Carman Reviews Dollywood
(and goes to see the Dwarven Ruins of the Lost Sea)
Well, I just got back from a long deserved vacation to Assville, North Carolina, and I have all sorts of experiences to share with my Project Udo fans. Let me tell you, folks, if you live there - just do yourself a favor and either shoot yourself, or... no, maybe not. OK, I take that back. Let’s start from the beginning, shall we?
See, I had never been to Asheville, NC, and Lady Raine always wanted to go, and so did I - because I am a nature freak like that. Oh, the enigma that is me. Anyway, we get there and everything is expensive as all hell. The hotels are fucking ridiculous, the bookstores suck balls, there are no real restaurants, and the comic shops have nothing, really. The plan was to meet up with my cousin and hang for a while, drive up and down the Blue Ridge Parkway, see the great Smoky Mountains, and make way to the muscle car museum in Sevierville, TN. Perhaps even see the Dwarven Ruins of the Lost Sea on the way. Who knows? It was planned to be a quest of GRAND ADVENTURE - A QUEST TO FIND THE PERFECT SPOT. We figured we would know it when we saw it. Well that's cutting a long story short - there was more to it.
Let me start when we first got into town. The motherfucking road system sucks. I thought my city’s road planning was bad, but I swear to fucking God; there are THREE I-26s that go in THREE separate directions. How is that even possible? I see this clusterfuck approaching, as we’re driving, and figure I will just get off at the next exit. And I do. And I rolled into the hippie equivalent of the local ghetto. I don’t think I saw one black face while in that town, the entire time, but their was a lot of graffiti on the buildings that we passed while looking for a hotel – so maybe they were just hiding.
I get to the intersection of 26 and 26, and decide to take 26 – it seemed like a safe choice. When I look out my window, I see that it’s raining – and when I squint through the torrent I also see some dude is doing what appears to be a rain dance on top of some sort of wall structure. I want to congratulate him, but decide against it. Our first order of business is to find a cheap hotel - fucking with the locals comes later.
This didn’t turn out to be as easy as I first thought it would be (finding a hotel, that is). I could have slept in the car, it would not have bothered me one bit, but Lady Raine said that I would be a stank bastard, and that she would not suffer The Sleep in the Carman Mobile. Fair enough. She had a point. Sometimes I don’t want to share the night with me.
The first hotel we stopped at was in Biltmore, and would have cost me $97 for a fucking night. It was a Sleep Inn. A FUCKING SLEEP INN! The next few dumps were no better. Finally, we settled at the Days Inn for 47 dollars a night and fucking crashed out. The next day, we ate our complimentary breakfast and LEFT. Home base had been established, so we were able to just finally GO. We shot up the Blue Ridge Parkway, and let me tell you all something... That place is BEAUTIFUL. If only the rest of the world looked like that. It was serene, quiet, and so fucking hot.
Lady Raine insisted that we hike it, trying to find the perfect spot so we could park and EXPLORE the forest. So we did.... kind of.
See, I have this problem whenever I go into the woods; I either start to pray, or start looking for Orks. Either or. Since my Lady was with me, I was looking for Orks. “DESTROY THE ORKS, SLAY THE ORKS!” I was mumbling to myself, so not to disturb the tranquility, or my Lady’s frail faith in my sanity.
Anyway, this sadly Ork-less trail was much longer than we thought, and did not follow a circle, like logic would state. Instead we got back on the road about 2 miles from where we had parked, and followed the path of The Beam back to it. I was so fucking tired I couldn’t even spit when we finally got in and drove back.
We finally met up with my cousin and her beau, and decided it was time to explore the city proper. Our first line of business: FIND THE SPOT! Secondary objective was to find a good book store. I am such a sucker for a good book store – you have no idea. We find what appears to be an OK looking place. I was looking in through the window when I hear something that can only be a screaming child in the process of savagely murdering a cat. I turn in horror and see some hippie dude, NOT having a job, but playing a ukulele for quarters on the sidewalk. This Commie Scum is not getting THIS Employed Commie Scum’s hard earned capitalist money. THAT hippie shit is not work. It’s being a ghetto hippie bastard!
In the store, there was nothing but New Age bullshit. That was it. Fat Wiccans drooling over sun calendars that cost more than their fat asses could ever hope to make working in the local shoe store. Fuck it, we said, let’s look somewhere else. We trod up and down the town center and all we see is fucking NEW AGE BULLSHIT! NEW AGE BULLSHIT! MOTHERFUCK! DOES ANYONE IN THIS FUCKING TOWN NOT WORSHIP THAT CUNT GODDESS!? Is this Fat Wiccan Central of Wicked Witch of the West Carolina? I guess so. On a side note I saw some dude wearing a pink skirt, knee high boots and a full beard, rolling a joint at the bus stop. I said to him, as we walked by, that there sits a man who has made a lot of wrong choices in his life... If looks could kill, I would have been ripped to pieces and eaten for lunch by some local cannibal.
