If you write a negative review on YELP they will charge you $500. Go look at some of the reviews.
http://www.yelp.com/biz/union-street-guest-house-Hudson
Just in case they take them down here is the best:
"Before I spend my hard earned pennies on a places to stay, I do my research and I am as thorough as they come; and when doing so, I like to picture myself as an investigative reporter going undercover to penetrate underground basket weaving clubs and the like. Pretty elaborate stuff I know, but it really adds a new level of mystery and intrigue to my life. And since I don't have any friends who don't want to set me on fire, it's important to me because I can talk to myself without looking like an imbecile and my depression level isn't as high as it'd normally be if I were just going about my day.
Anyway, I removed the shotgun from my mouth and began my research process. I visited their semi-navigable website and directed myself to the 'Amenities' section. I was sold from the get go. "Hair dryers in every room"?! Hallelujah! "Duvets"?! Shazam! I then found myself daydreaming about what it might feel like to use said hair dryer while on a duvet, and vice-versa. I was so excited to begin my stay that I called them immediately and booked my reservation.
When I called, they used big words like, "去他媽的自己" and "soft." After about 10 minutes of crying, I realized that I dialed the wrong number and I was talking to the Chinese-American Suicide Prevention Hotline. It wasn't all bad though, I made sure to put that number on speed dial for future use.
Upon my arrival, the bellhop was wearing an orange jumpsuit with 'NY DOC' on the back. He was a little shifty and somewhat pushy, but hey, he greeted me promptly and took my belongings. In hindsight maybe it was a little strange that he threw them into the back of a waiting car where another orange jumpsuit wearing man was revving the engine. It all happened pretty fast, but I thought the Union Street Guest House was very efficient and meticulous for having their bellhops double as the valet parking attendants, too.
From there, I went to the front desk to get checked in, but there was nobody there. I rang their bell, and they rang mine in return. A man whose nametag said his name was 'Brick Pelvissnapper' came up to me and lambasted me in the temples with the canned hams he calls fists. I am a shorter man in stature, 4'6" (and considered legal midget in at least 53 states), so I flew across the room with tremendous trajectory and shattering velocity. After regaining consciousness and gathering my composure, I proceeded to the front desk to proceed with my check-in, but this time I didn't want to ring the bell again as I feared that I may die from blunt force trauma to the head and skull before I could begin basking in the warmth of my new home at the Union Street Guest House (fool me once, ha!)
A nice, elderly woman dressed in leather and chainmail came into my eventual presence and asked if she could help me. I told her that just needed a room with the standard accoutrement, and also a colostomy bag. She obliged my every request without hesitation, including the colostomy bag (which was already ¾ full, but I didn't mind since I didn't need to go then anyway.)
After finally getting checked in, I wandered my way to my awaiting room. I was shaking with anticipation and excitement, but I think I was also still a little shaky from being beaten upon by the first front desk clerk. He may be good at his job, but his relationship building skills have room for improvement. When I finally got into my new digs, I felt as if I'd been reborn. In septic Hell. Breathtaking to say the least, and not in the regard that one would normally think. I couldn't breathe there was a foul stench of something ungodly coming from the bathroom. When I opened the door, the housekeeper named Beyoncé was relieving herself in my duvet, reading a Boy's Life magazine. This made me sad, as the duvet and I were meant to be as one and one of the main reasons that traveled far and wide. I felt so violated. I felt like Alexander in 'Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day' did. Alone. Destitute. And nothing but a colostomy bag to show for myself, whose containment's weren't even my own.
I knew at that moment that I must depart the Union Street Guest House. I went back down to the front desk to check out. When I told them that my belongings never made it to my room, I asked of their whereabouts and if I could obtain them. They told me that they were going to look into it after DeGrassi Junior High was over. However, I was then again greeted by the behemoth Brick. But I think sometime between our first encounter and this one he changed his name because this time his nametag read 'Nikolai Coccyxraper.' When I saw him I became nervous. And sure enough, he raped my coccyx like his name implied.
I give my visit to the Union Street Guest House 2 stars because their website is semi-navigable and they are fans of Canadian teen melodrama.
I still haven't had my belongings returned to me.
They charged me $500.00 for bleeding on their carpet.
Jesus Christ, I don't have health insurance."
And another:
"I'm not sure what the big deal is about charging a $500 fee for posting a negative review.
In fact, all 906 of you are in direct violation of the Union Streets policy and by my accounting they're owed $453,000 from you people."
And Another:
"No giraffe rental? Fuck this place! Here I am thinking I could trip balls, listen to Dark Side of The Moon while on a heavy dose of LSD while going balls deep in a satchel filled with warm hummus WHILE riding a giraffe. ..BUT NOOOOO. Not at this shit hole.
Also, your Facist style limitations on people posting their honest reviews is HILARIOUS. Enjoy the hornets nest."
And Another:
"This place is the absolute worst place anyone could ever stay at. One guest had bed bugs. BED BUGS!. Also I heard the new ebola outbreak started there."
And Another:
"I live in Los Angeles. I have never been to New York, but this place still managed to give me crabs."
