"It’s nothing personal man. I’ll come back up and smoke weed with you. I’ll call you. But the chances of us ever booking a show with you again are pretty fucking slim." - Samuel Wesley Johnson

We left Wilmington fairly early and Chason called ahead to a coffee shop in town and got them to hook us up with some free beverages. It was damn good coffee. We piled in the van and started the drive to Atlanta. We made the obligatory visit to South of the Border and took a couple of stupid pictures. We showed up to the house we were supposed to play at and no one was there yet. We got beer and hung out outside drinking and talking. The first band loaded in, but the promoter was MIA. Eventually Sam hunted him down and introduced himself. He asked us if we mind playing last, and we put up a little bit of a protest. His reasoning was that the opening bands had to leave because they had to work tomorrow. We called bullshit on that because almost all of us had to work in the morning too. The difference however was the fact that we live 7 to 8 hours away from Atlanta. Eventually we conceded to having Gatorface and Virgins play last because we didn’t want to put up a stink. While the second band was playing Richard and Eric went to unload the drums from the trailer and get them set up. There was a car blocking the trailer so we couldn’t get to them and a car in front of us blocking us from pulling up. We went inside and tried to hunt down the owner of the car, but no one was owning up. A little annoyed, we went back to the van and saw that a 3rd opening band that was not supposed to play was loading in. We protested saying, "We don’t care if they play, but have them play last since they’re local and it might help keep people at the show since it’s a Tuesday night and it’s getting late." The promoter decided that that wasn’t an option and insisted on having the locals play just then. They loaded in and began, but we had had just about enough of being dicked around. We pulled the promoter aside and told him we were going to take off. He protested even though we were already seeing people trickle out of the house to go home. He tried to give us the 13 dollars he had collected for door money, but we refused it. We said we were leaving and went to the world famous Claremont Lounge for more beers and weird stripper karaoke. A trip to Atlanta wouldn’t be complete without a trip to G.G. Allin’s old stomping grounds. Phil being the responsible old mummy he is ended up staying sober so he could start the drive back to Orlando when we left the bar. We showed up in Orlando at around 9 am and most of us went straight to work with shitty van sleep and stinky bodies.