We leave Seattle early, real early. How do I know it is early? Because I’m tired. Why am I tired? Because it is fucking early. Fog still clings to the road much like the way sweat beads on the fat upper lip of an out of shape tourist as he huffs and puffs his way from Seattle’s Best Coffee across the street into Starbucks and then down the street and into Peet’s Coffee and then around the corner and down another block into Tully’s Coffee and then finally as his body begins to convulse and his eyes roll back in his head and his heart pumped full of caffeine and beating like a 1900’s steam engine train piston explodes out of his chest and wriggling like the salmon being tossed by the fish throwers of Pike’s Market lands steaming in the box of Rainier mountain cherries that are glistening like the fin of a killer whale cruising through the San Juan Islands chain that his equally large wife holds in her chubby fingers. Through this fog we head west, no east, homeward bound, for the first time of the trip.
After leaving Washington we pass through what I believe is Idaho. We eat subway. I get a 12 inch oven roasted chicken on Italian ‘erbs and cheeses with lettuce, tomatoes, green peppers, olives, banana peppers and southwestern chipotle sauce. Eric orders a sandwich as well. Seriously did you think I’d remember what he got? I will ask him when he comes into work.
Editors Note: At this point in time I am working next to Eric.
Editor’s Second Note: prior editor’s note was a euphemism for working for Eric.
I get a large fountain soda that I fill with a mix of Sprite and Lemonade. I don’t remember if I get chips or not.
In between Eric and I in line are 4 army people. While ordering, one forgets to order a sandwich for a fifth army comrade; upon realizing his mistake he orders the sandwich. In so doing he unwittingly becomes the most interesting thing that happens to us in Idaho.
Editor’s Note: I look at a map to figure out where we went after Idaho. OH YES. Mormon Town USA. Also upon rereading this entry and stumbling over the Subway passage I become quite hungry.
I look over at Eric to see if he is ready for a lunch break. He isn’t. Damn.
We arrive in Salt Lake City, I am the first Jew to ever the city voluntarily since the 2002 winter Olympics when Israel was represented by 5 athletes. These competitors would go on to take 6th and 19th place in ice dancing and unfortunately not place at all in short track speed skating. There is great controversy surrounding the short track speed skating event, as the Israeli skater claimed the track was in fact made of ice from salt-free water and not the same high salt content ice that he had expected.
Upon passing the city limits Eric and I roll down the windows and begin to blast gangster rap. We figuratively high five everyone in the world who doesn’t think nipple is a curse word. We arrive at Rich’s house. I have a class of Tang, it’s a fucking kick in a goddamn glass, and Eric has water, which is more like a pat on the back in a glass.
Rich gives us a grand tour of Salt Lake and all there is to see in the city. 5 minutes later we arrive back at his house and go to sleep at 8:30. Did I mention we are sleeping in the same twin size bed. God knows what Richard’s devout Mormon mother is thinking. Strangely I think I know exactly what she is thinking. I compose the latest entry in my travel blog. I look over at Eric to see if he is noticing. He isn’t.
I look over at Eric to see if he is noticing. He isn’t.
I go back to work.
Next update will be up later today. I’ll try not to be as clever as I think that I am being in the next update.
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
Sunday, August 2, 2009
The Battle in Seattle
Oregon... never give an inch.
Anyone?
I know at least one person will get it.
Spend the night in a Motel 6 outside of Portland. Wake up to phone call from front desk. Sir are you planning on checking out any time soon? No. Check out was 30 minutes ago. Oh.
Head into Portland for lunch. Possibly the greenest city we have been to, as in lots of plants and trees and grassy areas. Stop at a restaurant on the canal walk. Wait 15 minutes for lunch to arrive. I watch an old lady give a waiter some good old fashioned sass. Waiter/sandwich maker approaches and informs me they are out of sourdough. Yes whole wheat is fine. Wait 30 minutes for lunch to arrive. Drink 2 beers. See an American Bulldog puppy, decide I am getting one upon return to Boston. Wait 10 more minutes. Lunch, a turkey club sandwich, finally arrives.
Drive to Seattle. Encounter traffic. Arrive at Uncle L and Aunt M's house. Notice the anonymity. Get to see Samuel Jackson who believe it or not lives there. We have a Nerf gun fight. He wins.
