Hey Twinkle Toes, what the Hell are you doing sitting in my spot?

Yeah, that’s right string-bean — you’re sitting in my spot!

Does it have my name on it? No. But is it mine? Yes.

Who am I?

I am the mythical, magical hotel-hot-tub man. You know, the fella who is somehow always sitting in the hot tub every time you stay at a hotel? Yep, that’s me.

I only do three things: wear my gold chain, perch my elbows, and keep my ass firmly cemented in the corner seat.

EXCEPT FOR THIS TIME, cause you and your skinny, peasant ass is sitting in my spot!

I’m sorry — I sold myself short — You’re sitting in my Hot tub, and if you don’t immediately get out, bow down and kiss my feet and beg for your life, we’re going to have a problem. A hot-tub-sized problem.

Believe me, when I say, I’ve seen enough Steven Seagal movies to turn you into a pretzel, and I’ve eaten enough pretzels to taste fear.

Your fingers? They may look like they’re made to disappoint your wife to you, but they look like origami paper to me. I am prepared to show you how much pain the beautiful practice of origami can inflict!

I guess what I’m trying to say is I’m going to clobber you. By the time I’m done with you, you’ll be so mashed up and forgotten, the only place for you will be stuck next to the forgotten under-the-table gum that slowly wastes away.

So what’s it gonna be tough guy? Are you going to get your skinny ass out of my hot tub? Or is this giant gonna come down the beanstalk and leave you so battered and bruised you’ll wish you could trade places with Humpty Dumpty.

Your choice.

Remember one thing, Bub.

This is my world, and you’re sitting in it.

Please like, comment and share with someone who would find this funny. Do you see this same hot tub person that I see? Please let me know.