Mini Bars and Tourists don't mix!

On a return trip to Tinsel Town (Hollywood California) in early 2000, Spud paced restlessly in his hotel room wondering what new sites he should go out and explore.  Having been to Hollywood many times before, he had done all the main tourist stops. His options were few ... There was Disneyland, but there's something freaky about a giant mouse with gloves that keeps a dog as a pet. There's the LaBreya Tar Pits, but staring at bubbling pools of mud just didn't sound that exciting. Of course, he could have swung by the Playboy Mansion, but Hef doesn't like vegetables floating in the Grotto.

Despondent, he sought refuge in the room's mini bar. Spud's sanity diminished with each sampling of the refrigerator's elixirs and before long, the little fridge was empty and Spud was full.

Having evaporated a large supply of brain cells, the tuber hopped into a cab bound for Hollywood Boulevard to do something 'really daring'. Instead of checking out the token tourist stops like Ripley's Believe it or Not, Spud headed for the nearest tattoo parlour.

Hey, that stings!

After a short time selecting a design, he found himself under the hot lights and a searing electric needle engraving the side of his face with a little devil.  The paralyzing effect of the mini bar numbed the Potato to any pain.

After admiring himself in the mirror, he noticed that the shop also performed body piercings.  "What the heck" he thought to himself and he parked himself back in the chair to get his tongue pierced.

I'm going to feel this in the morning...

The colourful craftsman skillfully snared Spud's tongue and thrust his needle through.  Once again, the tuber gave thanks to the many little bottles that gave their lives back in the hotel room.

Looking mean and feeling wonky, Spud stumbled out of the shop and onto the Boulevard. His liquid courage had made him very tired and he wandered aimlessly down the street.  An LAPD squad car patrolling the area, noticed the rambling tuber and asked him for identification.  Drooling incessantly and unable to speak, he couldn't tell the officer that his passport was in the hotel. The policeman took his appearance and rambling as that of a transient and tossed him into the car.  The potato was somewhat oblivious to what was happening and passed out in the back seat.   The next morning Spud awoke face down on the cold cement of the county jail - his head pounding like a Tyco drum.

Spud completes his transformation into a bad-ass potato

Upon being released later that day, Spud walked into the restroom to clean himself up.and noticed his new look in the mirror.  The potato gasped in horror as he saw his new accoutrements for the first time with a clear head.  Goes to show that mini bars and tourists don't mix!




Surfin' USA

Touring Tinsel Town

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