Holly: Greetings, sleazy readers, and welcome to the Fifth Circle of the Highway to Hell. And what a highway it was! Jesus, it took me three days to make it all the way out to Alberta to pick up Hero's sorry ass. I jacked a shiny new Honda especially for the trip, because no way was I going to drive halfway across the country in that old bald-tired heap that I used for the last circle. I even managed to score a couple of speeding tickets somewhere around Saskatoon, so you know this new machine is riot-worthy.

So how surprised were you to see me, your road-ravaged rock and roll rescuer, on your doorstep in Smalltown, Alberta, at three in the morning, Hero?

Hero: Very! Oh, and sorry about the no underwear thing, but that's the risk you take when you show up at my door in the middle of the night. And you must've been flying to get here in three days. I'd tell you what you can do with those speeding tickets, but that's getting a bit off track. I mean, our faithful readers need to be brought up to speed (yeah, intended) on why exactly you had to travel so far to pick me up this time when it's usually a short jaunt down the road. Well, I recently moved to a very remote town in the northwestern part of Canada, my friends, where the women are fat, the men are ugly, the air smells like diesel fuel, and the snow storms are truly unkind. I've always wanted to be a recluse and now I am. However, not so reclusive that I couldn't be dragged all the way back home for one hell of a damn good reason -- a Supersuckers show! And, of course, the chance to spend some quality time with you Holly, doing what we do best.

Holly: And what is it that we do best, Hero?

Hero: Well that's easy. We rock out and riot on.

Holly: You're goddamn right we do! Racing with the devil across the Canadian prairies with the top down, the wind in our hair, bugs in our teeth, and the almighty rawk as our travelling companion. It was a good trip. There was that spot of trouble just outside of Winnipeg, though. I didn't know if we were gonna make it out of there.

Hero: I'm still impressed that the Honda was a convertible, but nevermind that. Yeah, Winnipeg was rough, dude. After many highways to hell, we finally find a place where we can munch some tasty waffles with real Canadian maple syrup. Of course, when you spilled the salt and I told you to throw it directly over your left shoulder so as to avoid bad luck on the open road, you actually tossed the salt shaker and hit some burly trucker right in the head. Boy, was he angry.

Holly: Thank god for the boobs, is all I can say. They have the power to soothe even the most savage of beasts...

Hero: Yeah, when you poured maple syrup all over your tits, that Seabass fellow completely forgot about wanting to kill us. Of course, when we schemed so that he and his party would have to pay for our bill and high-tailed it out of there, I imagine he wanted to kill us again. You were a trooper going the rest of the way with sticky cleavage though, so kudos to you.

Holly: Strangely, that was not the first time that I have had maple syrup drizzled on my boobs. But that is a story for another time, perhaps...

So anyway, a few more days and many more miles later, we finally made it back to our hometown of London, Ontario, and just in time, too. We barely had time to toss back a couple of drinks before the greatest rock 'n' roll band in the world, the Supersuckers, took the tiny Call The Office stage.

Hero: We unfortunately missed Eddie Spaghetti's opening solo set. I would've liked to catch that, but we did what we could travelling across the country and all. Last time I saw the Supersuckers, in fact, was on my birthday two years ago, but I got so drunk that I didn't really see them at all, if you know what I mean, so I was determined to make this one count.

Holly: Yeah, I was so drunk on maple syrup fumes and giddy from road exhaustion that I really didn't need those rum and cokes. (You did manage to pound back quite a few beers, though, despite our late arrival. I don't know how you do it, Hero. You really are rock ‘n’ roll.)

So how about those Supersuckers? They certainly did rock the shit out of the bar that night. Pretty Fucked Up and Creepy Jackalope Eye really got the crowd going, and the songs from their upcoming record, Get It Together, sounded pretty good, too. I felt kind of bad about giving them the finger before the famous patented Supersucker "encore," even though they encouraged us all to do so. I am a Supersucker novice-what song would they have wanted to begin by having everybody give them the finger?

Hero: Christ, I think it was The Fight Song but then again, I was too busy fighting to remember. I open-hand smacked that one loudmouth pretty good. I cut his lip and he spit blood on my shoes, but then we cheersed each other and went about our rocking. The Supersuckers tend to bring out that kind of camaraderie.

