Ass-Hockey

A Single Tear Travels Down Big Cheif's Face

2007-12-10T02:27:00.000-08:00

The unfortunate thing, really, is that I neglected to bring the cable that hooks my shitty digital camera up to my shitty laptop. I fully intended to buttress this update (the first in more than a year) with sloppy photographs of mediocre drunken antics at the Midtown Poolhall in Little Rock, Arkansas. For now, you will have to use your imagination. I will dump them all up here at some point, but probably by then it won’t matter.

Richard, of course, had a cable that didn’t fit my camera. Cameltoe, for all his technical savvy and his position of importance at Apple, has proven useless in this respect as well.

Fuck it.

We left Austin at 7am Sunday morning. I got off from the bar a couple of hours before that, so I just stayed up.

I have been eating venison sausage all week, courtesy of Justin (who shot and gutted that motherfucker) and Randy (who ground it up and seasoned it). I also felt the beginnings of a chest cold coming on a couple of days before this little tour. I spent most of my Saturday night shift drinking cranberry and orange juice and about a gallon of water. I drank an assload of green tea and EmergenCs when I got home in a vain attempt at staving off feeling miserable the entire trip.

I got in the van, popped a couple of Tylenol PM’s and fell into fitful shitty van sleep around Georgetown.

Long story short: my farts were malevolent and unremorseful. While unconscious, I managed to make Richard and Cameltoe almost vomit four times. I wasn’t even awake to revel in it. I would like to say I feel bad about it, but I just don’t. I know it is gross. I have a fundamental character flaw that makes me feel no shame for letting the hot, evil ones fly. When I awoke in Little Rock, the van smelled like a mix between a broken propane tank, a death camp, and Bambi’s fetid vagina.

It is obvious to me that I am not yet forgiven. I am not sure that I ever will be. Maybe this is why I can’t keep a girlfriend.

At the venue, I knew immediately that this trip was going to be blessed because on the chalkboard of upcoming events, the Tuesday night show was listed as 2girls1cup. Everyone in the band asked me if I had found the chalk and written it up there. I wish I could say that I was responsible. Someone at Juanitas live has the same part of their soul missing that I do. I wasn’t lucky enough tonight to find out who.

We were third of four, having been added to the bill at the very last minute, at the request of the headlining band that we are on tour with. We backlined the bass and drums to make the whole changeover thing easier. The second band was fine with this. The first band was a bunch of highschool dickhead kids who showed up about a half hour before they were supposed to go on. All the shit was miked up, line checked and ready to go. They were trying to throw a fit because the drumset didn’t have enough pieces. Oh, and it was pouring down rain outside, which was gonna make a quick load in a giant pain in the ass.

God bless the promoter and the sound guy at that place for telling them to shut the fuck up and deal with it. They went on and played 30 minutes of what can only be described as an Alice In Chains cover band brutally raping the chick from Evanesence with a garden weasel and an acoustic guitar.

I clocked out and went to check out the bar next door. Midtown Poolhall has been open in the same location since 1942. 65 years. It made Trees Lounge look like Club deVille. The place was a dive.

It was three dollars for a one day membership (since it is a private club) and seven dollars for a one year membership. I told the bartender I was playing next door and he waved the fee. The draft PBR was 75 cents a pint. They had a Jaeger machine and Exile on Mainstreet was on the PA. Jackpot. After a few drinks with some crusty regulars, I asked how late the place was open. The venue we were playing at had to close at 10. I was a little worried that all of Little Rock was gonna shut the booze fountain down at 10 as well. The bartender then lays the magic on me:

“Oh, hell no, bud. We’re a private club, we serve until 5 am.”

Double jackpot.

After a few rounds, I head next door, tune up, and we go on. The place is sold out. We are firing on four cylinders. I am doing unholy things to my guitar and it is working. The crowd is responsive and packed tight to the front of the stage. We close with ‘Dig A Pony’ and motherfuckers know it. Jesus wept.

After it was over, I dodged the loadout and went back to Midtown to pound sauce. A drunk guy tried to give me and Richard his really nice suede coat. I almost took it thinking I could cash it in at the Buffalo Exchange for a chunk of scratch when I got home. The guy was way obviously shithoused and trying to be nice. I respectfully declined his offer. An hour later, he got in a fistfight in the parking lot. Classic.

Tomorrow is Memphis. I am out of juice right now. Other shit happened. I took pictures of Richard vomiting after watching scat porn. Some one gave me a Dexedrine, which got crunched and inhaled. The subjects of racism and homophobia were broached. You know, the usual. I will let every picture tell the story, baby….when I figure out how to upload them…..

Stay tuned….

