We got some nice pics/evidence of the Frontier Motel’s top-notch classery. They might have filmed the final scene of the Blair Witch Project in our bathroom. And check out the smoke detector.
We checked out a bit of Roswell. More alien overdose. The KFC in Roswell has an alien armed with an anal probe. Pretty ballsy, KFC. Pretty ballsy. And look at the grin on Col. Sanders’s face. Suspicious, ain’t it?
I’ve been noticing lot of subtle, hidden race-based psychological warfare going on against the public in New Mexico. First, take a look at this logo from the STRIPES convenience stores out here… Obviously, a hidden swastika. Then, go look at the two clips for further evidence.
We continued our grasshopper genocide through the Southwest and drove on to ABQ.
Went down to the Guild Cinema and met up with Kief. He’s cool as hell. And the cinema is a nice, tight and rowdy joint. My favorite kind of theater.
We had some time to kill, so we headed down to the Frontier Restaurant and ate burgers. John Wayne seems to rule this joint with a pig-iron. Back in the parking lot of the Frontier Restaurant, Chad hip-checked the car parked next to us. He knocked the mirror clean off. He finally got to talk to fine gals, but came up empty-handed/hairy-palmed.
Yeah, these were the first two fine girls I talked to on the trip. They were playing good cop/ bad cop with me bigtime. The one who owned the car was acting all pissed because I broke off her mirror, while the other one was all apologetic and remorseful about how her friend was talking to me like I was a five-year-old bum. She somehow managed to treat me not only like a child, but like a complete burden on society in the same conversation. Anyway, the next day morning in that shithole Imperial Inn, her insurance company calls me and can’t get it through their heads that there was no other car involved in the accident… Only my hips. That reminds me, along the course of the ass chewing homegirl gave me, when I told her I had knocked the mirror off with my hip for about the fifth time, she goes, “Well, you must have hips of steel.” Ha, if she only knew….
The screening went pretty well. Duke City Derby gals came out and supported the cause. Some gals from Taos even made it down. They are a fun bunch, for sure. There was a good crowd for Hell on Wheels and a smattering stuck around for Total Badass. Both flicks were well received. The Q&A for Hell was a fun one and we even sold enough merch to break even on gas/motel expenses. This is the exciting stuff you want from this blog, yes? All-in-all, it was a pretty fine start for the tour.
After the screening we had some drinks with the derby gals and Kief. It was mellow, but a nice wind-down for the night.
Well, there were no massive roller orgies, that’s for goddamn sure, but at least now I know what black people feel like when they walk into a restaurant. In all seriousness though, the people who were at the screening were extremely nice in welcoming us to Albuquerque…. All twelve of them. Kief, the guy who runs The Guild Cinema was cool as shit. He hung out with us all night and offered us a place to stay. Carson and the rest of the Duke City Derby girls from here and from Taos were also quite nice and met up with us at a bar later, or vice versa. Also, thanks a lot to Hurt Reynolds, Agatha and Johnny for also offering us places to stay. At the end of the night, I think we were just too embarrassed to show up at anyone’s house, so we rented a hotel out here on I-25.
Yeah, we blew our couch-to-crash-on and ended up at Imperial Inn. Another shit-hole. I tried to barter down the price, but the piss-and-vinegar clerk only offered the crack-house around the corner as a cheaper place to crash. Dude was a dick. To our dismay, the crack-house was all filled up, and the other motels in the area were no cheaper. We actually sat in the parking lot of another motel and tried to internet-up a cheaper option. The night clerk here couldn’t take his eyes off us and kept giving us the hairy-eyeball. At one point, as he stared with his glazed look through his Coke-bottle glasses, he wrote down our license plate number and appeared to be making a composite sketch of us. Either that, or he was sizing us up for a shallow grave.
So we humbly crawled back to the Imperialist dick-clerk to grovel for a room. I guess he has a soft spot after all, cuz he knocked two bucks off the price of a room. The Imperialists win again. It was pretty low-rent, but maybe not quite as shitty as the Frontier Motel in Roswell.