I found another

[The Bear Jew]

[i]OK, I said I'd keep posting these until you guys told me you were tired of seeing them. This is from a tour my hardcore/metal band did in the summer of 2000[/i] Some names have been changed to keep me from getting sued or because I never included them in the first place. All the events (fortunately or unfortunately) are real. Have fun. ************************************************** [b]Day 1:[/b] Baltimore is always fun. We're playing at The Brass Monkey. As the name implies, there are stupid brass monkeys all over the place in there. It's only about seven blocks from the biggest tourist area in this town, and yet this place is in total hell. A crackhead just tried to sell us a trashbag full of frozen chicken parts. What the fuck? What a fucking dump. Looks like we're going to The Zeus Diner for dinner. I hope nobody tries to break into our van tonight. I really hope that crackhead hasn't sold chicken to The Zeus Diner in the past. I don't wanna think about that. That would make the rest of the tour REALLY suck in a lot of ways. LATER: Timmy didn't eat anything at the diner. He just drank a soda. Apparently his mom cooked him about two pounds of bacon before we left this evening. Two fucking pounds? This kid should be shitting his brains out. No wonder he has ulcers and shit at the age of 22. OK, these bands are terrible. They all sound like fucking Creed. UGH. I know we're gonna scare them. Fuck "em. That's what they get for sucking so bad. They suck so badly that I'm sitting outside in the heat rather than going inside where it's air-conditioned. I'd rather be hot and sweaty than hear that crap. Hammer Bob's (bass) drunk off his ass already. I have a feeling he's gonna slap someone or get slapped before the end of the night. He loves touring. Timmy (roadie) and Drew (drums) are playing video black jack at the bar, and Bill (vocals) wants to take a nap in the van as I write this. Great. He just farted. I'm outta here. LATER: One of the bands was cool. They're called 3db, which is a horrible band name, but the guys are cool. They say we can crash at their place. Seems they co-own a recording studio, too. Nice. Good for them. The guitarist has WAYY too many effects for his own good, but he's a super nice guy. I won't even read him the riot act for doing a little bit of an Eddie Vedder thing with his voice. Looks like it's time to get ready to play now. Damn. These people are NOT ready for this. Hahhahahahaha. MUCH FUCKING LATER: We're at the 3db house in some kind of mountain are near Baltimore. We fucking rule The Brass Monkey. Dump or not, we fucking ruled it. There were not a lot of people in there (maybe 30 or so), but they were all slack-jawed watching us. I think they were scared to leave. Also, I think Hammer Bob was kind of blocking the door. HAHA. Who's gonna try to pass a 6'8” red-headed Yeti playing a bass and thrashing around like he's got an electric eel in his ass? Oh this is great… the bar owner (an old Greek guy named Kip(?) tried to avoid paying us and tried to punch Chris from 3db when he stepped up and demanded he pay the bands. Hammer Bob stepped in front of Chris, blocked the punch and told Kip to “calm the fuck down before I fuckin' send you home with a rupture.” We got paid. I'm not sure, but I think Chris is now Bob's bitch. I'm gonna sleep in a different room if I can. Timmy braided my beard. Maybe he's MY bitch? Cool. I always wanted a blue-haired young man to do my bidding. I'm now known as “The Fun Police” because I made Bill quit fucking around and load gear. Tough shit, ya little douchebag. Carry some shit or we'll leave you here. We're watching "Cruel Intentions” on cable as we crash on the couches here… this is kinda nice. [b]Day 2:[/b] 3db's place doesn't look as nice in the daylight, but it was free and air-conditioned, so who are we to complain? Am I right? Bob's driving. The back seat is cramped – it's me, Drew and Timmy back here, Bob & Bill up front. Tight squeeze. Timmy wants to see what I wrote last night. Um… he says he's my bitch. That's doesn't sound as cool in the daytime as it did last night, and if he's sitting on the floor, I definitely don't need to be hearing this. We're headed for Greenville, NC. LATER: Stuckey's