I'm going to walk into my hotel room alone, light a few candles, turn on some soft music, and then take off all of my clothes as I slowly submerge myself in a bathtub filled with Slyman's corned beef. Once completely covered, I will not get out until my meat flaps become one with the beef and people start calling me Governor Slimey Slyman, King of the Beef that is Corned.
I look forward to meeting all of the cats and avoiding human eye contact at all costs.
I am going to string Dan Gilbert along at any chance I can get for as long as I can. Whenever Dan asks me to join him for dinner, I'll say yes, but then cancel last minute by telling him I don't feel well or that I am too tired. I will then immediately post pictures on social media of me having a great time with Jimmy Haslam and write captions like "there's only one business man in this city that I want to hang out with!" I will do this until Dan Gilbert becomes a pile of emotional rubble and no longer asks to meet up. Then, on the last night of the convention, I will text Dan Gilbert at 2:30 in the morning and ask him to come to my hotel room.
I am going to go to the Happy Dog and order a basket of plain hot dogs. No toppings. No buns. Just a basket full of those glistening, flesh colored pig links.
Ideally, I'll see all the cultural hot spots in Cleveland. The museums, the concert halls, world class restaurants, and the like. But let's not kid ourselves here, folks...I'll probably just end up dressing like Ms Trunchbull from Matilda and threaten to throw everyone I see into the Chokey.
Gonna put the "sick!" in "Kasich" by longboarding down that gnarly hill in Little Italy after gettin' a taste of that sweet, sweet Cleveland 'tang, brah.
I am going to remind everyone that I am, in fact, not Hillary Clinton. I will say things that Clevelanders will connect to, like, "Hello, I am Carly Fiorina and not Hillary Clinton. I like your city and want to be your president. The only thing that I have in common with that She-Beast Hillary Clinton is that we both have vaginas. But know this, friend. Hillary's vagina is a dark void filled with destruction, whereas my birthing hole is immaculate and shaped like the face of Ronald Reagan."
Three things and three things only: Sell my teeth, sell my teeth, and sell my teeth.
When figuring out what to do in a new town, I like to turn to social media. I sent out a tweet asking "Hey #CLE! Where's the best bar to get a drink in this town?" and the response made it overwhelmingly clear there is only one place I gotta be, and that place is Bounce Night Club.
Probably just staying the fuck away from the police.
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