The next day we go into the city and see a Mariners game, they are in the process of losing by a combined series score of 18 to 0.
Climb the space needle, via elevator. Get to the top. Jump down, via elevator. In lobby is a booth where you can purchase pictures that have been taken of you prior to ascending the needle. I take out my digital camera to take a picture of a picture. Clerk; Sir, you cant take a picture of the picture. Me; oh I'm not, I'm sorry. Click.
Eat at Boom restaurant. Start to notice the high percentage of attractive women in Seattle. Mojito. Fried Chicken Wing things. Mojito. Definitely notice the higher percentage of attractive women in Seattle. BOOM.
Meet up with a friend of Eric's and her roomate. Boom (okay last use of boom). Drink some ginger flavored vodka with strawberries floating in it. Head to first bar. Get a beer. Cant get into second bar because there is a block party going on, apparently Sonic Youth were playing.
Walk back. I see a sign for hot dogs pointing a bar door. Turning to everyone else I say; Fuck yea! I could go for a hotdog. Girl I'm walking with tells me I dont want those hot dogs. I ask why not. She points at the bar. A group of men is crowded around the entrance. One is wearing assless chaps with a leather speedo, a leather vest with nothing on underneath, a huge Tom Selleck mustache, and a leather biker hat thing. He seems to be getting emotional and his other buddies are trying to calm him down.
Now I suppose in some places it is okay to falsy advertise in order to draw in a large crowd, but sometimes it is not okay. I really wanted a hot dog, and by hot dog I mean some sort of meat packaged into a tube-like shape and placed between a bread bun. Not a penis dog placed between a man's bun.
Take a cab to the third bar. Walk in. Woman is reading at a far corner of the bar, at a table two men are playing dominoes and in the back a man is singing YMCA kareoke style. Jager bombs. I get to meet the first people I have ever met from Idaho, at first I am incredulous but I convince them to let me see their driver's liscences. I get the feeling they are unnapreciative of my telling them I thought that they didnt exsist and were just figments of Montanian's imaginations.
I chat up the bartenders. They make a red looking drink concoction. I ask what it is. A Washington Apple. Crown Royal Whiskey, Sour Apple Pucker Schnapps and Cranberry juice. The bartender gives me 4, on the house, one for each member of our party.
Washington Apple. Its good. I give one to the girl next to me. I look around for Eric, he is outside. Washington Apple. Its still good. Leave the 4th for the Idahoians.
Bud Light. I'm on a stage singing kareoke to Sexual Healing. At one point I leave the stage and serenade a girl in the audience. She looks entertained, but some sullen guy across the table from her looks like he isnt enjoying the show.
Leave the bar. Switch t-shirts with a girl. I am now a big fan of blouses. Get to 5th bar. Dance a little, I think.
That's Seattle.
(editor's note, The end was a little different before, however I felt it might have been a little bit much, even for this blog, if you got to read that part good for you, if not, then good for you as well. Just ask me about it)
I guess I'll update later.
Anyone?
I know at least one person will get it.
Spend the night in a Motel 6 outside of Portland. Wake up to phone call from front desk. Sir are you planning on checking out any time soon? No. Check out was 30 minutes ago. Oh.
Head into Portland for lunch. Possibly the greenest city we have been to, as in lots of plants and trees and grassy areas. Stop at a restaurant on the canal walk. Wait 15 minutes for lunch to arrive. I watch an old lady give a waiter some good old fashioned sass. Waiter/sandwich maker approaches and informs me they are out of sourdough. Yes whole wheat is fine. Wait 30 minutes for lunch to arrive. Drink 2 beers. See an American Bulldog puppy, decide I am getting one upon return to Boston. Wait 10 more minutes. Lunch, a turkey club sandwich, finally arrives.
Drive to Seattle. Encounter traffic. Arrive at Uncle L and Aunt M's house. Notice the anonymity. Get to see Samuel Jackson who believe it or not lives there. We have a Nerf gun fight. He wins.
The next day we go into the city and see a Mariners game, they are in the process of losing by a combined series score of 18 to 0.
Climb the space needle, via elevator. Get to the top. Jump down, via elevator. In lobby is a booth where you can purchase pictures that have been taken of you prior to ascending the needle. I take out my digital camera to take a picture of a picture. Clerk; Sir, you cant take a picture of the picture. Me; oh I'm not, I'm sorry. Click.