Holly: I think that sense of camaraderie comes from the fact that, as Eddie Spaghetti pointed out, the Supersuckers are always awesome. Not just good, but awesome. I've always vaguely felt that there was something missing in my life, but now that void has been filled with the glory of Supersucker awesome-ness and I, like so many others before me, am reborn into the Church of Awesome-ology. Drinking, fucking, fighting, rock and roll and rioting on: that’s my kind of religion, man. It was a great show.

So, Hero, any final words before I ship you off on that Greyhound back to Alberta?

Hero: Yeah, don't worry about all that free time you're sitting on, ok? And don't worry about what the future will bring because we've seen the future, baby, and it's as bright as a spade in the sun. Sure, our hands might get dirty, but it just proves how hard we've been working. Eddie says, you gotta work and you gotta get paid, you gotta press on cause there's no other way, and there ain't no pay check as satisfying as a rock show or sticky cleavage or blood on your shoes, that's for sure. The highway is long and hell is hot. Both are waiting for you.

Oh wait a second Holly, do you mind driving me back to Alberta? With all the recent Greyhound beheadings and stabbings and such, I'd feel much safer with you. The highway is a dangerous place, ya know?

Holly: It’s not as scary if you remember your bottle of Aunt Jemima. But hop in, Hero, and let’s hit that road. We’ll see you all on the next Highway to Hell. And, as always, don’t forget to riot on...


*A note from Holly: As you may or may not have guessed, most of this adventure is complete bullshit. It is loosely based on fact, though: I did actually attend the Supersuckers show, but I left Hero in the wasteland of northern Alberta, the land that rock and roll forgot. The Supersuckers did rock the shit out of the bar, I really was hesitant to give the band the international fuck-you hand gesture, and I have been known to dump jugs of maple syrup down my shirt on occasion. (Okay, maybe not that last part.) Additionally, I did get to say hi to Ron, the amazing lead guitar player, after the show; I said, “Hey, great show, man”, which is what usually comes out of my oh-so-original mouth on these occasions. (At least I don’t ask the band about their gear.) I missed Hero immensely on this circle, but don’t think for a second that we will let a little thing like four provinces stop us for long. Because there is too much rock ‘n’ roll waiting for us and the open highway beckons...    

Hero: When I received word from my good friend and longtime Sleazegrinder ally, Scarlet Rowe (ex-Joker Five Speed, Saigon Saloon, Sweet Pain, Angels in Vain), that his new band, Action City Blackout, was gonna be venturing north of the border, I immediately told Holly to clear her calendar and gas up the car. There was no doubt about it; this was going to be an unforgettable Highway to Hell, and by all accounts it was, but just not in the way we had imagined when we strapped in and hit the road.

Above: Action City Blackout!

In fact, Holly, I think it’s safe to say that our fourth circle on the Highway to Hell was without a doubt the most frustrating, adventurous, disastrous, and laughable yet. Why don’t you fill people in on what the hell went wrong.

Holly: I think it would be easier to fill them in on what went right. We had some pretty decent nachos. And it didn’t rain. I think we should call this installment the Highway OF Hell or maybe the Highway IN Hell. How about Hell on the Highway?

So, in a nutshell, this is what happened, my dear sweet, sleazy readers: Action City Blackout couldn’t get across the border due to Scarlet’s criminal record. Hero and I did not know this until we got to the Bovine Sex Club in Toronto, a two hour drive away. We were on the guest list for the band that didn’t show, so we had to fucking pay to get in to see bands we didn’t come to see. Hero was pissed, man…
 

Hero: I wasn’t pissed. I was disappointed…there’s a big difference. Although perhaps I did throw a tiny tantrum, but come on, I was looking forward to some hot rock action and meeting the one and only Mr. Rowe. Oh, and beers in Toronto are more expensive than they are in London, and I hate paying $5 for a beer, so we were in the hole right from the get-go.
 

Holly: On the plus side, we did have a great drive up there (the drive home is another animal altogether). I can always count on Hero to bring killer driving music. The Trashcan Darlings were right up my snotty punk alley.

An aside: I was suffering from some rather extreme congestion, so ‘snotty’ was a pun. A bad one. I'll try to refrain from any further ‘clever’ wordplay.

Hero: Yeah, do that, ‘cause I’m the only one who’ll get it unless you explain it and when you do, like you just did, it fucks up the whole momentum of the discussion. So, yes…the ride up. We also listened to Supagroup, Crazy Lixx, and Cowboy Prostitutes, and we never got lost, which I suppose isn’t that big of a feat when we were only going to Toronto. Now, you mentioned the ride home. Should we get into that now or talk about the show first?

