Every hotel room in America contains a bible and pay-per-view porn. Maybe people jerk off watching softcore bimbo "housewives", then shut it off, beg forgiveness and cry, then later get horny and find they have to pay again. And do. Thanks, expense account. There ought to just be a porn drawer right next to the bible drawer.
Bob from logistics might tell you his business trip was blase, but that night at the Ramada was an emotional roller coaster. He finally fell asleep face down in Leviticus and a pile of his own shame, a mess of tears and generic kleenex. That, my good friend Bob, is what it's all about.
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