King Jungle- a variation on another monarch

So I'm up on the 11th floor, I'm watching all the fire trucks below.
It's hard to get a feeling in the hands- it's hard because it's so cold. The waitress at the counter at the bar said she get done in the morning. I've been handling this situation so well, I've been down right golden child, breaking the rules quite nicely and sniffing up the last of the Imperial Sand Dust that my agent dropped off. I say oh my!
In the evening the creeps and the local home bodies make their way out. In the morning I'm awaked by the sound of a neighborly shout.
I say, "Who's there? What's all this happening and why did I get left out?"
They say, "Don't worry it's not goodness," and the telephone rings, to say the various things and then the bellboy throws up and someone calls the third floor to send a magical cure- and there's enough for us all, yeah, there is enough for us ALL!
Oh and the waitress with the bippity boopity bang laughs like a maniac out in the rain, and then she leaves with my gold watch and my skivies.
Oh kay.
I'd say right now this week is hitting it's lull and the hotel gets full.
It's just too stuffy with the suits and the ties and their various goons. All tied up in their various rooms. Hot dog! Oh, yo ya! What did it mean when everybody was clomping around? Was it a sign or was it just natural order, like the song of the sea, and the law of the land and the jungle is king with the wave of its hand- it gets cut down.
yeaow.