Welcome back, Phantomaniacs! We’ve got two more parts of this thing plus my review of the instant classic, Dear God No! ahead, so don’t expect any toy reviews in the next few days. Also, I can’t guarantee the movie review. Right now I feel pretty good about being able to do it, but if I can’t get it finished up by tomorrow it probably isn’t going to happen. It all depends on how busy I am in the next couple of days. Also, I'm really sorry there aren't more pictures in this one. I'll do better next time.
Side Note: At some point during the day on Saturday we went to a gas station and bought some condoms. I’m sure you were dying for the conclusion to that particular epic.
Also, Friday night brought the firs-ever performance of my song, “Ghost Maid”, which is about exactly what you think it is. There was no musical accompaniment and I could only remember the first verse, but I’m pretty sure Beau was impressed. I’m not as sure he’ll actually remember it, though.
Thanks to my amazing CONstitution I was able to roll out of bed around 11 AM on Saturday. Mrs. Troublemaker did not move. I turned on the TV, took a shower, and got dressed. Mrs. Troublemaker did not move. I texted Monkey to see if he needed anything and to let him know to call if he did. I ate some trail mix and a drank a few glasses of water. I trained two chimpanzees to play the Mall Theme from Dawn of the Dead on the Theremin. Mrs. Troublemaker did not move.
I was getting a little concerned.
I ever-so-gently prodded her arm, said, “Good morning,” and drew back a pace or two in case of violent negative reaction. But I got a mumbled response that suggested she was just approaching consciousness. I told her we should probably go get some food and got another grunt. Eventually I managed to coax her out of bed and we went to the hotel restaurant to have breakfast/lunch.
The hotel restaurant was a fairly nice place with a very pleasant atmosphere. We seated ourselves at one of the tables and waited for service. We waited a while. As in, if there had been another food option that didn’t involve driving several miles we would have left.
Side note: I find that the older I get, the less willing I am to deal with crap. We went to the Tilted Kilt restaurant a few months ago on the recommendation of pretty much everybody. We were excited about a new eating experience and I was curious to see the trashy waitresses. I mean, not Hooters trashy, obviously; but I suppose a sort of weird parallel to that. But to get to the point – we had a rude hostess and then sat for ten minutes without anybody coming to the table. We got up and left and went to Taco Mac – where we usually have a good experience – and had an absolutely rotten waitress. Mrs. Troublemaker actually had to go to the bar to get our beers herself after we watched them just sit there for a few minutes.
Finally, a waiter came over to the table. I can’t remember his name, but I referred to him as “Timmy” throughout our meal, so that’s what I’ll call him here. He just seemed very Timmy to me. He was an older gentleman with a soft voice and a slight lisp and I suspect he had never before waited tables in his life. Timmy was a terrible waiter. He was very friendly and courteous though, so we couldn’t be anything but nice to him. Here’s the made-up Timmy dialogue (thought the events are accurate) I whispered to Mrs. Troublemaker over the course of our meal; which lasted about forty minutes longer than it really should have (Even thought I hate Family Guy, I’m going to ask you to imagine Timmy speaks in the same voice as that art teacher or whatever. You know who I’m talking about.):
Timmy – “Hey y’all, I’m Timmy. Can I get y’all something to drink? I don’t normally do this – I work down in the laundry room – but I was just down there folding up some sheets, minding my own, and my manager comes in and says, ‘Timmy, we got an awful lot of folks here this weekend and LaShonda called in because her corns are acting up – you know how she does – so we need you to go on up there and wait some tables.’ Y’all can just imagine my surprise, but I was all done with the sheets so I thought I might as well come wait some tables, so here I am!”
Me – “Uh, I’d like a Diet Coke and she’d like a sweet tea.”
Timmy – (bringing out a tiny pencil completely blank notepad; not one of those green pads people actually take orders on) “Okay – a sweet tea and a Diet Coke. I’ll be right back, y’all.”
Fifteen minutes later Timmy reappeared from the kitchen doors with a couple of glasses barely larger than shot glasses. He gave me the sweet tea and placed the Diet Coke in front of Mrs. Troublemaker – a common mistake and one I won’t bitch about.
Timmy – (Timmy is visibly worn out) “Okay, y’all. I’ll be back in two shakes of a lambs tail to take your orders. They are just running me ragged, here!”
Me – “Can we, um, get a couple of menus?”
Timmy – “Why, certainly! Just a minute.”
Six or so minutes later Timmy came back with a menu.