Eat at Boom restaurant. Start to notice the high percentage of attractive women in Seattle. Mojito. Fried Chicken Wing things. Mojito. Definitely notice the higher percentage of attractive women in Seattle. BOOM.
Meet up with a friend of Eric's and her roomate. Boom (okay last use of boom). Drink some ginger flavored vodka with strawberries floating in it. Head to first bar. Get a beer. Cant get into second bar because there is a block party going on, apparently Sonic Youth were playing.
Walk back. I see a sign for hot dogs pointing a bar door. Turning to everyone else I say; Fuck yea! I could go for a hotdog. Girl I'm walking with tells me I dont want those hot dogs. I ask why not. She points at the bar. A group of men is crowded around the entrance. One is wearing assless chaps with a leather speedo, a leather vest with nothing on underneath, a huge Tom Selleck mustache, and a leather biker hat thing. He seems to be getting emotional and his other buddies are trying to calm him down.
Now I suppose in some places it is okay to falsy advertise in order to draw in a large crowd, but sometimes it is not okay. I really wanted a hot dog, and by hot dog I mean some sort of meat packaged into a tube-like shape and placed between a bread bun. Not a penis dog placed between a man's bun.
Take a cab to the third bar. Walk in. Woman is reading at a far corner of the bar, at a table two men are playing dominoes and in the back a man is singing YMCA kareoke style. Jager bombs. I get to meet the first people I have ever met from Idaho, at first I am incredulous but I convince them to let me see their driver's liscences. I get the feeling they are unnapreciative of my telling them I thought that they didnt exsist and were just figments of Montanian's imaginations.
I chat up the bartenders. They make a red looking drink concoction. I ask what it is. A Washington Apple. Crown Royal Whiskey, Sour Apple Pucker Schnapps and Cranberry juice. The bartender gives me 4, on the house, one for each member of our party.
Washington Apple. Its good. I give one to the girl next to me. I look around for Eric, he is outside. Washington Apple. Its still good. Leave the 4th for the Idahoians.
Bud Light. I'm on a stage singing kareoke to Sexual Healing. At one point I leave the stage and serenade a girl in the audience. She looks entertained, but some sullen guy across the table from her looks like he isnt enjoying the show.
Leave the bar. Switch t-shirts with a girl. I am now a big fan of blouses. Get to 5th bar. Dance a little, I think.
That's Seattle.
(editor's note, The end was a little different before, however I felt it might have been a little bit much, even for this blog, if you got to read that part good for you, if not, then good for you as well. Just ask me about it)
I guess I'll update later.
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
Sunglasses
Drove today from Seattle to SLC and on the way I was wearing my new ray-bans, which are really heavy, and I started to worry that the weight plus the constant wearing, because we are always in the sunlight, was going to fold my ears down and permanently make my ears stick out, so I took them off, you know precautionary measures. But then I started to think about all the people who wear regular eyeglasses all the time, but then again maybe their ears stick out a little bit, so I decided to regiment my sunglass wearing into 45 minute intervals.
Just a minor day in the life of a ten second thought of jake frank.
Jake Frank is currently lying in a bed in Salt Lake City, about 10 inches away from Eric (as jake type's this he glances over at eric to see if he is reading it, which he isnt).
Jake Frank has just decided to write the rest of this blog in the third person.
Leave San Fran via the Golden Gate bridge. Head into Napa and Sonoma Valley. Flip a coin on what winery to visit. Flip coin again. Decide on Rutherford Hills, which is located in a cave hollowed out of a hillside. Drink some wine. Leave wine country, where actually only 5% of California's wine is produced, so not really THE wine country but really just wine country.
Between Napa and Seattle we stop twice, once in cali, and again in a motel outside of Portland. Funny thing about the west coast, the further north you go the more southern it gets.
Oregon is nice, Portland is a cool city, Crater lake is nice, and thats about all Jake has to say about that.
Seattle is tits. (foreshadowing). (its not another strip club).
boom.
Just a minor day in the life of a ten second thought of jake frank.
Jake Frank is currently lying in a bed in Salt Lake City, about 10 inches away from Eric (as jake type's this he glances over at eric to see if he is reading it, which he isnt).
