Underwater Hotel.
Look, I have to break it to you—something no one else dares to say. You are not built like Jason Momoa. Not that Momoa. I'm talking about your old classmate Jason from third grade—remember him? Yeah, even he was buffer.
Also, the only conditioners in your life are mounted on walls, not flowing through luscious locks. So please… don't try to convince me you've got a majestic mane.
I'm begging you—don't cosplay Aquaman.
Though you can bring a trident. Might help ward off any overly social creatures. Just make sure the Atlantean cops don't haul you in.
You may or may not have heard (spoiler: definitely not) about a biomedical engineer and Navy vet named Joseph Dituri who spent 100 days underwater just to study how the human body copes with extreme aquatic living.
I know what you're thinking—skepticism overload. That guy never stepped foot in your room. He's never inhaled those... delicate and complex aromas you've cultivated over the years. That
experiment would've ended in 48 hours tops.
But I'm telling you straight: you? You'd thrive down there, at least long enough to wait out the global hellfire exchange going on up top.
Water's probably safer. No one's confirmed it yet, so guess what? You could be the pioneer. Just... maybe don't settle in the Yellow Sea near Pyongyang. You know. Just in case.
No, go big—choose an underwater hotel in Honolulu. I would ask them to pay me for this plug, but I'm broke and they've probably never heard of tugriks.
This city is far from most geopolitical hotspots and it has a hella cool Hawaiian name. That alone should make you feel kinda like Lord Momoa.
Imagine it: up above, toned sun-kissed dudes are catching waves under cloudless skies... and you? You're chillin' under the sea, completely untouched by the madness.
You might get some curious fish dropping by to say hello, blinking at you with their huge watery eyeballs. But hey, they're quiet. Let 'em swim. Let 'em vibe. Sure, it might get awkward eating their cousins for dinner, so maybe go vegan for a bit. Or, I dunno, "absorb ocean energy" or some nonsense (don't actually do that—I'm kidding).
Down in this aquatic utopia, you don't need mess kits, cookware, or survival gear. Your most vital companion in these harsh conditions? Cold hard cash or a working debit card. That's it. That's the survival loadout.
And making money there? Not that hard. The place is crawling with retired rich people. Just teach them how to play GTA: San Andreas like a pro. Help them live out their pixelated dreams—and boom, you're buying extra nights in paradise.
If Plan A flops, don't worry. Switch to Plan B: sell your underwater selfies on stock photo websites. First, though, maybe learn to snorkel and actually get underwater. Mask, fins—the whole deal. But you got this. Somewhere in you... there's a spine.