Timmy – “Here y’all go! I’ll be right back to take your orders.”
Me – “NO! WAIT – we know what we want. Please don’t leave – we’ll juts order now. (turning to Mrs. Troublemaker; and this actually pretty much happened) Just get the Angus burger. It’s good. (back to Timmy) We’ll have two Angus burgers, medium well with fries.”
Timmy – (pulling out his notepad again) “Okay… um… two Angus burgers. Do y’all want fries?”
Me and Mrs. Troublemaker – “Yes.”
Timmy – (writing a lot) “Alrighty. I’ll be right back.”
I don’t blame Timmy for how long it took him to get back to our table each time. I have a theory about this. I think that Peachtree City, being the fancy-pants place that it is – has very strict health codes. The Wyndham Conference Center and Hotel does not want to deal with these overly restrictive codes, so they located their kitchen outside the city limits. So every time Timmy left our table, he had to hop in one of the city’s golf carts and drive all the way out to the kitchen. That’s all I can come up with.
Eventually we did get our food and it was pretty delicious. And Timmy even had the great idea to go ahead and bring us two of the tiny beverage glasses each time we needed refills. He also scored big time by bringing the bill out with our food, meaning we didn’t have to wait for it when we were done eating. So all in all I think Timmy the Laundromat worker did the very best he could with a bad situation. I tipped him generously.
We made another run through the Dealer Room to see if Monkey needed anything and to buy a Gnombie.
Here’s a brief story about Gnombies and their creator:
While I was helping Monkey set up on Friday I had to wander over to the Gnombie table. They looked cool and were such a damned good idea. One of those things you go, “Oh, man. Why didn’t I think of that?” I spoke briefly with the creator of the Gnombies and he explained how he had come up with the idea. He had started off making them by hand, then demand had gotten to the point where he had to have them manufactured in China but still paint them by hand. But then things got bigger and he had to have them painted overseas as well. Now the guy is running this whole business based around zombie lawn gnomes. It’s a cool and inspirational story that makes you feel pretty good about life and that anybody really can make it if they try.
Me – “Wow. The American Dream, huh?”
Gnombie Guy – “Well, I’m Irish. But same thing I suppose.”
Obviously I felt pretty good right then. I hadn’t totally insulted an entire nationality of people by suggesting that my country was the sole bastion of success and motivation on the entire planet or anything. I don’t know how I had missed the gentleman’s very obvious accent while he was telling his story, but I did. I certainly picked up on it on that last bit, though.
Me – “Well these are awesome. We’ll be back once the room is open to buy one.”
Gnombie Guy – “Cool. Thanks.”
I went back to Monkey’s booth, where he and his wife were chatting with Mrs. Troublemaker and reported on how I had already managed to offend one of the other dealers and would likely be ostracized from the Days of the Dead dealer community by the end of the day.
Fortunately, Gnombie Guy was in attendance at the Piper event later that night and I went over and told him I hoped he wasn’t offended by my assumption. He said he was actually worried that I might take offense that some foreigner had come off the boat and started taking American dollars. He told me he lives in Boston now. We had a laugh and I went back and sat down.
So anyway, we checked with Monkey and he was fine and we went and bought a small Gnombie. I would’ve loved to buy one of the full-sized ones, but they were a hundred bucks and the small ones were twenty. Don’t get me wrong – the big ones were definitely worth a hundred bucks; I just didn’t want to spend a hundred bucks on one item after my crazy spending spree in the famous folks room the previous day. Gnombie Guy wasn’t exactly hurting for sales anyway. From what he told me he had already had around a seventy percent sell-through of the stock he had brought.
We made another run through the other Dealer room – stay tuned tomorrow for my spotlight on Galaxy of Junk – and took our loot back to the room. I asked Mrs. Troublemaker what she wanted to do and she said she was going back to sleep.
Mrs. Troublemaker is a stay-at-home mom, so she doesn’t get a whole lot of sleep. Or time to herself. So having the opportunity to get some uninterrupted rest was pretty much the best vacation ever for her.
I, on the other hand, had a movie to watch.
I’ve been wanting to see James Bickert’s Dear God No! for a while now. Some people I know are in it and a good friend of mine, Mr. Richard Davis, did the score. The movie has played at the Plaza Theater a bunch of times, but my work schedule had kept me from seeing it. The Days of the Dead screening actually seemed like the best possible time to check it out, though. The Plaza screenings were likely to be chock full of people who not only has seen it several times already, but who also knew the cast and crew. This one, though, would be the only time the audience had a good chance of having a fair number of folks who hasn’t seen the movie and weren’t familiar with the creators. I mean, we were still in Georgia so there were going to be plenty of folks from the Plaza screenings; but this was as close to a purely uninitiated crowd as I was likely to get.
