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So, Motel 8’s have wireless innernet. This, I did not know. The room is very large and has everything I could possibly need. It smells like its been cleaned a lot. I wonder if someone died in here. Oh, well. What was I going to talk about? Oh, right.
ATLANTA: This place sucks. It is hot as dog shit. The white people are scared to death of my yankee accent. The black people are scared to death of me being white. There are no mexicans, who are officially my adopted ethnicity from here on out, ese. The country is beautiful and untouchable, because its too hot outside the car to go pee in the woods. My wang would raisin within two minutes of being outside. Its like being on Vulcan on an off pon farr year.
Once you get into the city? Poverty, filth and depression amongst sky scraping monuments of human achievement and concrete and marble proof that capitalism works. Ted Turner, save these people? Where is your Captain Planet now? I’m sure I’d like it here better if I spent more time downtown, going to a club or a bar. But I don’t have my plus stamina gear, and my paladin isn’t here to rez me if I get shot in the face.
For dinner, I bought potato chips from a vending machine that’s old enough to be my father. These were inedible, but that’s okay, as I also wisely purchased some Sugar Daddies. As the old egyptian expression goes: Man fears time, but time fears movie theater candy. I’m washing it down with a Coke can whose backside is encouraging me to go to Six Flags instead of telling me what kinds of chemicals I’m putting into my body. Six Flags chemicals are delicious. I had Arby’s for lunch, and usually this would cause a severe case of the mud butt, however, I think the combination of ancient sugar daddies and coca cola have shot past the roast beef and gummed up the works for the next several days. I’m gonna need to obtain some pop rocks, a bottle of pepto and a red hot slim jim to blow my a-hole open. Thank God for gas station food, everything I want is so close together.
In other news: Chris Benoit.
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