Holly: Not getting lost is actually quite an accomplishment for me. But let’s talk about the show. We left the Bovine for a bit to go see what was shaking at the Horseshoe Tavern. Not a lot was shaking at the Horseshoe. So we walked back to the Bovine and all of a sudden we were out-of-town celebrities, and this guy, Sammy, from opening band The Blacknines, is all apologetic and lovely.

Hero: Yeah, word got around that we had driven two hours for the show and so we were met with a bunch of sympathy. Sympathy, however, that did not come in the form of free drinks, so I didn’t think much of it. Oh, but I believe we were outdone by the chick we met who came from Baltimore of all places to see Action City Blackout. Now that’s dedication. However, this Sammy dude was great and I really liked The Blacknines. Hell, any band that covers The Four Horsemen are A-OK with me. I even had to worm my way to the front of the stage for that. Not a bad crowd for a Monday, I must admit.

Holly: I liked them too. Diemonds, however, I can live without, although the lead singer was quite hot in her white-garter-and-stockings ensemble.

Hero: Yeah, she’s totally hot, but her singing was a bit of a distraction from the sleaze rock they were spitting out. Oh well, you can’t win ‘em all as we found out that night. Hey, we made a game during the night of trying to memorize all the crazy shit adorning the Bovine walls and ceiling. It’s a pretty rocking place. So, what can you remember?


Above: Diemonds. Holly can live without 'em.

Holly: Oooh, I love this game! We saw a picture of a hippo in a bathtub autographed by Anne Murray and…holy shit. I can't remember another goddamned thing! Oh, wait! A pair of thong panties. A paddle. Was there a paddle?
 

Hero: I don’t think there was a paddle but I remember a zillion band stickers and posters, an anchor, a motorcycle helmet, a few pairs of shoes, Christmas lights, a busted guitar...oh, and there were three TVs. One was showing Wonder Showzen, one was showing Bad Santa, and one was showing some fucked-up Japanese horror movie.

Holly: I have the memory of a sieve. Watching Wonder Showzen with the sound off was better than watching Diemonds perform. And I really want to find out what that Japanese horror movie was. (Paul Gaita, here is your skill-testing question: a bunch of school kids in uniforms and necklaces that will blow up if they try to remove them run around blowing shit up. Name that tune.) So, anyway…we left the club sometime around 12:30 and went for nachos at Sneaky Dee’s, got back on the highway, drove for awhile – The Donnas playing their bitchin’ cunt rock on the car stereo – when all of a sudden something just didn't feel right…

Hero: Yeah, I thought it was the veggie nachos with the guacamole working their way through me, but apparently it was a bad rear right tire. We hardly noticed at first because the car shakes anyway when we get any kind of speed going, but this was an unfamiliar shake, and sure enough we get a fucking flat. Now, this is what...just before 3:00 as we’re about 30 minutes from home?

Holly: Yep. And I intensely loathe cell phones, but you know something? Sometimes they come in handy. So does CAA. I don’t have that, either. I also don’t have a flashlight. Or a toolkit. Or a blanket. I’d never changed a tire before but I’ve seen it done, and I figured it couldn’t be that hard, so I dug out the manual and we followed the instructions and tried to loosen the lug nut on the jack. That fucker wasn’t going anywhere. And it’s 3:00 in the morning, I'm wearing a miniskirt and tank top, Hero is looking suitably thuggish even without the beard, and no way is a truck going to stop to help us out, so we crawl along the gravel shoulder forever until we get to the turnoff somewhere between Paris and Woodstock. We’re talking Deliverance land, folks…

Hero: Yeah, there’s the kicker, huh? The two people in the world who never want to own a cell phone need one the most. And let it be known that had we been equipped with the proper tools, we would’ve been able to change the tire. We’re not that dumb. But alas, we had to do our best to find some sort of civilization that might be able to help us. So yeah, after we reach the turnoff we decide to hike it. We finally reach a gas station and even though it’s closed there’s a pay phone. Of course, before we can even make a call two dudes pull up in a truck. I can only imagine what they thought we were doing in a phone booth at almost 4:00 in the morning in the middle of nowhere.

