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sick days super 8
We just got back from the “Windows and Doors” convention.

I drove all night just to get us to the office. Me, Otto and Clark.

Yes, Clark.

I hadn’t seen Clark all week. Until he showed up at my motel at 1am, last night.

He was completely drunk. His pants were ripped and he told me needed 20 dollars to pay the “cab” in the parking lot. I believe the cab’s name was Shantel.

He told me the “assholes at the Hilton” threw him out.

I asked him where his luggage was. He said “Luggage is for losers.”

He stumbled into our room and shouted “Party!!!” Otto continued to snore.

Then he said “Let’s drink, Alpo.”

He opened our mini fridge and pulled out two bottles of beer. He opened one with his teeth and handed it to me.

I said “There’s an opener on the table.”

He said “Openers are for losers.”

He stuck the bottle in his mouth and popped it open.

Then he screamed. Then his mouth started bleeding. And then Clark threw up on Otto.

That woke Otto up.

Otto sprang up out of a dead sleep, screaming and swinging.

He punched Clark in the face.

Clark crashed into the TV.

By now Otto was awake enough to realize he’d just slugged his boss in the nose. He started shouting “Punch me. Please. Punch me in the face. Then we’ll be even!”

Clark, bleeding from the nose and mouth, and covered in TV screen shards was too busy moaning in agony to return the favor.

About two minutes later Security arrived. Everyone agreed it was time we left.

We hit the road and started for home. Once you’ve been thrown out of a Super 8, there’s really nowhere left to go.

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