The Million Dollar Hotel: Mocking art school dropouts for fun and profit

It was an unusual Friday afternoon. I’d been up since 5 and on the news twice…man seeks happiness through many avenues but rather finds it outside the company of those he frequently hates…A slow day really. In my somnolent state I was assaulted by a G-man with three arms and a retarded philosopher. The nuthouse noir rattled my senses…love is the water of the soul. It starts as a trickle and slowly erodes until nothing is left but a wide smooth current dragging down everything in its path…The puzzle box opened and the pieces tumbled out with no consideration for their future placement. The box art lost in a puddle of urine, I found myself struggling to cope with a story entered somewhere beyond the beginning.