Jake Frank has just decided to write the rest of this blog in the third person.
Leave San Fran via the Golden Gate bridge. Head into Napa and Sonoma Valley. Flip a coin on what winery to visit. Flip coin again. Decide on Rutherford Hills, which is located in a cave hollowed out of a hillside. Drink some wine. Leave wine country, where actually only 5% of California's wine is produced, so not really THE wine country but really just wine country.
Between Napa and Seattle we stop twice, once in cali, and again in a motel outside of Portland. Funny thing about the west coast, the further north you go the more southern it gets.
Oregon is nice, Portland is a cool city, Crater lake is nice, and thats about all Jake has to say about that.
Seattle is tits. (foreshadowing). (its not another strip club).
boom.
Monday, July 27, 2009
Sunday, July 26, 2009
I left 35 dollars in singles with a stripper in San Francisco
We leave the sweltering armpit that is Las Vegas and head out into the Mojave Desert. Temperature outside of the car reaches 113 degrees. Temperatures stay refreshingly chilly as both Eric and I are chewing Dentyne Ice, Spearmint flavor, the coldest of all the mint flavors.
Cross the Nevada/California border. Car is inspected for any sort of contraband being smuggled across the border. And by contraband I mean fruits and vegetables of any kind. And by inspected I mean a Mexican woman waved at us as we drove through the checkpoint.
Sun goes down as we approach LA. We merge onto some highway in LA, 10 or the 405 or something like that. Eric, ‘driving here is like war.’ Proceeds to drive like an asshole, immediately cuts someone off, ‘fucking cocksucker what the fuck pick a lane.’ Arrive in Santa Monica. Hang out with Tim. Go to Del Taco. Eat 4 tacos. Go to sleep.
Wake up the next morning drive down to the beach and decide I am moving here. Sorry Boston.
Go to In N Out. Eat a delicious hamburger. Rest of my LA experience is pretty much just me hanging out at Tim’s and driving around places.
Pacific Coast Highway out of LA and up through Malibu and along the Pacific coast to San Francisco. BEATIFUL.
Arrive in San Fran. Find a Starbucks to get on the Internet and find a hotel room. 5 minutes after we get coffee and about 15 minutes since we entered the city a crazy homeless man comes in and starts yelling. He leaves. He kicks over a sign outside the Starbucks and gets his foot caught in it. He does an awkward kick jump and tries to stay mad. Hipster Barista yells at him. He yells back. He storms back into Starbucks and pushes his backpack into the face of the Hipster Barista. Hipster Barista counters with a push/slap and leg kick. Crazy Homeless dude ducks slap and shoves backpack into Hipster Barista’s face. HB dodges the backpack and pushes CH back towards the door, while yelling, “Get the fuck out of Starbucks Mother Fucker, and get the fuck out!” More slap/pushing ensues until finally CH is forced out of the doors, which HB is able to lock. CH returns and pulls on the locked doors, screaming obscenities towards HB.
We leave Starbucks and drive to our hotel. The Hotel Renoir from the pictures online looks like a very luxurious and well-kept hotel. We check in amongst a full battalion of police officers on some kind of raid outside the hotel. Our room has views of two very nice strip clubs (foreshadowing) a liquor store, and a rite aid pharmacy.
As we are checking in I ask the hotel clerk if he has a restaurant list, he hands me the restroom key. I ask if he can recommend some good San Fran restaurants. He recommends the Jack in the Box or Burger King across the street.
We go out for dinner.
Find a bar. 50 percent chance we are walking into a gay bar.
Start drinking, and make friends with the bartender, start drinking free beers. We are that charming. Bartenders start ringing a bell and flashing the lights. I befriend a local girl. I ask what there is to do in San Fran after closing time, which is about 2:30am. Her response, the strip clubs across the street from our hotel room.
I finish the rest of my drink.
3:15am I enter the Market Street Cinemas Fully Nude Strip Club. I have to check my hat at the door. There are more strippers than patrons. We sit down in the front row. I ask some creepy smiley dude in a suit with an earpiece if he can get me change for two twenties. He comes back within a minute with two stacks of twenty ones, each rubber banded. I start to enjoy the reasons why anyone would come to a strip club, the good music and the companionship of the fellow patrons.