Bear and the Queen of Crunk had a room at the con Saturday night and they showed up shortly before the screening. Lady Monkey got there around the same time and had zero interest in Dear God No!, as it does not feature shirtless male vampires. If it did Mrs. Troublemaker would have been there as well. But Bear and his lady were keen to see it so we met up and headed for the amphitheater. Bear had mentioned that the amphitheater was already packed with people when he walked by on the way to meet in the Dealer Room, but it turned out there was a panel before the movie and it just hadn’t let out yet.
This brings me to the Days of the Dead event schedule. I think it sucked. There wasn’t a whole heck of a lot going on, but what there was tended to be oddly timed and would sometimes even overlap other events. And other times there was nothing to do. As few things as were actually going on it should have been easy to space things out. But as things happened there were several instances where you were going to have to choose between things and miss out on something. As tempted as I am to post my version of their schedule I’m not going to. Mostly because nobody probably cares all that much, but also because there might be factors I am unaware of that influenced things.
So anyway, the Scream Queens panel ran long and we waited outside for it to empty out. That was when I noticed the sign advertising $5 burgers. This is significant because not even one hour before I had paid $9 for a burger. Nice.
I didn’t mention this yesterday because I didn’t think it was important, but the amphitheater is kind of like the college classrooms you see in movies. I say in movies because I only went to two semesters (or maybe quarters, I can’t remember) of Community College and never saw a real college classroom. But the amphitheater had a large stage and projection screen up front with seating ascending away in tiers. The first two rows were just chairs, but the rest had crescent-shaped desks. It was pretty nice and gave me a place to put my beer bag.
Before the movie started, MC Shane Morton – who plays one of the bikers – came out with a bag full of goodies and extolled the virtues of Dear God No! to the audience while distributing one-sheets, bags of authentic (fake) bigfoot hair, and certificates holding the producers free from liability for any conditions the audience members might suffer as a result of viewing the aberration that is Dear God No!:
Shane was, as always, an entertaining spokesman and set the tone well for the insanity we were about to witness.
I’ll get into the movie in my review (if I do it) on Thursday, but for now I’ll just say that Dear God No! accomplished its goals perfectly. I was thoroughly entertained and I think the rest of the audience was, as well.
Bear and the Queen still had to check in, so I headed back to the room to check on my lovely bride. She was still out. I sat on the bed and watched TV for a while to see if she would wake up, but she didn’t. I decided I had better go ahead and meet Mark Patton.
Mark Patton – if you don’t know – played Jesse in A Nightmare On Elm Street 2, a movie that makes Top Gun’s gay undertones seem positively subdued. Nightmare 2 was the first of the Elm Street movies that I actually saw, so it’s really the one my mind automatically references when I think of the series. And really, the whole concept of Freddy Krueger – ahem – invading this young man’s body is even more horrifying than the simple slaughter of the first movie. Just adding to the value of the movie is the fact that Mark Patton is an openly gay man who had embraced the idea of the film as a gay metaphor to the point where he has penned his own series of journal entries from Jesse’s point of view.
Naturally, being the straight-but-not-narrow fellow that I am I wanted to get a picture with Mr. Patton while wearing my Le Sexoflex shirt so I could post it on their Facebook page. So I put on the shirt and my disco mask and headed for Celebrity Room B.
Things had changed since I met Roddy Piper outside of Celebrity Rooms A and B. His table was gone and Mark Patton had placed his own table out in the hall across from where Piper’s had been. I walked up and said hello and we talked a bit. This is where I found out about Jesse’s Lost Journals and just how much Patton had embraced the character and the fans. He was a very friendly, talkative guy and I’m glad I got to hang out with him for a bit. I got my picture and he took one for his Facebook page and I thanked him and took my leave. Super nice guy.
I made another run through the Dealer room and saw this:
Pretty gross. That guy was walking around like that all weekend and it was appalling. I’ve got to give him credit for being ballsy enough to just walk around a hotel in public like that, though.
