Sunday, June 14, 1998

14-06-98 Day off. Hot Springs, Ark.

Hot springs was a massive town . . . in the 60s.
When they took the free gambling laws away they took the town away. Now it's a third rate tourist town famous for 'amphibious vehicle duck rides' and a sex pest who didn't inhale.

We swim in the day and drink at night. There's a no alcohol on the table law in Arkansas after 10pm on Sundays. Great. We hook up with a guy called Alan. Alan is drunk, he's driving us to a bar in his Cadillac and he's full of shit.

"I've got 3 houses in this area and four in the State. I'm a real estate man. Sure does pay well. I'll be retiring soon. Made all my money. You guys buy me a beer for the ride?"

The bullshitter takes us to Goodtime Charlie's Pool House and Bar. It's a massive place, virtually deserted. On the far wall the DJ booth is made from the front end of an Arkansas fire truck. A desperation of women from Wendy's (I guess that's the correct collective pronoun) are line dancing to 'Kiss' by the artist former known as Prince. Sassy. One more ride from the bullshitter and we're at Gaiter's Bar. There's a live band playing Back in Black by ACDC and the Wendy's girls are line dancing to it again. How the hell did they get here before us? Scary. By the time the band hits 'Cold Gin' by Kiss I've had enough and I call a cab back to the bus. Gimme the Shark over the Gaiter any day.

I just can't understand Bill Clinton. If I'd have lived in Hot Springs when I was growing up I would've inhaled. This place is so boring I would've inhaled ANYTHING. Lighter fuel, ether, petrol fumes, marker pens.
Please get me away from here.

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