MOTORHEAD GIVES GOOD SHOW!

Sure ain't no Howard Johnsons. There's a woman in the lobby looks like a Kentucky Fried Chicken leg let loose in Freddie Mercury's wardrobe; all flesh, bone, leather and tastelessness, and her fingernails are heading straight for the desk clerk's eyes. A bunch of guys dressed like recent flood victims, not like any Tupperware Convention-ites I've ever seen, are cooling their heels by the door. And there's no way they're getting up to her room unless she coughs up the 300 big ones she owes, which doesn't look like happening in the 15 minutes I've got before the band is ready for the interviews.