The Cecil Hotel

Chapter 10: YouTube

"Ohhhh," said Clifford as he finished reading a page of a book called "Encyclopedia for Dummies".

Gil brutally pulled out his computer. "Well I think it's about time for me to start a YouTube channel. After all we are right inside of the infamous Cecil Hotel, are we not? Plus we're in a ship! A fucking flying testicle-tickling godforsaken ship!"

"I still don't know what the fuck happened at this hotel to make it so infamous," said Philip.

"Oh, just some drunk fat beer belly got run over by a bunch of charging rhinos not far from the location of the Cecil hotel," Gil said casually.

"Ooooooh, scary," said Mike trembling. "I....I can't sleep now! No!"

"Shut up you stupid cow, it's still daytime you idiot," said Gil.

"Mooooooooo!!!" Bellowed Mike like a cow. "Oh my god! You just turned me into a cow! Help!!"

Gil rolled his eyes. "It's just an expression, you dumbfucking piece of dodo crap."

He returned back to his computer. "Now let's see, I just filled out my information. I made my YouTube name turdburglar. I think it fits me."

Just then, a giant sign popped up saying "sorry, your first name can't be shorter than 4 letters".

"Oh give me a fucking break," Gil said slamming his whole body into the computer causing it to explode. He started cursing in every language imaginable.

"Someone stop that maniac! We have a fucking psycho on our ship!" Philip yelled, panicking. "Call 9-1-1! Quick! Before he kills us all!"

"Oh, that's just one of his mood swings. He'll change back before you know it," said Mike.

"Oh hey what's up!" said Gil casually.

"See?" Mike whispered. "I can tell the future!" He stared into the seas of the beyond. Middle Eastern music started playing in the background. "Imagine," he began in a mystical dreamy Arabian accent, "someday, we might all be able to tell the what is to happen..."

"Can't there just be one time in my whole life where you would shut the fuck up?" Gil interrupted angrily.

"Aw let the damn kid speak. He hasn't spoken all minute!" said Philip spitting out papaya seeds onto the ground.

Mike began to play his guitar, trying his best to make it sound mystical and magical, like Irish folk music. Or Amish lumberjack songs. He began an opera and the ship ever so gracefully cruised across the ocean.

(To be continued)