These are people who died

2007-10-17T04:38:00.000-07:00

Kate Schedler
Larry Dean Preas
Mike Blake
Roy Bartlett
David Caine
Patrick Peavey

I can't think of anyone else right now, but I do remember that Kate offed herself my freshman year at SF Austin High. We were in band and went to the same Lutheran church. It really fucked me up now that I think about it......

kill me

2007-06-22T03:26:00.000-07:00

i have ruined everything. i have pushed everyone away, i have failed. boo hoo.

i am finally realizing i have become the total peice of shit that i never thought was attainable.

i have arrived.

fuck all of you.

2007-04-11T17:35:00.000-07:00

The Ghost of Tours Past: From the Future

2007-01-25T03:09:00.000-08:00

I tried to catch a couple of hours of sleep before JM came and picked me up for the long ride to Baton Rouge.

Sure, it was my fault for staying up until 7 so I could see how "Big Momma's House 2" ended. That's just how I roll sometimes.

My roommate decided it was a good idea for him to walk to the convenience store for a 12 pack around 7:30. A.M. I wanted nothing to do with it because I knew, deep in the scar tissue that used to be my liver, that it was going to be a long weekend.

I woke up to the sound of Cougar (the dog), barking (like he was gonna kill someone) at the roommate, who, wasted, was making primal apen noises, and swinging half of a gutted Paddington Bear around like he was guiding in a Fed-Ex plane. All of this occurring right in front of my bedroom door.

The roommate is smoking in the house, which is bad. He has also lost the main remote control for the TV, which is pegged at full volume. Since I have to be up anyhow, I am grateful for this indiscretion, but a little worried about the roommate's well-being. He is bordering on feral, but without the proper anger and motor skills for it to be a total liability.

I am then simultaneously accused of many things, not the least of which being the fact that I have somehow hidden the remote to spite him. I try to reason with him, to no avail, but I somehow get him to go to sleep, after a few false starts. My biggest concern at this point (besides packing my still wet laundry into my shitty suitcase) is to make sure he doesn't wake up, light a cigarette, and then pass out with it lit and burn the house down.

JM shows up and I leave the back door open so the dogs can at least escape if Oldfort Hill Manor burns up like it was Mt. Carmel. No one has called yet, so I assume I still have a place to live and an ancient dog to pet (I love you, Duncan)....

(to my roommate's credit: he gets a total bye for all of this. last week I bought what I thought were 5 Vicodins off of a street person. They looked like them, in the dark, so I immediately took two. When I got home, the roommate was up, I gave him the other three, at which time he pointed out to me that they were, in fact, 300 milligram Seraquels. I had already been drinking, they had already been taken, and had already jogged the first lap around my vascular system. I was drooling fucked up. I was lucid, except I could not form sentences, much less walk or even breathe right. I handed him my car keys and somehow made him understand (via pill charades) that if I were to stop breathing for any reason, he had to drive me to the hospital. And like a true champion, he stayed up and made sure I didn't die. So I guess we're even. But I am never doing that shit again. ever. Seraquels are for Schizophrenics. They are NOT FOR RECREATION!!!! THEY WILL FUCK YOU UP IN WAYS YOU CAN'T IMAGINE!!!! If you don't need to take them (read: you aren't Schizo-affective) then don't.ever. Hit yourself in the head with a hammer. Pick up a Tranny on Craigslist. turn the oven, stove and heat on and do yoga. Try Autoerotic asphyxiation...you get my point.)

Anyhoo,

We played at Chelsea's in Baton Rouge tonight and it was awesome. I am already almost out of money and we are only 12 hours in. We sloshed through Abbey Road tonight but we didn't fuck up. So I think we got it.

Lee Barbier, my favorite person in the whole world and the most gracious host ever, also happens to be my guitar hero. He played with the openers, Junior League, and was tossing off these sick Skunk Baxter leads like they were nothing. Fuck Lee. He is the most incredible musician I know, with an enviable encyclopedic knowledge of how to play any song, in any key, ever. Fuck him and fuck his talent. It is sick, and I am jealous.

I put Pussyface to bed tonight like a drunken Yeti. He was wandering around, aimless, slamming doors while the upstairs neighbors tried to sleep, and on the verge either falling over or getting into a contentious argument. I pulled the futon out, got him his pillow and blankie, and forunately Dog Whispered the rough beast to sleep.

Me, I am still awake, despite the Xanax someone gave me hours ago. tomorrow, M Eye Crooked Letter Crooked Letter Etc,Etc......

One more cigarette and this astronaut is gonna get fucked by his on board computer.....

more tomorrow...

cob

sea changes and what not

2006-09-08T00:42:00.000-07:00

vanessa,

you looked beautiful, the way you had to exit this world.....
we all had the best time we could at your send off.
it's really too bad you aren't around.

you will be missed, by everyone.

jacob

p.s. duplantis and i will take care of charles and the three legged dogs.

catch you on the flip flop....

