Before we get started, a quick note for regular readers: Aside from a bit near the end that may well be worth getting to, this has almost nothing to do with comics.
On the stretch of highway between my house and Dr. K’s, there are a dozen billboards for a place called South of the Border that range from the bizarre to the outright racist. I’ve seen them before, but I’ve never been to the place itself, a strange, sprawling tourist trap just this side of the North Carolina state line, so when Dr. K asked if I’d be up for a road trip to check the place out, I was more than up for it.
Especially once he told me that when he’d been there four or five years ago, they’d had a large collection of vintage velvet painting erotica.