16-EVERYTHING A.P.B.(AS PER BROCHURE)

EVERYTHING A.P.B. (AS PER BROCHURE) I went to speak with the hotel manager. My whiskers were quivering in anger. I had a list of complaints a mile long. I mean, the brochure listed this place as a resort. But it was clearly a dump. The manager listened to me with a funny look on his face. He didn't seem too surprised by my gripes. "Come with me and I'll explain everything," he said. We went up to my room. Then he began to read from the brochure. "Let's see, you booked a room with unique decorating features," he read. He waved his paw around the room. "Have you ever seen a room painted in such a shade

of moldy green? Pretty unique, wouldn't you say?" He grinned. "Therefore, it is A.P.B. (AS PER BROCHURE)." My head began to pound. "But what about the sea view?" I protested. He snickered. I was getting the impression I wasn't the first rodent to complain. He pulled out a small pair of binoculars from his pocket. "OK, if you lean out as far as you can over the balcony, turn left, stretch your neck, pop out your eyes, and use these binoculars, you'll have your sea view! Yep, that's A.P.B. (AS PER BROCHURE)." I chewed my whiskers. "B-b-but what about the b-b-bathtub with the organic hydromassage?"

Once again he snickered. He went into the bathroom and pointed to the dented washtub. "Here is your tub," he said. Then he pulled an eggbeater from his other pocket. "And here is your hydromassage!" He put the beater into the water and began TURNING IT FURIOUSLY. "See what I mean? Yep, that's A.P.B (AS PER BROCHURE) for sure!" he chuckled. By now, I was seething with rage. "But what about having my own fridge and my own television?" "Well, that's pretty obvious!" the manager chuckled. "It means you should have

brought your OWN! Yessiree, that one is Definitely A.P.B. (AS PER BROCHURE)!" Finally, I couldn't take it anymore. I was so mad, I had twisted my tail up like a pretzel. "BROCHURE?!" I exploded. "I don't give a whisker about the brochure! This place is ridiculous! This place is preposterous! This place isn't fit for a flea!" Just then, someone from next door banged on the wall. I could hear the comments flying: "Who's the MADMOUSE shouting at the top of his lungs?" someone cried. "It's that Stilton again, Gerattimo Stilton," another squeaked. "He's really lost his marbles now!" a third rodent added. "TOO MUCH SUN, if you ask me," someone else muttered. How embarrassing.