Welcome! Sycophants! Sluts! Retards! Alcoholics! Other Random and Beautiful Subhumans! This, More or Less, Is a Chronicle of My Kick Ass Life!

2006-09-07T02:55:00.000-07:00

If you are linking here from the Chron story....thanks for coming. I will update this more soon. I kind of gave up because I think blogging is fatuous and stupid. Plus, I realized that no one really cares about reading about the dumb shit I do....so Ima save it for my coffee table book....the one you can buy at Borders for your grammy for Christmas. The one with the Pegasus pooing a cloud on the cover.....

This is what happens when the journalist you are on tour with passes out first....

2006-08-07T11:46:00.002-07:00

Sorry Gray...it hadda be done

me vs. richard vs. west texas vs. new mexico and the story of "Cetereeka"

2006-08-05T18:17:00.001-07:00

I hope all of you in Central Texas are hot like you are in hell. Marfa was, at the hottest part of the day, about 75, partly cloudy with a nice breeze. Las Cruces is about the same, except for I think the El Paso city council did something to piss God off because it was Biblically underwater when we drove thrugh it yesterday. The traffic was fucked because everyone was being evacuated. Sitting in traffic and watching the Mexicans at the Jaurez dam frantically dig trenches so that fucker wouldn't Katrina was amusing.

Richard: "Where do we get soul food in Marfa?"
Ron the Thunderbird Maintenance Man: "I have never heard anyone ask that question here...about the only place is at my house."

After we load in and half ass soundcheck at Ray's bar, we swing back to the 'Bird and pick up Jon Clare, buy some beer, and roll up into Ron's back yard where he had a whole spread laid out for us. Fried chicken, butter beans, fried okra, and cornbread. As you can tell by the pictures, that is Livin'.

I don't know about you, but my Acohol Enthusiasm has advanced to a, well let's just say a more "sophisticated" stage. We started drinking beer in the afternoon, while driving around Marfa and looking at nothing. Ray's only served beer. It was real hard to get drunk. Infact, the show was done and loaded out by midnight and Richard and I were looking at each other like: "I know, right, I've been trying too...." It just wasn't happening fast enough.

It wasn't until we went to Carlos' house behind the bar and started shotgunning canned Buds that a respectable buzz was beginning to rear it's ugly head. Then Gorrey
showed up with a half handle of Monopolova.....Game On.

We ended up back at the 'Bird bar, and as you can see by the picture of james faking fellatio on me while humping the cowskin throw rug, that we were finally getting somewhere.

Richard now sleeps with earplugs because I snore so loud. The score remains: Me:1 Galloway:0.

The bar in Las Cruces last night was a phenomenal dive bar. It was a complete circle, and they had the sweet sweet moose nectar: Jaeger. The moose juice. Plus we were getting free draft, so Richard and I watched the Astros game and got way shitty before we even played a note. For some reason in New Mexico, it is illegal to be served a shot if there is a half empty pitcher of beer sitting in front of you. While that could be a problem for some, we manned up and emptied pitchers with enough timing and poise that the bartender, Debra, was almost compelled to give us a standing ovation.

At one point about three quarters of the way through our set....well wait, let me back it up. All of our shit was broken before we even played note one. My amp, the Bass amp, etc....blown.....couple that with the fact that it is kind of hard to troubleshoot electronics, drunk, in the dark, and you will get some idea of just how awesome we were. Anyhow, about three quarters of the way through the set, Gray brings me like, my one hundreth shot of Jaeger, and I did something I have NEVER done before. My stomach rejected it in toto. I leaned over the keyboard, behind the main speakers and launched the entire contents of my stomach on the stage, while playing. And the best part is NO ONE EVEN FUCKING SAW IT!!! When we got done, I immediately grabbed a bar towel and wrapped the fetid puddle up into a tidy package and threw it in the trash. Hooray for me.

So we get back to the room and start downloading Peter Cetera songs on two different laptops. For Real. The guy cannot pronounce the word 'love'. He over enunciates it so
grossly that it comes out like 'loaf' on every fucking song. This is when we came up with the concept (with apologies to Wayne) of "Cetereeka" Envision everyone parked in their cars in a parking garage somewhere, bumping Cetera and trying to mash it all up in an orchestra of awesomeness. It brings a tear to my eye just thinking about it.

Cetera is our new Michael Macdonald.