Monkey and Lady Monkey wanted to go and grab some food off-site once the Dealer Room closed and that sounded like a good plan to me. I went to wake up Mrs. Troublemaker and told her we were meeting the Monkeys and Bear and the Queen of Crunk in the lobby to go and find somewhere to eat. I chose this over going to see the Silver Scream Spook Show. I am dying to witness the Spook Show and never have. It’s always scheduled when I have to work. But we don’t ever get to go out and have a nice, adult dinner with friends. That is an opportunity not to be missed, not even when ghoulish entertainment is the other option.
We didn’t have an actual plan about where to go, but the new arrivals said that the church where they parked wasn’t all that far away. Actually, Bear said it had taken longer for the shuttle bus to arrive than it had taken to get to the hotel. He said they could have just walked an gotten there a lot faster. Good enough. We decided we’d walk down one of the golf cart paths to the church and take the Monkeys’ car to one of the local shopping plazas to find a place to eat.
The golf cart was not illuminated in any sense of the word. It is the single creepiest place I have ever been in my life and I would cut my own toe off before I would ever traverse it alone. Even with six of us there it was a little creepy. There were times where we were walking in pitch black, with Bear pulling out his cell phone to provide faint, wavering illumination that only served to make the path more foreboding by outlining the massive trees and allowing us to see the seemingly endless path ahead. By the time we got to the end we were openly referring to the path as The Rape Hole. This is the best picture I could get:
And it was a long time before we got to the end. I’m no great judge of distances or time, but I’d say we spent around half an hour on that path. I didn’t think to check the time when we left or when we arrived. It’s just not the sort of thing you do at a con at night.
We had been walking for about ten or fifteen minutes when Lady Monkey stopped and said, “Um.”
She followed that up by saying that she was pretty sure she left her car keys in the hotel room. The Queen of Crunk said she also thought she had left her keys behind, and it was confirmed when Bear said, “Yeah. I told you we wouldn’t need them.” I actually had my keys, but seeing as we were parked back at the hotel that wasn’t going to do us a whole heck of a lot of good. The whole reason we were walking was that the hotel parking lot had filled up and those of us who were already parked there didn’t want to lose our spots. So our choices were to either turn around and retrace our steps back through The Rape Hole or to continue ahead and hope there was a place to eat once we emerged at the other end. Being adventurous types who were willing to let the Fates have their way with us, we forged ahead.
Finally, after what seemed like a very long time, we reached the church. And the large fence that separated the church from the golf cart path. We just stopped and laughed for a minute because what are you gonna do? Finally, faced with the options of scaling the fence or forging through the woods to our right, Bear whipped it out and shone its illumination into the dense forest (his cell phone. Bear does not, as far as I know, have a light-up penis). Well, inasmuch as twenty feet of trees between a golf cart path and a major thoroughfare can be dense forest. But it sure did seem dense as we were making our way through it.
We burst through the trees beside the road like escapees from a dark, isolated path where people could very easily disappear. Across the road was a Rite Aid, which we briefly considered as a dinner spot.
“Rite Aid has beer,” reasoned Mrs. Troublemaker.
“Sweet Tarts and potato chips, too,” said Monkey.
But we decided to continue on past the place of worship and try our luck on the far side of the street. It was a good call, as that’s where Beef O’Brady’s and the other restaurants were. I can’t remember if any of us knew that or not, but we had found several possibilities for dinner.
Naturally Beef O’Brady’s was out, and the Troublemakers and Lady Monkey had just had Chinese the day before, so we thought we might try a place called Georgia Shrimp. It seemed a bit fancy, and when I looked in the front window all the patrons looked like rich, old white people. Maybe not our crowd. But we had made a decision and, by God, we were going to stick to it. Getting six people to agree on a single place to eat isn’t easy, you know?
Once you opened the massive double doors that led into Georgia Shrimp there was a man there that made the name seem ironic. He was the Guardian of the Shrimp and only through him shall any dine. He inquired as to our numbers, and whence I responded “six,” a grave expression crossed his gruff countenance.
“Six,” he sighed, with the weight of a billion shellfish on his weary back, “with six ye shall be waiting three-quarters of an hour. Mayhap a full hour. The eatery be heavy with patrons this eve.”
We reconvened outside and agreed to try the next place. Through a decorative trellis and around the corner was a place called Big Daddy’s. Big Daddy’s was also a seafood restaurant, but clearly not quite as fancy as Georgia Shrimp. It seemed more suited to us. We walked through the trellis and across the next parking lot and entered a restaurant filled with an aroma that the Queen of Crunk described as “Wild Vagina”. Nobody else seemed to want to broach the subject, but I inquired as to whether or not we were actually going to be able to eat in such an atmosphere. The relief in the air was almost as palpable as the smell of neglected poontang. We left in search of less fragrant surroundings. Bear and Mrs. Troublemaker had opted to use Big Daddy’s facilities (probably because they needed to throw up) so of course we just walked out and left them in there.
