Roach Motel Casanova

Illustration by Bob AulMy friends and I met you and your friends at the Block at Orange. You seemed like cool guys, and you invited us to kick back at a "hotel party" with you. We had nothing to do that night, so we followed you—and then realized that the hotel was a motel, the creepiest-looking motel on a whole block of creepy. When we got there, you asked if any of us was 21; we are, but we weren't gonna buy beer for you guys. We walked into the room and realized that this was someone's home—not that I have anything against a jobless person living in a motel and trying to pick up girls at the Block or anything. Then this: the phone rang, and the inhabitant of the roach motel started making a drug deal on the phone. "Knock on the door twice, and come alone." Needless to say, we were all beginning to get nervous. You guys had nothing to say. You turned on the TV; there's nothing but news, of course, and it's all about Sept. 11. So one of you guys—I'll call you "Idiot"—reflected on the news and offered this: "I hate all Arabs. I'd kill every one of them if I had a gun. Fuck all those towel heads." Okay, you're stupid, you can't buy beer, you have no job, you live in a motel, you sell and do drugs, and you're on the run. Hooray for America. We made up some excuse to get out of there; I don't care if you believed it or not. But here's some advice for you, not that you actually read newspapers or anything: next time you meet some girls and invite them to kick it with you, don't take them to a gross motel, don't deal drugs, and definitely don't be stupid.