Tonight is night two. We are at the bowling alley in Las Cruces around 10. All of our shit is fixed and James had to buy a new guitar, because after breaking four strings during 'Marquee Moon' he smashed the '61 SG in a drunken fit of pique, look at the look on his face....

until tomorrow. I am out....

we should meet together, we should meet in air

2006-07-14T04:18:00.000-07:00

so if any of you have spent any time with the plath, i.e. collected stuff, the bell jar, etc....then you might be wondering, like i am, just how it got so bad for her that she stuck her head in an oven. i mean, come on, gender politics aside, ted hughes is just okay, compared to the heavy shit she was layin' down in the late fifties. A/B them sometime and i think you will see what i mean.....there was no shame in her game.

suicide, in those terms, seems kind of romantic. it's a nice thought, if you think that anyone is truly gonna give a shit about you six months after you lay the hammer down.

me, i've never been a total pussy like that. i have too many of y'alls graves to bugaloo on. i want to outlive some specific people, purely out of spite. besides, since the ninth grade, i have felt like i am witnessing the end times, and i don't want to miss one iota of what could be the greatest show on earth. although, as things go, it will probably be ultimately anticlimactic. a minor disappointment, like bumming cigs at an afterhours party when all that is left are menthols from the sad and desperate.....you've been there.....

anyhow,

it is early and i can't sleep. the dunc and i just went for a long walk. interlopers in a 5am neighborhood of people that have bought into the game, hook,line, sinker. and it occured to me, as i surveyed their nice houses, lawns, and other ephemeral shit that they pulled out of dwell magazine....it occured to me that i don't want any of that.

while it is a nice (and probably prudent) idea to own something, say, a yard that i feel like mowing, attatched to a house that i am legally bound to pay a mortgage on, with assraping taxes that i am compelled to pay under pain of reposession....the process behind it leaves me cold.

sure i am throwing 'money' away on rent. sure it would be great to 'own' a house. but you don't really own it. you may pay it off in 30 years, but when the taxes start fucking you, it'll get taken away same as missing a payment. so what is the point?

i could just be stupid and drunk, but i would rather sharpen my sword for the bigger game lurking in the brush. i am more cofortable on the fringe of 'keeping my shit together' than i am 'preparing' for a future that may not even happen.

what are you gonna remember? a song with a hummable melody that you can sing to your tragic children at bedtime? or a bank statement that says you were a good sheep and paid on time?

fuck me, i'm going to sleep.

more reasons I am going straight to hell....with apoplogies to my family and anyone who might be offended...this seemed like a good idea at the time..

2006-07-01T02:22:00.000-07:00

i had to take this one down so the lord wouldn't smite my ass down.....

The Map Is Not Always The Territory

2006-06-05T03:02:00.000-07:00

There are a few topics which I would like to adress here at some point. Some of them are pre-paid, meaning, I have them ready to go, but they are nitroglycerin. I wrote them in a fit of pique and need to edit them for content. Names need to be changed to protect myself.....you understand, of course. They are pretty good. When the time comes, They'll be up.

Anyhow,

Being a denizen of Red River for a little more than a third of my life, and besides the fact that our free parking is all fucked up now, does anyone else feel weird about the demolition of the old Reddy Ice? It is weird to walk past 8th street and be able to see 35 looking north/northwest. Are they putting in condos? I am out of the loop. Is this the beginning of the end? The existence of the ARCH a couple of blocks away makes me want to think it's not possible, but there is weirder shit in the brush that the City of Austin has sharpened their gear for. It will be interesting to see how it all comes out....

My new fascination is with the people that run the Ideal Soul Mart, caddy-corner to East Side Pies (where i sling pizzas on Sundays). Usually when I go buy Gatorades there, ther is a North African woman there with her two kids. Every other time, I bring her a slice. Anyway, I went in there tonight, and she was doing inventory with a baby on her hip. An Indian gentlemen, whom I will assume is her husband, was at the register. I tried to buy a pack of camel lights, which took him forever to identify and procure (while she was yelling at him from across the store)....what really struck me as grist was: there was a mulatto girl, probably somewhere between 18-20, who was blind. I could tell her eyes were blue, but they were all milky and cataracted up. She didn't look retarded, as far as I could tell. Just blind.

There is a good piece of fiction in there somehow. It is my job, over the next couple of months to make it up.

I am drunk......right now. Ima go watch the sucker free cribs that i DVR'd earlier.

later, meatballs.

the flux capacitor

2006-06-01T03:47:00.000-07:00

sorry, all two of you that read this, that I haven't updated in awhile....my life and the inevitable summer are in total upheaval right now. when I get a clear minute to myself, I'll unload on y'all.....just gotta figure out how not to name names and cure the bitterness that wants to scream out of my fingertips.....

so until then, enjoy the bowl of dicks that you are eating up.

i love you......i s'pose...

rocking the bottom. rocket.

2006-05-05T15:49:00.000-07:00

Moving is always a pain in the ass. No matter how you look at it.