Monkey had suggested we just eat in the pizza joint located under Big Daddy’s, but the chances were too great that the odor from above would invade that place as well. So Chinese it was!
We trekked back over to the Chinese place (I can’t remember the name) and were seated in a furry booth. I would have gotten a picture, but apparently I was determined all weekend long to make this recap as hard on myself as I possibly could. I can’t believe how few pictures I took. And I had my damn camera the whole time.
But anyway, we finally had our Grown Up Adult Dinner. It was pretty great.
Afterwards, we called the hotel to let them know we needed a shuttle and they said, “Ha ha, fools! The shuttle stopped running ten minutes ago!”
So we forged our way back through the forest to traverse The Rape Hole back to the hotel. We were all full and sleepy from the Chinese food and I’m pretty sure we were all convinced we were going to be attacked by vampires. I was, anyway.
This brings me to another failing of Days of the Dead, albeit one that is perfectly reasonable.
I think it would be totally awesome for such a convention to have zombies and slashers running around all over the grounds as part of the show. In and out of The Rape Hole, in the parking lot, in the halls. Just randomly jumping out and chasing people. You could sign a waiver when you checked in saying that it’s okay for these people to fuck with you, or if
you’re a pussy you’d rather they didn’t you get issued a bright orange vest you have to wear the whole time. Just an idea.
Rescue John had come back down while we were at dinner. He had taken in a screening of Dear God No! and was waiting for us in the lobby. We all went and changed clothes and got ready to party. Well, more accurately we got ready to figure out how to party. The only things scheduled for Saturday night – commonly known as the biggest party night of the week – were the VIP party, which none of us were going to because we couldn’t even imagine shelling out for a VIP pass for an untested con; and a midnight screening of Human Centipede 2. We were pretty much going to have to make our own fun. Fortunately that is something we are very good at. And after the hilarious letdown that was the previous night’s parties we weren’t too concerned about missing out on the VIP event.
We reconvened in the lobby and drank beer. Lady Monkey went to the unreasonably packed bar to try and get a mixed beverage. She ended up with an $18 cup of vodka. I have to say, the Wyndham corporation knows how to exploit a captive clientele. Not even the bars at Dragon*Con are ballsy enough to try and charge what the Wyndham was all weekend. It’s pretty easy to stand around and people watch and drink beer and keep yourself entertained. It is also, however, pretty easy to encounter douchebags who are going to potentially be a problem.
We were having a perfectly nice time when all of a sudden the males of our group realized the females were being accosted by this big douche. Now, Bear, Monkey, and myself know that our ladies can handle themselves. So initially we just kind of sat back and were amused that they were having to deal with this oaf. His name was Bill and he was a loud moron.
There are some people who are brash and charming and loud that can pull it off. They’re cool people who might even annoy you a little bit, but are so entertaining it doesn’t matter. They just have tremendous people skills and a certain presence that make them a welcome addition to any situation.
And then there are people who think they are one of the above people and are wrong. Bill was one of these people.
He had two (or more) open 2 liters of beverage that he kept trying to get the girls to drink from. It was funny at first (again, watching them deal with it; not Bill himself), but before too long Bill seemed to be getting just a bit too friendly. I don’t remember exactly how, but his attention got shifted to us. He seemed to think we were pals. I wasn’t yet so drunk that I was going to be flat-out mean, but I am very good at abusing people in a way that they don’t understand. Bill was very drunk and very stupid, so he was an easy target. I should probably be ashamed of myself. He gave us some spiel about needing new friends and I ran him down about not having friends and not getting that we weren’t those new friends and various other things. Monkey hit him with a joke meant to shame him into leaving, but it didn’t quite work.
I don’t remember exactly what I said that changed the mood, but at some point we just turned around and walked off while Rescue John explained to Bill that he needed to stay away from us and our women. And I know “Our Women” sounds like some kind of caveman thing, but whatever. They’re our women.
And if you doubt my estimation of Bill’s worth as a human being, just know that he turned up again later in Juggalo face paint.