Holly: The number of small townsfolk who knew exactly what we were doing in that phone booth at 4:00 in the morning was actually kind of scary. Do not try to have illicit sex in the phone booth between Paris and Woodstock, people. You will not be alone. Trust me on this. But the dudes did offer to drive down the road a stretch and see if they could wrangle us a tow truck.

Hero: You know, you just made it sound like we had sex in the phone booth.

Holly: Because nothing turns me on quite like a phone booth in the middle of nowhere. I can’t count the number of times I’ve been arrested for lewd public behavior in phone booths in the middle of nowhere. For the record, we were did not engage in intercourse.

Hero: I’d go back to that phone booth with a lady friend for sure, even with the prying eyes. It’s kind of hot. But I digress.

Speaking of lewd behavior, we were joking around that you might have to flash the tow truck driver in order to get him to help us. Or, God forbid, one of us would have to go down on him, and somehow for reasons I’m still not sure of I was designated to be that someone. But, the sleepy tow truck driver did his shit, changed the flat, only charged us $42, and we got out of there without you having to show him your tits or me having to fellate him.

Holly: I even tipped the guy, whom we christened him ‘Dawger’ although my receipt says his name is Jason, eight bucks. I’m sweet like that. And then I drove 60 clicks the rest of the way home on the spare. And I skipped work the next day. Holly on an hour of sleep is not a pretty thing.

But you know what, Hero? I had a great time in spite of it all. Or maybe because of it. Either way, the Highway to Hell is always a blast. For next time, I promise to wear clothes and make sure my tires aren’t so bald that the highway wears right through them if you promise to confirm that the band is actually playing.

Hero: Right, when all was said and done and we finally arrived home just before 6:00 as the sun was coming up, I think it was a pretty rockin’ time. I mean, we couldn't stop laughing once we knew we were finally gonna make it home.

I gotta say though, I’d really prefer it if you keep wearing very little clothing when we go on these Highway to Hell ventures because it does help make them worthwhile, especially in instances of despair. You’d be surprised how cleavage and a mini skirt can make one feel all right in the most trying of times. And yes, on top of my driving music and map duties, I will make sure to confirm that the band is actually gonna show up. It’s funny, Scarlet said to me the day before the show, “I really hope my arrest record doesn't come up.” But he feels bad and has promised to send us some music and shirts, so that’s cool. So, I guess the only question left is, where to next?

Holly: Wherever it is, you know the two of us are gonna have a rock n’ roll time. Because kids like us can’t help it, man. See you in the next circle, Hero, and don't forget to riot on!

Hero: You got it. Dig.

Above: What they missed. Action City Blackout live.

Holly: Greetings, sleazy readers, and welcome to the Highway to Hell! For our latest instalment, I took Hero on a rock and roll road trip to Detroit. It seems strange that our third circle on the highway to hell is the first circle that actually involves a highway.

Jeff: Yeah, to Detroit of all places, where you previously had some trouble when you were there for another show. Ergo, I wasn't so much a rock 'n' roll mate, but serious protection, right?

H: The beard does have its uses...We were lucky to get across the border, you looked like such a serial killer. (We both have lovely passport photos, by the way.) Actually, the only trouble we had was having to wait in line for half an hour at McDonald's.

J: That and the fact that the car shook violently if we drove over 120 km/h. Still though, it was a wonderful trip, especially with Wig Wam blasting.

H: I was just going to mention Wig Wam. Worst band name ever, but those guys kick some serious Norwegian arena rock ass. [ Excellent driving music.

Wig Wam. Vroom!

J: Yeah, it's all I've been listening to lately. Along with Crazy Lixx, Crashdiet, and Crossfire. You should check them out, too. All of them, however, quite different from the Black Lips.

H: Black Lips are the reason we drove to Detroit in the first place, and while they may not qualify immediately as Hero-music, they are definitely Holly-music. I adore their scuzzy garage pop and wanted to share them with you.

J: Yeah it was good. I mean, I had heard rumors that these guys are known for puking and pissing on stage, but there was none of that.

H: One of the guys puked into the crowd when I saw them play at the Horseshoe in Toronto. I guess you can only vomit so many times before the stomach bile starts to eat away at your vocal cords. And they probably got tired of the crowd standing four feet away from the stage, out of urination range.

At this point, I would like to take a moment to mention the opening act, Quintron and Miss Pussycat, an electronic dance duo from New Orleans, who, in addition to playing some pretty funky beats, put on a pretty cool puppet show.

