No Sleep Till Koreatown!

Steeled by the prospect of not having croaked in the wild and wooly (and by a few hours of air conditioning and hotel cable), the travel-whores decided to try their luck on the dangerous streets of Moab. Many watering holes could've met their needs, but a bar two doors down ultimately won out, thanks to their sign advertising THE COLDEST BEER IN TOWN. The Pacificos were, in fact, nice and cold. Not that our fearless humans have anything to compare them to. They didn't drink anywhere else and were in bed before midnight.



Interesting thing #1 about Utah laws and customs-- Utah bars are all registered as "Private Clubs," and one must be a member to drink there. Or so the Evan Dando-ish bartender (who also served their food AND COOKED IT!) told T.O.C.E. before charging her a $4 "membership fee." She now has her own card, with her name on it. Well, her initials at least-- after three tries at dictating the spelling of "Passarello," Evan-Dando-The WaitChefBartender just scrawled "ElenaP." on the card and threw it at her. Enough to make me wanna bust some grills, but T.O.C.E. just smiled and sat down. Sucka. Well, at least she's a member-- C.apesh*t had to stoop so low as to be her "guest." Fade to black.

* * *

Fade in as rosy-fingered dawn fondles the Virginian-- time to rise, shine, and bid farewell to this house of nil disputes. Well, maybe just one quibble--this sight seems to indicate that eight (count em EIGHT) feet, all of them large enough to fit these mighty, identical pairs of shoes, were staying in a hotel room the size of that in which the two ladies stayed. And that they had been out in the great outdoors, probably sweating. That's a lot of foot odor for such a modest hotel. Mental note-- never stay in the corner room of the Virginian...

The early morning light outside Moab was so lovely that, for nearly a full hour, the pair drove in silence. The fact that T.O.C.E. managed to keep her trap shut for an hour made a swarm of pigs fly around them, only increasing the incredible scenery.


Desperate for coffee, the two-some stop in the miniscule town of Green River, Utah (Ed Bentley, Mayor), which is one of those tracts of a few streets and gas stations right where the river allows plants to grow, while hundreds of miles of burnt-up desert sprawls around it. Seriously, the whole town is about the size of this bug that tried to jump on T.O.C.E.'s foot:

Lord have mercy, look at the size of that motha! C.apesh*t offers her foot as a scale reference. Also pitching in-- a ciggarette butt.

Crossfade to the middle of nowhere. The pair finishes the USA Today crossword in, like, half a minute. Half of the word clues weren't even words: AVS, Sarge, Ops, AandW, Nub, Fro, Fax.

That finished, C.apesh*t entreats T.O.C.E. to play the stupidest game in the whole world, where players simply list names of cars that are also nouns: mustang, golf, fury, etc. C.apesh*t tries to argue that there really is such a thing outside the car industry as an Aerostar. T.O.C.E. responds by listing that the Chevy Mormon was Motortrend's Car of the Year in 1976. Aren't you glad you didn't take a trip with these fools?