Editor's note: Our new writer Rylah, is a bit of an enigma. We met her in Las Vegas at the AEE show and immediately crowned her as our, "Assistant" once we learned that she never smiles. She's an established writer and has covered tons of weird shit. However, her experience with the adult industry was limited at best. Thus, as our assistant, we made sure she saw parts of the show she might not have otherwise seen and, to make a long story short, we became friends and asked her to start writing for this here blog.

Being the creative sort, we thought it best to leave her to her own devices and see what comes of it. Welp, honestly? A fucking gold mine has been discovered.

Rylah and her own personal assistant have recently started visiting America's seediest motels and documenting their experiences. A sort of travel review of locations famed more for drug use, prostitution and murder than fine dining and 1000 thread count sheets. So, we give you the first installment of this new feature. Enjoy. - Brian

THE GRAND RAPIDS INN

250 28th Street S.W.
Grand Rapids, Michigan 49548

The Grand Rapids Inn shares its parking lot with Friends’ Diner, also known as Colter’s Family Restaurant. This 24-hour diner is a popular faute de mieux choice for those staggering imbibing heavily on the seedier side of GR’s W. 28th St. Many times, in between arriving at the diner and forcing myself to vomit after eating the food there, I have noticed the Grand Rapids Inn and its “attractive” nightly and weekly rates.There is also a really great article here detailing how the motel also operates as a halfway house for sex offenders.

It is a wintry January evening that Shawn, upon receiving his tax returns, has decided we should really splurge and rent out the motel’s jacuzzi suite. Armed with takeout sushi, a bottle of Seagram’s Seven Dark Honey whiskey and a 2 liter of Michigan’s own Vernor’s ginger ale, we arrive at the GRI at approximately 8 p.m.

A baller like Shawn Avery, when given the choice between the regular jacuzzi suite or the deluxe jacuzzi suite always chooses the deluxe, especially at such a fine establishment as this, and especially after calculating his income tax return.

Upon checking into Room 146, we were pleased to discover that the vanity portion of the bathroom had simply been ripped out to make room for this baby. Some fake peaches and flowers, along with a half-empty (or half-full AMIRITE?!) bottle of storebrand Mango bubble bath awaited us.

While the jets in the jacuzzi do NOT work, we are pleased to find this charming LED display DOES work, making this an ideal jacuzzi to listen to Skrillex or Deadmau5, while snorting ketamine off the edge of a knife.

You can’t drink your Seagrams 7 Dark Honey and ginger without ice, so we head toward the ice machine, hoping that the 9 million signs we saw advertising free ice are not a false promise or some kind of treacherous bait and switch.

The ice room is heavily guarded. Only guests at the motel can enjoy the complimentary ice. Unless, of course, you know how to open a door where the handle has been ripped off. This begs the question: did the motel decide ice was free for all, or perhaps someone misconstrued what kind of ice was housed inside? Either way, we got a bucket full.

Why bother hanging your identical twin paintings of flower baskets in a symmetrical fashion? I mean, given the way the wallpaper has peeled away where the headboard meets the wall, there’s really no point.

If you are going to make your hotel guests shower, urinate and brush their teeth in a cave, the least you can do is cheer them up by putting in a rubber ducky shower curtain. NOW GET IN THE CRAWLSPACE AND CLEAN UP GOOD.

With our preparations all set, it was time to get in the jacuzzi. To our delight, small pieces of marijuana floated to the surface. Better than blood!

Soon we succumbed to our heat exhaustion and decided we must explore other reaches of this place, else wake with only one kidney. Thankfully, the Grand Rapids Inn boasts a laundry facility as well as an arcade! On our way over, a man stopped us and was either trying to buy or sell weed. We told him we didn’t smoke and he said we were the only residents of the GRI that did not. I made up a story about how we got drug-tested regularly for our jobs. As, uh, lifeguards.

The chicken egg prize machine has about 14 eggs in it. We immediately win a pair of fake red lips. Lethal Enforcer is fun, especially if you wanted to only play with the red gun. Because the blue gun doesn’t work. The claw machine does not work at all, but it will take your money. The Simpsons machine is dead.

Luckily, there is also a sticker machine that either dispenses bio-terrorism decals or super patriotic stickers!

Unfortunately, when you put money in it, all you get is an empty cardboard flap.

We trekked across the street to the fabulous Howard Johnson, where Holly’s Back Door, the attached bar, was kicking with karaoke. I sang “Crazy Little Thing Called Love” and was quite pleased when the patrons joined in on the hand-claps. For 9 dollars, we got chips ‘n cheese and two cold, refreshing Crispins. Try as might, we couldn’t keep up with the HoJo’s drink/hour minimum, not without turning into these ladies:

As the HoJo approached last call, we returned to our lovely room to watch Cable TV. She-Ra and Brave Starr in grainy definition as we faded off to sleep in a surprisingly comfortable bed that didn’t actually give us any diseases as the paint continued to peel around us. Were the stains on the wallpaper lipstick or blood? In the end, if you enjoyed yourself, does it really matter?

Fucking genius, right?

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