The Original Alamo Drafthouse Letter

Please come to Atlanta.

Drafthouse please. PLEASE.

After living in Austin for five years you’ve made me your bitch. I had to move to Atlanta a few months back and I just can’t hack it out here any longer. People talk during the movie. I’m eating popcorn covered in motor oil. Someone other than Master Pancake was providing a running commentary during the whole movie and it was NOT funny y’all. I tried to strike up a conversation with another movie patron about John Carpenter movies and they just stared at me like I was an African prince trying to talk about football to the father of the woman I want to marry and make queen of my fictional African nation of Zamunda.

WHERE ARE MY PEOPLE? Where are you Drafthouse? I can’t believe the 9th most populous metro area market in the country hasn’t been penetrated by your virile franchise. The people of Atlanta need your love. I talk about the Drafthouse to “friends” here and they all just give me a placating nod, as if I were a child talking ad nausea about a seemingly insignificant facet of daily life. I can feel their figurative pat on the head every time the say something like “sounds cool” or “nice,” and it burns. THESE PEOPLE NEED TO KNOW.

I need vindication. The Alamo Drafthouse is awesome. I want to take all my friends there and watch their dead-eyed ignorant faces melt away with joy. I want to see some original Atlanta programming that will blow the shit out of the mall multiplex offerings. I want a goddamn hatch green chile burger and a Shiner with a helping of 80’s Hanks. I want some marathons, some themed dinners, some live music, some fucking confetti canons and borderline unsafe pyrotechnics.


Seriously, I would quit my job and work full time (ok not really, but maybe 20 hours a week) laying brick, pouring cement, handing out flyers, spamming my friends or selling my soul to bring the Drafthouse to Atlanta. Please tell me what I can do to make this happen. You have my sword.

Loyal Alamo Drafthouse Patron
Atlanta, GA

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