We found out a bit later that there was going to be a contest of some sort in the Taste of Tuscany. Actually, some of our party overheard the guy running the contest stating that he wanted the girls in it to be as drunk as possible so they’d take all their clothes off. Classy. Wait’ll you see the picture of this guy. He looks like Bono, but douchier. I guess I can’t judge too much, though. Once we heard about this contest – which apparently consisted of drunk girls in costumes magically transforming into drunk girls who were no longer in costumes – it became my personal mission in life to go see some “naked sluts”. To be fair, if you are participating in a strip tease contest in public at a horror convention, you are definitely going to be naked and are probably a slut.
Once the “VIP” party ended and they started letting the regular con patrons into the Taste of Tuscany we all went in, curious to see what sort of young ladies would participate in such an event. There was a redhead in a skintight Black Widow-style bodysuit up on stage when we walked in and I immediately declared her the winner. Obviously I didn’t even need to see any other contestants. The only way to win at that point would have been a Moira the Ghost Maid costume.
This poor girl was up on stage with skeezy-looking Pseudo-Bono and, like, five other dudes. It was pretty awkward and seemed more than a little rape-y. I found that I couldn’t even enjoy it when she started unzipping her suit. It was uncomfortable. Pseudo-Bono came off a lot less like a game show host and a lot more like a lecherous creep. I promise I’m not trying to sound like some kind of self-righteous jerk. I like partially-clothed and naked ladies an awful lot. But the atmosphere in that room was just weird. We left.
Back in the hallway I ran into Wrestling With Pop Culture’s Jonathan Williams, who threatened to cripple me with the Cabana Clutch if I didn’t pose for a picture with him. I don’t need that kind of pain in my life, so I acquiesced:
That is not face paint. When Mr. Williams parties, he morphs Power Rangers-style into a being of pure party fury known only as El Gato Diablo.
Bear and the Queen disappeared for a while and Rescue John and Mrs. Troublemaker went to see Human Centipede 2. I had no plans to see that wretched abomination of cinema, but I found myself with nothing to do. The Monkeys had gone back to their room, no doubt driven to unbearable amounts of arousal by the combination of Bill’s sexual energy and the exhibition in the Taste of Tuscany. Or maybe Monkey just had to be up early again. Yeah – probably the latter.
So I decided I would endure Human Centipede 2. I loathe the first movie almost as much as I do Uwe Boll’s entire resume. I think it’s the worst sort of excrement in the way of both form and content. The only thing redeeming about it is the performance of Dieter Laser and he is not in the sequel. But with enough beer and an amphitheater full of people I thought I might be able to manage, so I went to find my people.
They were right there in the back when I walked in and there happened to be a chair empty. I sat down, cracked a beer, and prepared myself for the worst.
But what I got was something interesting. Laurence Harvey plays a deaf mute who is obsessed with Human Centipede. He works in a parking garage and is kidnapping subjects in order to make his own human centipede. There’s some stuff with his mother and how he was abused by his father. It’s all horribly creepy, but in a different way from the first movie. I don’t know why, but by about ten minutes in I was actually pretty interested in this character and this movie. But I really needed to pee and was out of beer, so I got up and went back to the room as fast as I could to unload and reload. Bear and the Queen were out by the bar when I went back. I stopped to tell them what was going on, but then Rescue John and Mrs. Troublemaker came around the corner, looking somewhat pale and ill.
I asked them what was up and said I thought we were watching the movie and they said they were done. Apparently they got the idea that there was going to be baby rape and wanted no part of it. I can’t imagine that was actually going to happen in the movie, but at the same time Tom 6 is clearly trying to make the most distasteful mess he can, so maybe. I didn’t want to find out, so we stayed by the bar and had some more beers.
We ran dry, but Bear and the Queen had brought plenty so he and I went back to their room to stock up. “Plenty” turned out to be four beers, but it also turned out to be enough. When we got back to the bar area, Mrs. Troublemaker and the Queen were hanging out with Beau and Sally and a few other folks, most notably a close-talker whose breath smelled like he had been eating out of a litter box. It was repulsive, so of course he decided he had to share his life story with me. It got so bad I just walked off while he was talking.
Oh, I almost forgot – Sally and Mrs. Troublemaker had some adventures with the guy from Human Centipede 2. There are pictures, but you’ll never see them. Speaking of pictures you’ll never see, Lady Monkey, the Queen of Crunk and Mrs. Troublemaker each owe me a tray of muffins or my next post will consist of a single picture. Mwahahahaha!
Just kidding. I would never post that sort of smut here.
Come on back tomorrow for “Days of the Dead Atlanta Part 4: The Terrible Toys of Professor Plunder”!