J: Well, besides our 2 a.m. search for waffles, the puppet show was the highlight of the night for us, wasn't it? Not the fact that the puppet show was great or anything, but just the anticipation of the puppet show. I must've downed six or seven High Life's waiting for that puppet show.

H: I fucking loved the puppet show. There aren't enough puppets in rock and roll, if you ask me. And if there hadn't been a puppet show after all that anticipation, there really would have been rioting. I would have rushed the stage and torn the puppet set down, and I would have expected you and your beard to back me up.

J: Whoa, I agreed to fight thugs and pimps who were trying to mug us or break into your car. I never said I would take part in a mass puppet riot.

H: I just assumed participation in mass puppet riots was part of the deal. Ah well. So anyway, after the puppet show came the Black Lips, who I thought were pretty great, even though they did change the lyrics to "Dirty Hands," omitting the line about the one guy getting a tattoo of a dolphin on his bellybutton, which cracks me up every time. But they did perform "Bad Kids," one of my favourites from their latest record, "Good Bad Not Evil"-I love the line: "Bad kids/All my friends are bad kids/Product of no dad kids/Kids like you and me." The Black Lips have a wicked sense of humour, which is something I enjoy in my rock and roll.

J: Hmm...I think at that point I was on my tenth or eleventh High Life, and although U.S. beer pales in comparison and alcohol content to Canadian beer, I was still feeling it and don't recall many of the lyrics. Being drunk probably helped me enjoy the show more, though.

H: Yes, we really do have superior beer up here, don't we? I even think our coke (the carbonated beverage, not the drug) is better in Canada, too, because my rum and cokes were pretty terrible. Which didn't prevent me from having more than one. If I hadn't had to work the next morning, the night could have been a messy one. As it was, I was a zombie the next day.

Hey, I bet most of the American readers don't know that it is illegal to smoke in bars in Canada. I love a dirty smoky bar, but washing the nicotine out of my hair was pretty much the vilest thing I've had to do in a long time.

J: One way to avoid the drug/drink confusion is to spell the drink with a capital, as in Coke. Also, I don't know if our drug coke is better (probably not), but our weed definitely is. And yeah, smoking in bars sucks. Some states have that rule in place, but not Michigan, apparently.

H: It really wouldn't be Detroit Rock City without the possibility of getting burned by a cigarette in the mosh pit. Because rock and roll is dangerous, man...

As an aside, and while we're on the topic, a butch lesbian asked me to do a line with her the other night. Whether the coke was of American or Canadian or some other origin remains unknown. (I declined, by the way.)

So back to the waffles, Quintron had a couple of lights onstage that resembled waffle irons. In addition to hoping for a puppet show, Hero and I were also kind of hoping for waffles. We got the puppets but not the waffles, so we tried to find an IHOP at 2 in the morning, to no avail. Come over for breakfast sometime, Hero-I owe you one.

J: I've been craving a good waffle ever since. So breakfast sounds like a great idea. I could make a joke about already being at your place for breakfast, but I'll let it go.

No waffles for you.

You were popular with the lesbians the other night, I noticed. And the dudes, too, I guess. Although that's bound to happen when you wear a shirt like you were wearing. But you know what you're doing, don't you? I believe I was annoyed with you though because you wore a sweater to the Black Lips show and not that great shirt. Sure, you still looked good, but imagine how I would've looked if I'd walked into the Magic Stick with you wearing the revealing shirt. I could've been a lot more popular.

H: If I'd walked into the Magic Stick wearing that shirt*, you probably would have had to beat up some pimps. Or possibly some puppets. And I was thinking that it would be better to be wearing something that qualified as clothing in case the car got ripped off and we had to walk back to Canada. Sometimes a girl likes to play it safe...

J: Speaking of safe, what do you know about this Eiffel Tower sex position? I've never tried it. You? Is it worth trying?

H: Um, no, I've never tried it. Is it worth trying? Sure, aren't they all? You need a willing girl and a close guy friend. I believe high-fives are involved. And I think that on that note, we will bring this installment to a close. As always, it's been a pleasure. You call the circle next time, Hero--I'll bring the tits and the wheels.

J: Hey, how about Thursday? The Black Halos and Crash Kelly are in town. No wheels needed, but your tits are always welcome. And thanks for taking me to see the Black Lips in Detroit. It was a blast.

H: Anytime! See you on the highway, and don't forget to riot on...

* Please email pic immediately. - Ed.

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