A Scathing Review of the Plinko Motel for Hotel.com

Worst experience in a public bedroom of all time and it happened to me. You see, I had just picked up a very doable, drunk hooker and was looking for some fancy digs to spend a romantic part of an hour with her. Her name was Felicity and she made my heart pound.

I am a sucker for a cute, bloody boog hanging on the edge of a woman's nose as if it were about to jump. Her mumbling, incoherent voice sounded like money. The sweet but tangy waft that emanated from her skin made me jealous, for I knew that the Captain had just been inside of her. My point is that I had just locked up something perfect, and the bastards at the Plinko ruined it.

This must be what spacemen fuck on, I thought, but I was no astronautical porn star and it would be very difficult.At first, it seemed that destiny had stepped up for me; the motel was only a few blocks from the street corner where I met m'lady. The neon sign blinked "Fuck Factory" as if these words were illuminated by fate. I grabbed my girl, threw her over my shoulder and headed for the lobby. Along the way, I was forced to hold the door for another dude with a wasted fake-blonde in his arms. It was awkward. There was no eye contact, but the narrow doorway unfortunately caused our hookers to bump asses. It seemed inevitable that one of us now was going to have to die. I thought for a moment about using Felicity as a battleaxe, but became distracted by my new surroundings.

For some reason there was a cast of women who appeared to be synchronized swimmers just walking around in pairs like a herd of hungry, underfed hippos. They never said a word, but seemed totally comfortable away from their natural environment of being upside down, scraping the floor of a pool.

In the corner of the room sat an ill-placed cubicle filled with a red-faced, flagrantly dressed man who appeared to be on the verge of exploding. He shouted into the microphone in front of him as if his Tourettes was at war with his social anxiety disorder.

"Come on down!"

What?

When we got up to the counter, the goofy, glass-wearing concierge looked at both parties and said, "We only have one room available right now. I am holding a box of brand new pesticidal condoms. The person that gets closest to the price without going over will win the condoms and a free 30 minutes in our only available executive suite. Tell him about the condoms."

Again, the rouge, Wizard of Oz type, spoke loudly over the lobby's intercom.

"What we have here is a new 6-pack of Trojan's latest breakthrough in hooker-related protection. Are you worried that your junk may not be protected against the colony of insects inside your lady's vag? Try Trojan Pests, they'll get the bugs out."

The concierge spoke again.

"As you were the first person through the door, you get to bid first."

How much are condoms these days I thought? It had been so long since I had used one. For years, I had simply resorted to sterilizing the situation by soaking my penis in alcohol. I was going to have to get lucky on this one.

"$5.50," I finally said.

"And now you sir?"

"$5.51," my competitor spat out. What a dick.

The fire bell began to ring and I accidentally slammed my hooker's beautiful face into a wall trying to figure out if I was supposed to be fleeing the building.

"Somebody has guessed the price exactly! The winner will now get this crisp $100 bill to cover the expense of your ride. The actual retail price of the condoms is…$5.50!!!"

I noticed that the hundo was missing a zero, but since it was still enough to cover my expenses, I didn't complain. I was elated to finally try the free sex that so many others talked about.

I somehow managed to slide the box into Felicity's mouth as I pulled her by the hair to our suite. We got to the door and I realized that there wasn't one, simply a curtain that opened to reveal a room that obviously hadn't been updated since the 70's. Unfortunately, the only thing bedlike in the room was a tall, peg-filled board standing straight up. This must be what spacemen fuck on, I thought, but I was no astronautical porn star and it would be a very difficult time obeying both my desire to fuck and the laws of gravity.

I did my best to get her up on the top peg, but trying to get my dick in her was a total game of chance. The board brought a 3rd dimension into sex that my brain simply couldn't comprehend. Up and down. In and out. That's what I know. Left and right simply doesn't exist. However, because Felicity couldn't sit up, she kept rolling off the top peg and banging her head on each rung as she spiraled downwards. I had no idea where she would end up. I could have sworn that the one time I actually succeeded in getting it in the right hole there was applause behind me, but I couldn't keep it in long enough to be sure.

I needed to secure her somehow, but I had this weird feeling that would include taping her up in front of a live studio audience. It was like I had hundreds of pairs of lower, middle class and college students' eyes all over me. I had no choice but to drag her into the bathroom and have my way with her in there.

Of course, when she saw a white chocolate Dove Bar sitting wrapped up next to the sink, she immediately scarved it down as if she hadn't been fed in days. She made an awful gagging sound and I realized that she had somehow managed to choke on the bite-sized candy bar. I tried to give her a glass of water, but it only made her foam at the mouth and spit up shiny bubbles. Her breath smelled super clean, but sadly it was her last. Great. Another dead hooker.

At this point, I had only 10 minutes left of my free stay so I was going to have to bang out a quickie with her. I managed to finish with 8 minutes left and began to try to flush her body down the toilet. However, the shitty porcelain bucket wouldn't even allow me to get rid of her head. At least at all the other motels I've killed a hooker in, I've been able to get enough of their corpse down to leave just the semblance of an unfortunate floater behind. The only hired help seemed to be the pack of water dancers and they obviously were totally incompetent. Instead, I was stuck carrying the handle-less bag of bones all by myself. That's just classless.

I finally got her out back of the motel and saw that those environmentally inconsiderate pricks didn't even have a recyclable hooker bin to discard my waste in. Of course, I couldn't throw her in the trash because everyone knows that birds get their heads caught in hookers' hoop earrings and die. It's 2009. I thought we were all conscientious these days of the needless harm done to animals.

So now I had this lovely parting gift in the back of my car and set about on my way to find that bum who goes through the trash, collecting empty hookers to fill his shopping cart. Apparently, this state provides a .10 refund per recyclable prostitute.

I will never go back to the Plinko. Even with the free sex and room, this was easily the worst place I've ever made hooker whoopee in. I'd prefer to be neutered rather than ever go back to that sleaze hole. Be warned people: this place sucks.

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