I tend to keep things that, when looked at on their own, seem like one man's trash. Scraps of paper with phone numbers on them. Half-burnt matchbooks with a date and a list of college and professional football teams on them. Postcards and letters written and stamped but never mailed. Torn photographs. Old newspaper clippings so soft that you could wipe your ass with them. Old birthday cards, letters from old girlfriends, Jack T. Chick tracts. Wooden nickles, redeemable for booze at different skull orchards all over America. Guitar picks, broken effects pedals, melted action figures.....stuff that may seem unrelated, puzzling, and ultimately tossable.

I am trying to purge the detritus of my life in an effort to travel lighter. Problem is, I can't get rid of this stuff. I can tell you the exact story of when and where I came across what ever piece of crap that I have shoved into a box and kept for the last 15 or so years. What I can't explain is why I want to keep them.

If these things were all laid out in a line, it would tell the story, in fits and starts, of my life. Or in the least, my 20's. Throwing them away is tough, because that means they are gone forever. A meaningless fart in a landfill.

But toting them around is becoming tedious. Packing and unpacking them is becoming ridiculous. And paying rent on my newly acquired storage unit is downright 'tarded.

But I will do it anyhow. Because these things are a tangible connection to what I perceive to be my identity. Fear can be a total bitch. I am afraid to lose who I am. I will pay rent on a metal shed to shelter this crap. It's the only thing that makes sense in this pre summer freefall.

the end of an era

2006-05-02T19:20:00.000-07:00

I got back in town late last night.

I woke up today and got canned from the Club deVille.

It was a good run, those last 8 years or so.

I will miss working there.

How was your day?

Carson Mcullers can kiss my white ass. My heart is a lonely apologist, or something

2006-04-30T02:29:00.000-07:00

At this point, Richard Galloway cannot handle the fact that I need to do some stuff on my own. You know, without his drunk Walrus ass hangin over my shoulder, making sure that I am not having any more fun than he is having at any given time. But that is a whole 'nother story.....

Let me now 'splain to you what happened in Milwaukee, with the urban prostitutes.....

I will admit that I went back up to the room, where Baldheadedwoman and JM were to ask them for another 30 bucks, while Pussyface waited at the George Webb for our Incredible Bag of Cheeseburgers. My drunken reasoning was: it will be SO FUN to bring these two GHETTO PROSTITUTES back up to the room. Just to throw everyone for a total loop. And to have a story worth telling......I couldn't coax the 30 bux out of anyone, and Daniels looked at me, quite gravely, and said:

'DO NOT BRING THOSE WOMEN UP HERE!'

Which, in my retrospective estimation, was the best idea.

What ended up happening, and you realize, fair reader, that I would NEVER lie to you, as much it would make all of these pathetic stories better......what ended up happening was, I went back down to the GW....Richard had already procured the food...the ladies were asking me wether I wanted a 'suck or a fuck'. I politely decline, due to the fact that I only have a 20, and, clearly, a blowjob was 50.....anyhow, so as not to make them mad, I ask them if they have any weed. They take a second to huddle and confer. A tiny black man, sporting a full-on grill that reads: MONEY, says: "Yeah, nigga, we got some blunts..."

I sat in an astro conversion van and got blunted with two whores, name of Tasty and Cashmere, and a tiny pimp named Sugar.

SUGAR!!!!TASTY!!!!!CASHMERE!!!!

And although I realized they could have killed me without a second thought, I also felt that these were my people. I felt the whole situation was hilarious....and, seriously, so did they. Those are the super powers that you earn when you get that drunk. You really are kind of bulletproof. I mean, what were they gonna take from me? A 20 dollar bill?

We had a good old time bumping Jay-Z and smoking shitty Wisconcin shwag......and even though, as a rule, I don't high-five, there were maudlin hi5's all around. And people try to argue that there isn't a god......

The UCT in Springfield. Illinois is incredible. I am glad we didn't come here first.

Besides our huge and un-earned gaurantee, they put us up in a super room, gave us free well drinks, and let us eat for half off at the 4 star restaurant upstairs.

Let me take a second to extol the virtues of my bartender Terry here....because I know his bitch ass is gonna be reading this any second now. We had a good time with, and I hate to do this, the 'N' word jokes, but he couldn't deal wth Mexican jokes. Like, he wouldn't even listen to my favorite one:

Q: What has six balls and screws Mexicans?
A: The lottery.....

And his shit is from Ecuador!

I told him to enjoy his day off Monday.....and Chepo: you and Dahveed go get some ice cream or something that day. Make Nina drive you.....I'm KIDDING!.....don't get all sore.

But seriously, enjoy your day off, it's the last one you get. Ever.

Whatever....Racist....I'll take it....Homophobic.....I'll take it.....Misogynist....I'll take it........it's only a matter of time until you all realize how FUCKED WE ALL ARE FOREVER AND EVER INFINITY!!!!!!!!