We finished up exploring the sad excuse of a town, and got some dinner. Then we went back to our royal quarters to crash, for the next day would be a QUEST FOR GRAND ADVENTURES!!!!
I was wrong.
So wrong.
I drove the Blue Ridge Parkway into the Smokies, into Tennessee, and straight into Dollywood. If I told you it was hell, I would be lying. It was the hick twin of the city I live in, but without the ocean. I expected to see a 600 foot, pure diamond, statue of Dolly Parton in the square, but I did not. Besides, we were not there for Dolly anyway. We were there for the Yenko, the Chargers, the Intimidator. Also, we were STILL looking for The Spot™, but first, a hotel.
Looking for a hotel in Dollywood is like looking for a sweatshop worker in Laos: they're cheap, dirty and everywhere. I saw hotels starting at $19.95. Sure, that is my kind of bargain, but I decided that I was going to loosen up my ass a little bit, and get a suite for us. And I did. In the Pigeon Forge. Right there on the river, actually. The receptionist was cool, too. SURPRISE! They usually aren’t in cheap places. When he told me what the suite included, and what the price was, I was shocked. We were getting a Jacuzzi in the room! Supposedly with a view of the Pigeon Forge River, AND with easy access to the pool. I couldn’t lose with this baby.
Or so I thought.
While we were cruising the parking lot for a spot a dot-head almost hit me. Fuck him.
The room had a Jacuzzi, shaped like a heart.... and there were mirrors all over. I told Lady Raine that if I turn on the TV, and see our room on channel 1, we are leaving. It did not, however, but we still didn’t use the Jacuzzi. Who knows what dirty hippies tried to make dirty hippie babies in it? The room itself was OK at best. I guess you get what you pay for.
The next day was set aside for the GRAND ADVENTURE - A QUEST TO FIND THE SPOT – but first… PAY HOMAGE TO THE CHARIOTS OF STEEL; the Sevierville Muscle Car Museum. And we did, but the lighting in the showroom was so fucking bad I wanted to go get my other camera out of the Carman mobile, the one with the working flash, but a sign on the door said “No re-entry”. YOU JEW SONSOFBITCHES! I PAY $20 DOLLARS TO GET IN HERE AND YOU PULL THIS SHIT! FUCK YOU! But the cars were AWESOME. For any car connoisseur, I suggest going. Bring the right camera, or a flash light, though.
We left the place, and a sign on the way out of town said “Forbidden Caverns”. WE WERE THERE! We followed the signs over the hills, and far away, to some hole of a one-donkey-town, and from there to some hole in the mountain. Our tour guide had a voice like a drag queen’s nails on a chalk board, and there were children everywhere. She proceeded to tell us all about the cave, and told us to please not touch anything, because it would hurt the rocks. Hurt the rocks? I did not know rocks could get hurt. More fat Wiccan crap, I am sure.
She told us that they used to make moonshine in the caverns (my next Chronicles of Carman article is about moonshine, by the way - watch for it) and that the Indians used to hang out there as well. Old Chinese proverb: Where there is booze, there are Indians. The guide didn’t say that shit. I just did. What she finally deigned to explain, though, was that touching the rocks would hurt the rather complicated and sensitive chemical make up, and that it would take 100 years for the rock to purify itself. What Lady Raine pointed out was that if we are not supposed to touch the rocks, what did they use to install the lights... The Force? Jedi workers from Dantoine? Towards the end of the tour the guide pointed to some rock structures, and told us what they were... some crap, I don’t remember, but one looked like a penis to me, and I got slapped by The Lady when I mentioned it to her. Some kid asked what the dwarf’s name was in The Lord of the Rings, and before I can answer, the guide said “Gandalf”. “No, Gimli,” I protested - but the guide just got all gay and squealed, “Oh that does look like Gandalf with his axe!” “GIMLI,” I say, louder this time, but I am ignored - again.
Fuck this, we were leaving. On our way back to the highway, we found IT! THE SPOT! I wanted to take a picture, and we did, but I don’t have them developed yet. When I get them, I will put them on the DRS message board, so if you don’t go there… boo-hoo - fuck you.
I have to point out that everywhere we went in the Gatlinburg-Sevierville area, there were pictures of Dolly Parton posing with the locals. All over the place, like the plague had struck. I know she is from there, but come the fuck on. I went to the same school as a gay porn star, but you don’t hear me (or him) mentioning it... until now. By the way, never mind.
We got back to our beach community right after Tropical Storm Alberto left, which sucked, because I love storms.
Anyway, I learned a lot from this excursion. I am now convinced that Dolly Parton is some sort of Sorceress, using The Magic to stay young looking. Maybe some Wiccan shit, since all the fat chicks up there seem to be into that shit. Also there are Orks in the Appalachian Mountains. And Asheville is full of dirty rich hippies. And dirty broke ass hippies.
I‘ll probably be going back next year.
