpool that smells of bleach and someone else's vaginal secretions.

whoever wrote this must have done so with his pants off and his dick in his hand, because it is sexational. you know what rain forest showers, wet bars, marble steam rooms, and luxurious bedding sound like to me? sextacy.

i first heard about the champagne lodge from the dashing and elegant claire zulkey, and i raced to the nearest internet connection i could find and googled my way to near-orgasm. what's not to love about a place that is devoted solely to the pleasures of the flesh? i mean, the sybaris is aight, i guess, but huge slides just aren't that appealing to me. nothing screams "don't fuck me!" like awkwardly skidding and sliding down a giant piece of plastic. or crash landing into a huge puddle of chlorine, then having to blow stinging water out of your nose and shake it out of your ears all goddamned night. not sexy in the least.

this is on some next-level player shit. because any old square could take his jumpoff or bustdown to a sketchy hourly motel, but only a classy gentleman who's got his mack weight all the way up (seriously, i mean a top tier game-spitting champion) would suggest a sensual evening at the champagne lodge. try to tell me you wouldn't go. I DO NOT BELIEVE YOU.

my 100% platonic homeboy and i have a secluded spa suite booked for a few weekends from now. i have no sexual interest in him AT ALL, and apparently neither does he because the first thing he said was "i'm bringing my playstation." pffft. which might be the least sexy sentence i've ever heard uttered, after "no, i don't think those bumps on my dick are contagious." (i refused to touch them nonetheless and kicked him and his eggroll penis out of my fucking house.) so it's a safe assumption that everyone's underwear will stay firmly in place. except for the five hours i plan to spend getting whirlpooled. he also told me last night on the phone that i ACT LIKE A MAN because of the way i mentally chop and screw these simple ass dudes.

barf. nobody wants to fuck the smart broad who flips the script on them, i guess. he was accusing me of being a bad friend (which is probably true) and i was instantly all huffy and defensive (because it is totally true), and instead of conceding and tucking my tail between my legs and apologizing like i should have i swiftly turned the tables (he didn't even see the shit coming), blamed him for something he hadn't really done wrong and elicited an apology from HIM. he was saying, "oh, i'm sorry, no i'm a bad friend" before he even knew what was coming out of his mouth. i'm a pimp, obviously.

more dudes than i can reliably count have done that shit to me. isn't it infuriating?! when some liar or cheater has his game wrapped so tight that you end up saying you're sorry to HIM?!! "oh, i'm so sorry i gave you so much space to be yourself and have your own life, lover. i had no idea that my consideration would force you to put your dick in that crackhead-looking bitch who lives across the hall. my sincerest apologies." i must have picked this shit up through osmosis considering my vast amount of experience with situations like these. bah. whatever. fuck them. back to the swank.

yum. i cannot wait to spend the weekend in my 330 square foot executive suite, luxuriating in an elegant bathrobe while surrounded by softly flickering lavender candles, guzzling two bottles of premium champagne from crystal flutes courtesy of the "sprinkles" package (that name is so lurid and disgusting that you KNOW i'm going to splurge and get me some), enjoy a scrumptious deep tissue massage (complete with happy ending) before indulging my inner epicurean during dinner at a local fine dining establishment, one that had been arranged by my discreet personal concierge of course, then curl up in some plush eiderdown and drift off into a deep, sensual sleep.

i can't promise i won't come back pregnant. i'll keep you posted.