rules. Timmy has the video camera, and I'm now the official spokesperson for the tour. Timmy points the camera at me, and I start talking about whatever's around me. At Stuckey's, this means I talk about pecan logs and rednecks. The women who cooked our food didn't wanna be on camera. Timmy got them anyway. I bought a “Jesus Loves Me” shirt for my buddy Kevin. $5. You can't miss at this price. I just added “…but he's not IN love with me” to the shirt. The value of this shirt has just skyrocketed. Bless us all, I'm going to hell. It's so fucking hot. LATER: Greenville is scary. It's totally empty… East Carolina University is the reason this place exists, and since it's July now, there's nobody in town except for some spooky locals and a few leftover loser students. The bar is called “The Corner,” but it's not on the corner… It's next to the corner. There's a skate shop on the corner. You know you're in a college bar when they don't bother to create ambiance at all – this place is just a big-ass cement room with a few neon signs and a little stage. Time to load in. LATER: Rick, the soundman here, totally nailed me. When we loaded in, he asked what kind of band we are, and I told him “Rock,” because that's the easiest way to describe us. He says, “That's cool. But you guys are playing country tonight, right? I'm getting ready to set up the chicken wire in a minute.” I almost believed him, but then we both said it at the same time, “We usually only have both kinds of music here – country AND western.” He's a good egg, this Rick fella. We actually got a sound check. WHOA. What's that? A soundman who wants the band to sound like something other than total crap? What planet is this? We set up and checked with our favorite old Monster Magnet song, “Snakedance.” Rick's jaw dropped. I love that. I'm sure he wasn't expecting Bill to sound the way he does. Nobody ever does. Everyone looks at this little Asian kid and figures he's gonna sound like a wuss, but he actually sounds like a 300lb biker slob. That rocks. OOOO…. The bartender is a hot girl. Time to get a glass of water. LATER: Abbey is the bartender's name. Hi Abbey. You're cute. Can I come to your house and give you some lovin', hit you in the head with a shovel and bury you on the turnpike so my wife never finds out about you? No? OK, how about another glass of water? How can it be so fucking hot in here? Oh, I know why. The air-conditioning is broken. FUCK. The humidity must be almost 100%, but it's not raining. It's so hot in here… and yet it's even hotter outside because at least there's a fan on in here. I have to take a shit, but I'm going to wait until later, after we leave. The bathrooms here have no doors, and the toilets have no seats. There is no toilet paper. Fuckin' college bars. This is my punishment for defacing the "Jesus Loves Me' t-shirt, isn't it? Time to play now. LATER: It's fucking hot. I almost passed out onstage. Bob and I started wearing these black cowboy hats onstage for shits and grins… now his is ruined from sweat and getting stepped on. He started out looking like Marshall Dillon, but now he looks like Gabby Hayes. Loser. Mine usually doesn't last more than a song or two before it flies off of my head. He keeps putting his back on. I just looked at the videotape Timmy shot… Looks great. These fucking yokels had no idea what to expect. The other bands never showed tonight, so it was CMDN all night. Yep, we dragged out the extra Kiss set for these fuckers, and when we were done with that, we pulled out the Argent and AC/DC. After that, some Sabbath. Of course, someone yelled for Skynyrd, so we hit "em with “Mr. Saturday Night Special.” I thought some bottles were gonna fly when I jumped on the bar and put my guitar behind my back during the solo. Stupid trick. I almost fell into some girl and got my ass kicked. Saw it on video, though, and I look good doing it. Fuck it. It's not art unless you suffer for it. All told, we played for 4 hours and got paid $200. Right now, I'm sitting in a Motel 6 room, watching cable and eating take-out Waffle House. I just took a shower. God loves me, but he's not IN love with me. [b]DAY 3[/b] I hate cotton fields. Drew keeps saying that he feels like picking for some reason. I told him that's because