Kansas tomorrow, and another massive hatespeech update........have fun jacking off to gay porn, fucking losers....

john cougar concentration camp, richard gets tased by an indiana state trooper, flying pizza and girls that look like peter griffin

2006-04-28T01:05:00.000-07:00

These are more pictures. Richard and I turned out a dance party in chicago by fearlessly dancing like retards to the gay assed indie rock "dj". I was ass freaking every girl and guy in the upstairs at schuba's because, if you haven't heard, I DON'T GIVE A FUCK! Look at me, and realize that my 30s are NOT going to be kind to me. What do I have to lose? It's not like I am going to get any pussy based on my looks....or my charm. Those days are like, so gone. Plus, my alcohol 'problem' is starting to manifest itself physically via my gut and my raging homicidal paranoia. But anyhow......

In Milwaukee, I found my Valhalla. It is a bar called The Palamino. Evan, the bartender, who should change his name to Odin, hooked me and Pussyface up with shots all night. We played at the Cactus Club, and the crowd, although small, appreciated being held down and earfucked by our incredible cover of Television's 'Marquee Moon'. After the formalities, it was 'Game On'. We went to the Palamino, which, BTW, serves Lone Star, and got Shithammered of the Gods. I vaguely remember rapping along, rather loudly, to the Geto Boys....ruthlessly hitting on a 21 year old nutjob named Chelsea (her myspace screenname is Chelsmosis, add her, bitches) and running a massive Navy SEAL style cockblock on Richard and some woman who claimed to be a nurse moving to Austin. Por ejemplo:

Me: "So, it IS physically possible for you to deliver your own baby? Because you are already a nurse and all.....'
Nurse: "Well, Yeah, I mean, I could......"
Me: "Well then we have something in common..."
Nurse: "What? You delivered a baby before?"
Me: "No. I could GIVE YOU A FUCKING BABY! AAAAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!"

Dateline, Dayton Ohio:
We show up to Canal Street, way late. Will Cope and the Busted Lovers ruled ass. Richard and I got Wolverine drunk. You know, where you don't feel any pain and your wounds heal immediatley. We end up at the Southern Belle, hassling the bartender for free Jaeger until Amy and some locals took pity on us and let us party at her house. The best part was in her bathroom, there was a sign above the toilet that said: IF YOU TAKE A SHIT, PLEASE PUT IT BACK. When I woke up, I didn't know where I was, which was okay. We went and ate at Flying Pizza, bought two new tires and an oil change and poundin pavement to Indy....

Our gas gauge is busted, so we RAN OUT OF FUCKING GAS ON I-70 AGAIN!!!!! With semis whizzing past us at 80 miles an hour, and being unable to get a tow truck because we were too far out of range, Richard and I decided to hump it up the interstate to a gas station. After walking about 4 miles, and fearing for my fucking life, an Indiana state trooper pulls up behind us. He was kind of bowed up until our id's passed the computer check. Nice guy, he gave us a ride to a gas station. on the way he told us about how he likes to chase runners and how, when he is doing it, he likes to fuck with them and say shit like: "you better keep running, because when you stop, I'm gonna beat your ass...."

I am too tired to post anything else that will make sense........

Fuck you Richard. Eat bag after bag of dick.....

Tomorrow, Cincy. I sodomize Loni Anderson in Gordon Jump's office.......

a death in the family, horrible hazing, and more booze than one human should be able to consume. i'm paul harvey, and here is the rest of the story...

2006-04-25T00:56:00.000-07:00

So I buy a phone charger at a gas station. My phone has been dead for a couple of days, and, frankly, I haven't wanted to answer it for any reason whatsoever, because I am Sysiphus, pushing a rock up a hill. I don't want to talk to anyone for any reason.

Anyhow, when it gets juiced, the first message I get is from work, about how I have to cover my shift tonight, even though I am driving through Ed Gein Illinois and I don't really care who has to work 6 to close on a Monday in April. i love that place, but for real, though.....

On the other line is a message from my mother:

"Jakie, this is Mom....Uncle Jody just called. Cousin Ronnie was in a car wreck,...I know you guys are trying to move out, because you got EVICTED and everything....and I know that you are probably on tour....but the FUNERAL is WEDNESDAY..."

What the fuck? RONNIE IS DEAD?

So at first, since it is a total shocker message, I think: 'Jody called, Ronnie was in a car wreck, why the fuck are you calling me?" Then, when I process the bomb, I realize she just told me that THE FUNERAL WAS ON WEDNESDAY. Which I assumed to mean that Ronnie has shuffled off this mortal coil. Wow. So Ronnie is dead.

It is almost a year since Bubba (Tommy Carl), my mom's older brother died of heart failure in Baton Rouge...at a Harley rally, during a Neville Brothers show.....and Ronnie and Jody were with him there.

The other fucked up thing is that when Ronnie's older brother got back from the Vietnam, he also died in a single car accident.

