Amoeblog

(In which Job enjoys theatrics at a new West End.)

Posted by Job O Brother, June 2, 2007 06:11pm | Post a Comment
We were maybe fifteen minutes outside of LA when Carrie first chirped, “Are we almost there yet?”

Logan shot a look that said, “I love you and you’re very dear to me but so help me God I will cut you open.”

The drive to 29 Palms was mostly uneventful. Bathroom breaks inevitably took us to greasy spoon diners, where guilt over utilizing the facilities without purchasing food caused us to orchestrate elaborate, timed infiltration.

“Okay, you and Carrie go in first. We’ll hold back a few minutes then enter.”

At some point it was decided that Logan should be nicknamed “Blimpie”. [In the original writing of the trip's blog, Blimpie was the name used, until Logan found out and used a tone of voice that caused me to subsequently re-edit everything. -Ed]

We had been at the 29 Palms Inn almost five minutes before we agreed it was love at first site. Ours is the most isolated cabin, located at what they call the West End, which I guess makes Carrie and Logan “West End Girls” for the weekend.


 We've got no future, we've got no past; Here today, built to last.
Amidst a constant stream of jokes about the many, grisly ways in which we would all meet our doom in the desert (snakes, sunstroke, redneck slashers) we staked out our bungalow and heartily approved.

Next, we trekked the walk across the desert sands and brush to the pool and restaurant. After a quick dip, we settled into a dinner table.


Feed us.


We were soon being served by a complete and total psychopath.