it's in his blood. Screw being PC, that's funny shit. It's raining. We used Febreeze on all of our clothes last night, and now we all have no smell at all. Timmy says we smell funny lookin'. I have no idea what this means. LATER: Day's Inn in Richmond. Holy crap, there are a lot of crackheads staying in this place. We don't play until 11pm tonight, so we have nothing to do but watch TV and sleep. Drew wants a tattoo. If we can move in an hour, I'll take him. Oh this is nice. Timmy just invited the cleaning woman into our room. Her name is Malaika. She's a 17-year old black girl. She just asked Timmy if he was gay. He says he's not. She just asked him if he's SURE he's not gay. This could be good. Now she wants to know if Bill does nails. I think she's scared of me, cause she won't look at me. Just as well – I'm definitely not gay, and I know how to prove it. She must be nuts coming into this room with the five of us… most sane women wouldn't dare. Maybe I should be scared of her. LATER: Drew is so lucky I was bored of listening to Malaika verbally abuse Bill and Timmy. She's been in our room for 4 hours. I just lent Drew $50 so he could get a free-form tribal piece on his shoulder. I had to get out of there. Chip at Mystickal Tattoos was totally clientless, so he just improvised this thing on Drew's shoulder for $200. Nice. Time for barbeque. LATER: We just played Sweetwater's, which is right next to The Hole In The Wall. There was no show at The Hole, so we got a gig next door. Nice. The police showed. YAY. They don't like it when our smoke machine sets off the fire alarms. The boys got free Pabst Blue Ribbon all night. Some bald douchebag thought I was hitting on his girl. Please. She came over and started talking to ME. Maybe if he wasn't such a steroid-guzzling asshole, she wouldn't want to talk to another man. Bob once again decided to regulate the situation. Somehow the bald asswipe decided to stop pursuing the issue of his girlfriend's fidelity when Bob got in his face and offered to “rectify” the situation. Man, I love it when I don't have to get my hands dirty. I'm so dainty, you know. Looks like Drew's got a six-pack of Pabst for the motel room. Bill's talking to a hooker. Please don't invite her to our motel room. Timmy just found a great sticker for his toolbox. We made $50. Man, I love touring. [b]DAY 4[/b] Bill is driving. God save us all. LATER: New York City. Finally… a city with buildings taller than three stories. And Jews. And Asians. And other, different-looking people. It's SO fucking hot. I smell so bad. “Timmy's not likin' this.” Timmy is now required to speak only in the third person for the next four hours because he didn't put new strings on my guitar last night before the show when I asked him, and I broke one. Oh, he's a sassy boy. I just upped the ante. He has to speak like a flaming gay version of The Kingfish now. Best line so far, “De Timmy sho' do feel like suckin' a dick right about now. De Timmy loves de smell of a man, mmm mmm.” I don't think I'll enforce the four-hour rule. It's getting a little too much for me already. LATER: Don Hill's. Fuckin' A. Our man, Rick, from Greenville was so impressed when we told him we were headed for NYC two days after we played his bar. “Neeeew York Citay? Sheeit!” he said. The sound guy here is a funny character… he looks like a burly steelworker, but he sounds like an interior decorator – very swishy and lispy. He's hilarious. What a pro. He got our soundcheck done in about 5 minutes, and it sounded better than we could have dreamed. Ah… professionals who work quickly. I love the big cities. Sure, the food is expensive and there's nowhere to park, but at least we sound good. OOOOH shit. The cocktail (hee hee) waitress here is unreal. She's wearing tiny cut off shorts, combat boots and a wife-beater tank top. She's very obviously pierced both of her nipples with large-gauge rings. You can see them through her wife-beater, because she's not wearing a bra. Timmy is in love. I think he's gonna go ask her about her piercings. He can actually do this because he has about a zillion of his own, including about five in his dick. I wonder if he's gonna show her… She doesn't look interested. HAHA… Timmy has been foiled by a Soho bitch with