As far as I know, Ronnie and his companion were driving back from downtown Shreveport to Keithville (where they lived next to Mama and Daddy Kirk, my grandparents) and the weather was bed. Somehow, he took an exit off of I-20 and lost control of the car. Neither one of them were wearing seat belts, He died, she is barely alive.....I am here, in Chicago. Unable to go to the funeral.......

If old boy had died in a hunting or fishing accident, or even if he had gotten some kind of lymphoma and slowly wasted away, I think I could accept it better. But a FUCKING ONE CAR WRECK? And they weren't weraing seat belts? That's just not the way I pictured him going out. In my mind, I thought he would live forever.

This is the first guy I killed a deer with. This is a guy who taught me to ride a four wheeler. This is the guy who showed us Roman Candle Wars. The guy who was patient when he taught me how to slalom. The guy that almost killed me and Bridget and Jason when he was pulling us on an innertube behind the Bayliner.....

The more I thought about it all day, the more I realized that every part of my redneck upbringing, every single part of my white trash history, that I hold dearly and proudly, was for the most part, given to me by Ronnie Williams. And he went out in the most undeserving and ignominious way possible. Life is a fucking bitch.

Here is his obituary:

KEITHVILLE, LA - Funeral services for Mr. Ronald E. "Ronnie" Williams, 57, will be held at 10:00 a.m., Wednesday, April 26, 2006 at Rose-Neath's Southside Chapel. Officiating will be Reverend McKee Williams. Interment will follow in Forest Park Cemetery on St. Vincent Avenue.

The family will receive friends at the funeral home, Tuesday, April 25, 2006 from 4:00 p.m. until 8:00 p.m.

Mr. Williams was born March 31, 1949 in Homer, La. He passed away April 22, 2006 in Shreveport, La, as a result of a traffic accident. Mr. Williams was a member of Calvary Baptist Church. He was the owner of Williams Sheet Metal Company in Keithville, La.

He is preceded in death by his father, John Ben Williams; uncle, Robert Kirkpatrick; brother, Kenneth Wayne Williams; grandparents, Mr. and Mrs. R.B. Kirkpatrick.

Mr. Williams is survived by his mother, Sybil K. Lahtela; children, Bridget Williams Hall and husband, Luther L. Hall, Jason Allen Williams, Eric Wayne Williams; step-brother, Ben Ray Lahtela; step- sister, Martha Ann Goins; grandchildren, Daniel Williams, Dakota Loftin, Mark Hall, Blake Williams, Jonathan Hall; uncles, Kenneth Kirkpatrick, Tommie Kirkpatrick; aunt, Dorothea Morris; numerous cousins; special friend, Carolyn Coleman; and a host of other friends.

Pallbearers will be Jerry Wilcoxen, Harvey Wilkinson, Jodi Kirkpatrick, Bart Cotton, Mike Kirkpatrick, Scott Giddens.

Honorary pallbearers will be Johnny Johnson, Donnie Gwin, Keith Brossette, and Glen Miller.

Ronnie will be deeply missed by all his family, friends, and work associates.Rose-Neath Funeral Home

Southside Chapel, 687-1256

Published on April 25, 2006.

I am too drunk to cry anymore, and I am too drunk not to cry.....

Richard won't leave me alone right now, so I will post a better tribute to him tomorrow......

Kiss the ones you love, because it all matters.......

Comfort Inn, Salem Illinois, Richard Plays With AIDSy Fire

2006-04-23T22:09:00.000-07:00

Me with 'Hottest Girl Ever 1'

For all two of you that are messaging me about not posting, there are two reasons for that:

1. We haven't been around a solid interweb connection
2. NOTHING HAS HAPPENED YET!

So relax.

I had this sinking feeling when I was working happy hour Thursday that we were gonna fuck ourselves by starting this effort in Baton Rouge. In a valiant attempt to combat the inevitable, I went out and got shithoused. Sort of a pre-emptive hangover for the soul raping, Perfect Storm-like hangover I knew I would have when I woke up in Baton Rouge on Lee's floor, Saturday evening.

I was right, the drive from Austin was rough, what with my perforated liver trying to crawl out of my body and slither out onto I-10. And the cold sweats and nausea fighting for primacy while I tried to sleep. But my hangover Saturday was manageable. Poison Ivy compared to Friday's Capisi's Sarcoma.

BR was incredible, as per usual. TV on the Radio was playing down the street, but it didn't seem like that impacted our draw any. We had one of those 'fuck it' sets where we played everything and had a good time. Richard and I managed to get drunk before we went on. I know, big surprise.

I met 'Hottest Girl Ever' inside of ten minutes when we started pounding the sauce at Red Star bar. Goddamn. Problem was, I could feel TROUBLE coming off her in waves, and she left with some dude anyhow. Goddammit. TROUBLE.