I feel a hand on my shoulder and smell what would have to be an entire bottle of Britney Spears signature perfume, on sale at Kmart and other mart stores. No lie, I hear the following phrase in my ear, ‘Oooh baby. Me so horny’ complete with Asian accent.
I turn around and see the wildest Asian stripper I am assuming has ever existed.
If you want to hear the rest of this story just buy me a beer or two.
The rest of this story will include:
Asian Stripper arguing with me over my balance at an ATM.
Asian Stripper trying to sell me drugs.
Me trying to understand Asian Stripper talking dirty with her heavy accent.
Make it back to my hotel room. I’m not sure where the girl I befriended ended up.
The next morning we go explore San Fran. Drive the curviest street and try to find the full house house.
We try to get a tour to Alcatraz. I ask a tour guide how much it would cost. He asks if Eric and I live together. I answer no. 79 dollars. I ask what if we did live together. Free tomorrow.
We cross the Golden Gate and head into wine country. Next Post up soon.
Cross the Nevada/California border. Car is inspected for any sort of contraband being smuggled across the border. And by contraband I mean fruits and vegetables of any kind. And by inspected I mean a Mexican woman waved at us as we drove through the checkpoint.
Sun goes down as we approach LA. We merge onto some highway in LA, 10 or the 405 or something like that. Eric, ‘driving here is like war.’ Proceeds to drive like an asshole, immediately cuts someone off, ‘fucking cocksucker what the fuck pick a lane.’ Arrive in Santa Monica. Hang out with Tim. Go to Del Taco. Eat 4 tacos. Go to sleep.
Wake up the next morning drive down to the beach and decide I am moving here. Sorry Boston.
Go to In N Out. Eat a delicious hamburger. Rest of my LA experience is pretty much just me hanging out at Tim’s and driving around places.
Pacific Coast Highway out of LA and up through Malibu and along the Pacific coast to San Francisco. BEATIFUL.
Arrive in San Fran. Find a Starbucks to get on the Internet and find a hotel room. 5 minutes after we get coffee and about 15 minutes since we entered the city a crazy homeless man comes in and starts yelling. He leaves. He kicks over a sign outside the Starbucks and gets his foot caught in it. He does an awkward kick jump and tries to stay mad. Hipster Barista yells at him. He yells back. He storms back into Starbucks and pushes his backpack into the face of the Hipster Barista. Hipster Barista counters with a push/slap and leg kick. Crazy Homeless dude ducks slap and shoves backpack into Hipster Barista’s face. HB dodges the backpack and pushes CH back towards the door, while yelling, “Get the fuck out of Starbucks Mother Fucker, and get the fuck out!” More slap/pushing ensues until finally CH is forced out of the doors, which HB is able to lock. CH returns and pulls on the locked doors, screaming obscenities towards HB.
We leave Starbucks and drive to our hotel. The Hotel Renoir from the pictures online looks like a very luxurious and well-kept hotel. We check in amongst a full battalion of police officers on some kind of raid outside the hotel. Our room has views of two very nice strip clubs (foreshadowing) a liquor store, and a rite aid pharmacy.
As we are checking in I ask the hotel clerk if he has a restaurant list, he hands me the restroom key. I ask if he can recommend some good San Fran restaurants. He recommends the Jack in the Box or Burger King across the street.
We go out for dinner.
Find a bar. 50 percent chance we are walking into a gay bar.
Start drinking, and make friends with the bartender, start drinking free beers. We are that charming. Bartenders start ringing a bell and flashing the lights. I befriend a local girl. I ask what there is to do in San Fran after closing time, which is about 2:30am. Her response, the strip clubs across the street from our hotel room.
I finish the rest of my drink.
3:15am I enter the Market Street Cinemas Fully Nude Strip Club. I have to check my hat at the door. There are more strippers than patrons. We sit down in the front row. I ask some creepy smiley dude in a suit with an earpiece if he can get me change for two twenties. He comes back within a minute with two stacks of twenty ones, each rubber banded. I start to enjoy the reasons why anyone would come to a strip club, the good music and the companionship of the fellow patrons.
I feel a hand on my shoulder and smell what would have to be an entire bottle of Britney Spears signature perfume, on sale at Kmart and other mart stores. No lie, I hear the following phrase in my ear, ‘Oooh baby. Me so horny’ complete with Asian accent.