attitude. That'll teach him. I'm just gonna stare at her and make her uncomfortable. HAHAH. Yes, bring me a drink –Evian, please. I bet she wants to be a model. News flash, honey – you're short. You may be able to work in porn, but never regular modeling. Ooooh. My friends are here. Damn… Karla and Jodi brought a LOT of hot girls tonight. Um… note to self… destroy this document before Lisa sees it. LATER: The first band was forgettable. I can't even remember their name, but someone forgot to tell them it's not 1979. The Clash called… they want their first two albums back. Ick. Go away, please, but you can leave that black Les Paul right here, thank you. We played our asses off tonight. Thank God… "cause I know we're tired, and it's fucking hot outside. We told Sam (the butch soundguy) to leave the stage lights totally off so we could run our own lights… I think that gave us an edge. The joint kinda filled out while we played, and the bad guy from “Titanic” (Billy Zane) was there with a PIECE OF ASS model type. He was drinking Red Stripe beers and screaming at us for our whole set. I love it. The bad guy from “Titanic” likes us. He spilled beer on my boots, though, and I think I stepped on his fingers. Whatever. That's what he gets for having a movie career and a hot model girlfriend. Sore fingers. I feel better. Oohhh… it's “metal night” here… so I see they're playing “Kiss Meets The Phantom Of The Park” on the TV screens. I'm SO watching that with my buddy Gail. She has pink hair, and she smelled my armpit when she walked in tonight. She says it only smells like we've been out for about three days. Hmmm… she's smart. OK. Time to watch Paul Stanley “act.” LATER: Oh shit. I started watching the movie, but the band onstage got my attention. They sound like a cross between Jane's Addiction and Led Zeppelin, but the singer is a blond woman with an annoying, operatic voice. Never mind what she sounds like… she just popped out her tits… Timmy's videotaping… HAHAHA. They're called Daddy. The music is nothing special, but I'll be damned if she doesn't have her tits out. HAHAHA. Hey, I guess you do whatever it takes to keep the crowd. Hmmm… maybe Bill should whip his pecker out. Wait, he's Asian… that wouldn't be noticeable. Oooh. That was out of line. He's not even here to defend himself. Karla is drunk. Gail is drunk. I am sober. This is bad. LATER: Steve (the promoter just gave me $100). Steve rules. We're packed and ready to head north. Bob is drunk again. Drew is buzzed. Bill is high. Timmy is videotaping while a homeless man is doing a Rodney Dangerfield impression. I'm typing… It's raining. We have to leave. I love New York. [b]DAY 5:[/b] Last night's drive sucked. We almost got lost. Bob fell asleep in the loft, and spent most of the drive kicking Bill and Timmy in the head. He has size 15 feet. He's got feet like barges. Drew got confused, and we almost wound up spending the night in The Bronx. Not me, baby. Somehow, we found our way onto I-95, and headed north. We stayed at a Red Roof in Northern Connecticut. That was fun. I got the night manager to give us a cut rate for our 8-hour stay -- $30!!! Hey, fuck you. I saved us $20. That paid for breakfast. Right now, we're eating breakfast at Denny's. It's still raining. LATER: OK. It's not raining. We're in Boston. It's fucking hot. These people can't drive. ACK. I'm gonna have a heart attack. Now we're lost in the Fenway area. There's Fenway park. Again. The club is around here somewhere. Timmy is staring at women walking around on the street. We need to get him a woman… LATER: Took us two hours, but we found it. We've been here before. The Linwood is attached to a great barbecue place, and our buddy Steve works there. Bobby, the bartender here got us free barbeque. Pulled pork sandwiches, please. Oh man, that's good shit. There are a lot of hot women in Boston. Time to call the ol' lady to reinforce my will. LATER: Wow. The bands around here have the worst names. Every Second? Last Step? Holy crap. These are horrible band names. Everyone sounds like Mayor Quimby from “The Simpsons.” Time to play. LATER: HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA. That's what ya get, Boston. Suck it. Yeah, you like that, don't ya? HAHAHAHAH. The stage is a