We procured some warm PBR bottles and went to some girls apartment. She works for Fox down there and told us the greatest single piece of news I have ever heard. THE TYRA BANKS SHOW HAS BEEN CANCELLED! I got this all on video, but somehow Galloway fucked the audio on it up, which I didn't figure out until I tried to edit it down a second ago.....
What this means is that I no longer have to suffer through Chicks with Dicks fashion shows/makeovers, praying for Tyra's ulcerated uterus to fall out, while I wait for Cops to come on when I get off work. Thank you, Baby Jesus.

We ate too much at Chimes the next day, where 'Hottest Girl Ever 2: The Revenge' was a waitress. There is something in the water in south Louisiana. Then we drove to Hattiesburg, Miss.

The Thirsty Hippo was great. Bradley took care of us. Richard opened a tab and I tried to molest it, but it was hard to do that because High Life was only a dollar. It's also incredibly hard to get properly assholed off of just beer. After suffering a bout of MooseJuice withdrawal, we sucked it up and committed to pounding the Banquet Beer around the kitchen table upstairs. They let us sleep above the bar in an apartment.

There was this woman at the bar, how do I put this delicately? Come Dumpster? Aborted Abortion? She was Awful. When we started playing the second set, she slimed up all hammered and asked us if we knew any Junior Kimbrough. Huh? Go away.
She hung around bugging everyone while the bar was closing. I told her to get the fuck away from me a couple of times. Later I saw her playing with richards nipple and saying something about liking 'sweaty ball sacs in her mouth'. She told Richard he could go to her house with her, but he couldn't stay there.

"That's why you should bring a tent on tour...." says the Jizz Jar.
"Why?" Richard asks, confused.
"So you can sleep out in the yard when you are done with me..."

At this point, James and I hid upstairs. Bradley came up and said, "You realize your drummer is talking to a total psychopath, I'll go get rid of her." I had total faith that, even as drunk as Richard was, this troll would scare him sober enough to come upstairs. I was right. Who's a Good Boy? We spent the next ten minutes talking shit about this walking Jack Rag, when we heard someone banging on the metal door at the bottom of the stairs. James and I looked out the window and IT WAS TOTALLY FUCKING HER! We hid quietly until her arm got tired and she DWI'd her way back to her FEMA trailer.

I briefly considered getting all Zepplin on her ass. We coulda brought her upstairs, put all kinds of things in her anus and vagina and taken turns tinkling on her while we videotaped it. She was that drunk, that old, and lacking any semblemce of self-esteem. It would have totally worked.

I think that would have probably changed me. Profoundly. For the worst. I'd like to think that, despite all of the shit I talk, I at least have, deep down inside, a shred of Decency, a sliver of Empathy for people that are more fucked up than I. It would have probably just been depressing.

Plus her pussy would have probably stunk the whole place up, and we had to sleep there.

Tomorrow night is Chicago.......pray for us.

Richard started his own blog. IT'S ON NOW FATBOY!

2006-04-20T20:31:00.000-07:00

In the interest of the hard-hitting journalism that our fans have come to love and expect; Galloway started a blog called JACOB IS GAY. If I can figure out how to link to it over in the side bar, I will. If not, here is the link:

richardsblog

Ladies, if you see that guy in the picture over there.....DO NOT GIVE HIM ANY! ANY OF ANYTHING! THIS IS VERY IMPORTANT!

his herpes has aids and his crabs have syphilis.

Procrasterbation

2006-04-19T23:34:00.000-07:00

It is now Thursday morning. After an attempt to practice at JM's house that turned into a total abortion, I am sitting at deFault, drinking. I know full well that I am not going to wake up and do laundry before I have to work happy hour tomorrow. I also know that I am not going to do laundry when I get home tonight, much less when i get off of work tomorrow.

At this point, my suitcase even seems useless. I'll probably just stuff 12 days worth of dirty clothes into a plastic bag and hope we stay with someone with a W/D hookup. (Lee in Baton Rouge?) They all end up in a plastic bag at the end of a tour anyhow.

Things I should have done this week:

1. Get a PO box.
2. Get a storage unit.
3. Pay Johnson County their fucking blood money for my delinquint probation fees.
4. Drop all of my useless shit off at Goodwill or the Sally.
5. Find a doggy sitter for Duncan.

Things I did this week instead:

1. Get hammered beyond all reason all weekend because I turned 31 on easter Sunday.
2. Sleep alot.
3. Pretend that Arezow Doost secretly has a crush on me.
4. Play guitar.
5. Try and fail to avoid The Nose Funeral.

Fuck it.

10 Days in April

2006-04-18T22:00:00.000-07:00

Hey everybody. This is where you can read about how I hate Richard and seek to emotionally destroy him on this next tour.

Stay tuned.