I turn around and see the wildest Asian stripper I am assuming has ever existed.
If you want to hear the rest of this story just buy me a beer or two.
The rest of this story will include:
Asian Stripper arguing with me over my balance at an ATM.
Asian Stripper trying to sell me drugs.
Me trying to understand Asian Stripper talking dirty with her heavy accent.
Make it back to my hotel room. I’m not sure where the girl I befriended ended up.
The next morning we go explore San Fran. Drive the curviest street and try to find the full house house.
We try to get a tour to Alcatraz. I ask a tour guide how much it would cost. He asks if Eric and I live together. I answer no. 79 dollars. I ask what if we did live together. Free tomorrow.
We cross the Golden Gate and head into wine country. Next Post up soon.
Friday, July 24, 2009
Hollywoooooood to Vancouver, washington.
LA, watch the movie swingers.
San Fran, watch the show full house.
part 2 is up tonight.
San Fran, watch the show full house.
part 2 is up tonight.
Nashville to VEGAS BABY VEGAS
Apologies on the delay. You would not believe how hard it is to find Internet between Nashville and San Francisco, and by hard I mean easy and by find I mean go out of my way to blog. Actually that doesn’t make sense (how easy it is to go out of my way to blog) I am trying to say how it’s easy to find Internet but it’s hard to actually make time to do this, except I am not even half as witty as I think I am, or am only saying how un-witty I am in an effort to be even more witty, perhaps I am the wittiest person I know, or you know, or have ever read for that matter.
(While I wrote this a couple days ago, I am posting it now. Fuck the space time continuum, I’m actually in Vancouver, WA)
I am writing this while lying down on a hotel bed in the lustrous Renoir Hotel of San Francisco with the overwhelming smell (I would say stench, but that is degrading) of cheap stripper perfume clogging my nostrils. Yes, I went to a strip club. If you are wondering why San Fran and not Las Vegas or even Los Angeles, then you and me are thinking the same thing. Sorry mom, dad, my sisters, grandmother, new puppy, all uncles, aunts, cousins and friends, future employers, girlfriends, rabbis, ancestors, and all cute fuzzy animals.
Question: How did I find myself at the Market Street Cinema strip club at 3:30am on a Tuesday?
Answer: Read the rest of this blog.
Advice: NEVER GO TO A STRIP CLUB AT 3:30 AM ON A TUESDAY.
We leave Nashville, fucking finally. A quick jaunt takes us through Memphis, across the mighty Mississippi and into Arkansas. Only 4 things of any interest happen in Arkansas.
1.) We pass as school bus pulling a truck (pictures on facebook)
2.) Urinals of stainless steel in the rest area.
3.) Gas stations have slot machine, lotto things in them.
4.) We get an Arkansas magnet with Bill Clinton on it.
If you were given the task of naming the town on the Texas and Arkansas border what name would you come up with? If you came up with Texarkana, then you are correct. We get to Dallas at 2am. It is roughly 10 or so minutes later when passing a bar we hear our first racist remark. It is involving a group of girls who just got into a bar fight. 10 minutes later I witness my first drunk Texan run himself head first into a fence. 5 minutes later this same Texan is sitting in the living room of the house we are staying at firing a shotgun into the ceiling (editors note; the shotgun wasn’t loaded).
Leave Dallas the next afternoon. Get to New Mexico, cross most of it during the night. Motel room in Gallup. Mint on the pillow. Wait, that’s not a mint, that’s a roach. Sleep in my sleeping bag on the bed.
Cross Arizona the next day. Land is most beautiful I’ve seen so far. Indian reservations are like a third world country.
Grand Canyon is grand.
Zion national park. Most beautiful place I have ever seen. Angel’s Landing. Best hike I have ever been on.
Finally see my first Desert between Zion and Vegas. Temperature is 113. Get to Las Vegas. Get lost in parking garage. Get lunch in food court of mall. See hottest pregnant woman I have ever seen. So much for eating a five star meal at Emeril’s Restaurant. Get to strip. Get lost in Treasure Island Casino. Buy a margarita in a skull. Walk down strip. It is 107 degrees, with humidity and a hot smoggy wind. Collect hooker business cards. Trade them with children. Play the game “Did he pay for that” with Eric. Get to Caesar’s Palace. I want to place a 10-dollar Roulette bet on the day number of our road trip (8) and the color red. ATM charges 5-dollar surcharge fee, and I can only get chips at the table.