mess. We just tore shit up. We'd finish a song, and there was dead silence for a minute before we'd hear huge applause and people screaming shit like, “Holy SHIT!!” HAHAHAH. Bill was rolling around on the floor like a crocodile in a death roll, and Bob threw his bass at me for fun. It hit the stage and I tackled him. I think we've been cooped up in the van for too long. These people think we're nuts. Oooooh… this woman wants an autograph. HAHAH. Where? Oh… on the CD. Dammit. LATER: Our boy Steve is taking us to a party somewhere around here. This should be cool. Rock stars like us love to party, right? We made $100. The world is our oyster. [b]DAY 6:[/b] Ooooh. That was more than we needed. The boys are asleep. We're at Steve's. It's 6am. We haven't slept yet. The party was crazy. (Band name deleted) and (Band name deleted) were there. They were in a little bedroom in this big-ass loft apartment, doing massive amounts of coke with some of the hottest women I've ever seen. The party's hostess, Ingrid, was a gorgeous black woman with about 45% of her body covered with tattoos. Ingrid kept giving me ridiculous mixed drinks, but I kept handing them to Bob and Drew. They were both blotto. Someone was giving Bill a joint about every five minutes. Ingrid kept grabbing my arm to make a point to me. Every time she did that, she popped yet another button on her top. Eventually, she took it off and walked around in her tank top and a pair of men's boxers. God damn. Timmy has this on video, as well as Ingrid falling down a set of spiral stairs into my arms. I think I might have saved her life on that one. She also slugged me in the arm because I grabbed her ass during this process. Sorry. I coulda let you die, but instead, I grabbed your ass. Timmy also walked into the “coke” room with the video camera. I think he has just enough tape of (band name deleted) doing coke to get them kicked off MTV for a long time. HAHAHAHA. I love being a rock star. Going to sleep now. LATER: OK, Steve's roommate is a bitch. She sees us asleep here, and starts screaming at Steve… “You asshole! Who the fuck are these people? You can't just bring people back here without asking!” Right… like she would have appreciated being asked if he could have five overnight guests at 6am. C'mon, lady. Just go to work and let us sleep. LATER: Woke the boys a half hour ago. We have one more show before we go home. Gotta get there, though. It's in Wilkes-Barre. Seven hours. Hey ho, let's go. LATER: Yowza. Isn't this fun? Gonna be in Wilkes-Barre in about an hour. Just called Kevin and told him I got him a present. He says the place is already packed. I love Wilkes-Barre. MUCH LATER: We're in Kevin's apartment now. He loved the Jesus shirt. Knew he would. The show was nuts. Between us and Bedford, there were more than 250 kids at The Metro. We have no more t-shirts left. Timmy has about 20 minutes of girls flashing their boobs on video. Someone wrote “CMDN ROOLZ” in the dirt on the back of our van. HAHA. We ROOL. The show? Forget about it. I can't even remember. I know my hand is bleeding and I haven't shaved in a week and my balls smell like the monkey house at the zoo. The take tonight was about $375. We made a profit on this tour. Tomorrow we go home. ************************************************* Thanks for reading. Posting these is like therapy.

[Tedster]

Eric...you've turned into Chip McDonald! HAHAHAHA...that's great...didn't get time to read the whole thing. Quite an experience. Let us know if you see Rod Serling standing in the corner smoking a cigarette...

[Sylver]

Can I come along on the next tour? I can play guitar, bass, run sound, carry stuff, etc, etc.

[The Bear Jew]

Tedster... Not fair. Chip's not even here to defend himself on that one. Jack... Aiight. You can come along on the next tour, but you have to talk like Yoda for at least three hours a day. That's how we haze our new roadies.

[Sylver]

[quote]Originally posted by CMDN: [b]Tedster... Not fair. Chip's not even here to defend himself on that one. Jack... Aiight. You can come along on the next tour, but you have to talk like Yoda for at least three hours a day. That's how we haze our new roadies.[/b][/quote]Lol ... Talk like yoda I can. A jedi you will be, young paduwan.