And Another:
"This hotel beat up my grandma and stole my Nike Dunks."
http://www.yelp.com/biz/union-street-guest-house-Hudson
Just in case they take them down here is the best:
"Before I spend my hard earned pennies on a places to stay, I do my research and I am as thorough as they come; and when doing so, I like to picture myself as an investigative reporter going undercover to penetrate underground basket weaving clubs and the like. Pretty elaborate stuff I know, but it really adds a new level of mystery and intrigue to my life. And since I don't have any friends who don't want to set me on fire, it's important to me because I can talk to myself without looking like an imbecile and my depression level isn't as high as it'd normally be if I were just going about my day.
Anyway, I removed the shotgun from my mouth and began my research process. I visited their semi-navigable website and directed myself to the 'Amenities' section. I was sold from the get go. "Hair dryers in every room"?! Hallelujah! "Duvets"?! Shazam! I then found myself daydreaming about what it might feel like to use said hair dryer while on a duvet, and vice-versa. I was so excited to begin my stay that I called them immediately and booked my reservation.
When I called, they used big words like, "去他媽的自己" and "soft." After about 10 minutes of crying, I realized that I dialed the wrong number and I was talking to the Chinese-American Suicide Prevention Hotline. It wasn't all bad though, I made sure to put that number on speed dial for future use.
Upon my arrival, the bellhop was wearing an orange jumpsuit with 'NY DOC' on the back. He was a little shifty and somewhat pushy, but hey, he greeted me promptly and took my belongings. In hindsight maybe it was a little strange that he threw them into the back of a waiting car where another orange jumpsuit wearing man was revving the engine. It all happened pretty fast, but I thought the Union Street Guest House was very efficient and meticulous for having their bellhops double as the valet parking attendants, too.
From there, I went to the front desk to get checked in, but there was nobody there. I rang their bell, and they rang mine in return. A man whose nametag said his name was 'Brick Pelvissnapper' came up to me and lambasted me in the temples with the canned hams he calls fists. I am a shorter man in stature, 4'6" (and considered legal midget in at least 53 states), so I flew across the room with tremendous trajectory and shattering velocity. After regaining consciousness and gathering my composure, I proceeded to the front desk to proceed with my check-in, but this time I didn't want to ring the bell again as I feared that I may die from blunt force trauma to the head and skull before I could begin basking in the warmth of my new home at the Union Street Guest House (fool me once, ha!)
A nice, elderly woman dressed in leather and chainmail came into my eventual presence and asked if she could help me. I told her that just needed a room with the standard accoutrement, and also a colostomy bag. She obliged my every request without hesitation, including the colostomy bag (which was already ¾ full, but I didn't mind since I didn't need to go then anyway.)
After finally getting checked in, I wandered my way to my awaiting room. I was shaking with anticipation and excitement, but I think I was also still a little shaky from being beaten upon by the first front desk clerk. He may be good at his job, but his relationship building skills have room for improvement. When I finally got into my new digs, I felt as if I'd been reborn. In septic Hell. Breathtaking to say the least, and not in the regard that one would normally think. I couldn't breathe there was a foul stench of something ungodly coming from the bathroom. When I opened the door, the housekeeper named Beyoncé was relieving herself in my duvet, reading a Boy's Life magazine. This made me sad, as the duvet and I were meant to be as one and one of the main reasons that traveled far and wide. I felt so violated. I felt like Alexander in 'Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day' did. Alone. Destitute. And nothing but a colostomy bag to show for myself, whose containment's weren't even my own.
I knew at that moment that I must depart the Union Street Guest House. I went back down to the front desk to check out. When I told them that my belongings never made it to my room, I asked of their whereabouts and if I could obtain them. They told me that they were going to look into it after DeGrassi Junior High was over. However, I was then again greeted by the behemoth Brick. But I think sometime between our first encounter and this one he changed his name because this time his nametag read 'Nikolai Coccyxraper.' When I saw him I became nervous. And sure enough, he raped my coccyx like his name implied.
I give my visit to the Union Street Guest House 2 stars because their website is semi-navigable and they are fans of Canadian teen melodrama.
I still haven't had my belongings returned to me.
They charged me $500.00 for bleeding on their carpet.
Jesus Christ, I don't have health insurance."
And another:
"I'm not sure what the big deal is about charging a $500 fee for posting a negative review.
In fact, all 906 of you are in direct violation of the Union Streets policy and by my accounting they're owed $453,000 from you people."
And Another:
"No giraffe rental? Fuck this place! Here I am thinking I could trip balls, listen to Dark Side of The Moon while on a heavy dose of LSD while going balls deep in a satchel filled with warm hummus WHILE riding a giraffe. ..BUT NOOOOO. Not at this shit hole.
Also, your Facist style limitations on people posting their honest reviews is HILARIOUS. Enjoy the hornets nest."
And Another:
"This place is the absolute worst place anyone could ever stay at. One guest had bed bugs. BED BUGS!. Also I heard the new ebola outbreak started there."
And Another:
"I live in Los Angeles. I have never been to New York, but this place still managed to give me crabs."
And Another:
"This hotel beat up my grandma and stole my Nike Dunks."
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