Open note to the Caesar’s Casino.
To Whom It May Concern:
Recently I came to your casino to place a bet on the Roulette tables. However I found myself quite inconvenienced and unable to place my bet. So if you don’t want my business then my business you shant receive. You will be sorry you didn’t facilitate my 10-dollar roulette bet.
Sincerely,
Jake “rich mutha fucka” Frank
See woman who has shat herself. Leave Vegas. Get to LA. Part 2 will probably be posted by tomorrow morning. Part 2 will cover LA to Vancouver WA.
(While I wrote this a couple days ago, I am posting it now. Fuck the space time continuum, I’m actually in Vancouver, WA)
I am writing this while lying down on a hotel bed in the lustrous Renoir Hotel of San Francisco with the overwhelming smell (I would say stench, but that is degrading) of cheap stripper perfume clogging my nostrils. Yes, I went to a strip club. If you are wondering why San Fran and not Las Vegas or even Los Angeles, then you and me are thinking the same thing. Sorry mom, dad, my sisters, grandmother, new puppy, all uncles, aunts, cousins and friends, future employers, girlfriends, rabbis, ancestors, and all cute fuzzy animals.
Question: How did I find myself at the Market Street Cinema strip club at 3:30am on a Tuesday?
Answer: Read the rest of this blog.
Advice: NEVER GO TO A STRIP CLUB AT 3:30 AM ON A TUESDAY.
We leave Nashville, fucking finally. A quick jaunt takes us through Memphis, across the mighty Mississippi and into Arkansas. Only 4 things of any interest happen in Arkansas.
1.) We pass as school bus pulling a truck (pictures on facebook)
2.) Urinals of stainless steel in the rest area.
3.) Gas stations have slot machine, lotto things in them.
4.) We get an Arkansas magnet with Bill Clinton on it.
If you were given the task of naming the town on the Texas and Arkansas border what name would you come up with? If you came up with Texarkana, then you are correct. We get to Dallas at 2am. It is roughly 10 or so minutes later when passing a bar we hear our first racist remark. It is involving a group of girls who just got into a bar fight. 10 minutes later I witness my first drunk Texan run himself head first into a fence. 5 minutes later this same Texan is sitting in the living room of the house we are staying at firing a shotgun into the ceiling (editors note; the shotgun wasn’t loaded).
Leave Dallas the next afternoon. Get to New Mexico, cross most of it during the night. Motel room in Gallup. Mint on the pillow. Wait, that’s not a mint, that’s a roach. Sleep in my sleeping bag on the bed.
Cross Arizona the next day. Land is most beautiful I’ve seen so far. Indian reservations are like a third world country.
Grand Canyon is grand.
Zion national park. Most beautiful place I have ever seen. Angel’s Landing. Best hike I have ever been on.
Finally see my first Desert between Zion and Vegas. Temperature is 113. Get to Las Vegas. Get lost in parking garage. Get lunch in food court of mall. See hottest pregnant woman I have ever seen. So much for eating a five star meal at Emeril’s Restaurant. Get to strip. Get lost in Treasure Island Casino. Buy a margarita in a skull. Walk down strip. It is 107 degrees, with humidity and a hot smoggy wind. Collect hooker business cards. Trade them with children. Play the game “Did he pay for that” with Eric. Get to Caesar’s Palace. I want to place a 10-dollar Roulette bet on the day number of our road trip (8) and the color red. ATM charges 5-dollar surcharge fee, and I can only get chips at the table.
Open note to the Caesar’s Casino.
To Whom It May Concern:
Recently I came to your casino to place a bet on the Roulette tables. However I found myself quite inconvenienced and unable to place my bet. So if you don’t want my business then my business you shant receive. You will be sorry you didn’t facilitate my 10-dollar roulette bet.
Sincerely,
Jake “rich mutha fucka” Frank
See woman who has shat herself. Leave Vegas. Get to LA. Part 2 will probably be posted by tomorrow morning. Part 2 will cover LA to Vancouver WA.
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