Friday, January 11, 2013


I was writing this tour blog for Noise Creep, but they gave up for some reason, and then I did too, so here's the rest of what I felt like writing. Next time I'm sticking to Blackhaven. It will be more consistent and free from creative stifling. Fuck the suits.
"History will be kind to me for I intend to write it." - Winston Churchill
I had to get a new iPhone, the 5. My last one fell out of my hand from the balcony at the Spanish Moon in Baton Rouge and smashed tremendously on the bar below. What happened was I was watching The Sword rizzip shit up and wanted to capture the moment. I had my arm extended out in the air from the balcony so I could take the best shot possible. Suddenly, some drunk chick grabs me and throws her body into mine.
"You're in The Swwwooorrdd!!" she screams with some abominable accent somewhere between Cajun and Valley Girl. "I looooove youuuu!!"
"Uhhh, right," I yell back at her. "Beat it."
"You have a phoooone! Let's take some pictures and shit!"
She presses into me so hard that her titty pops out and gets stuck in my mouth. She then reaches to pry the phone out of my hand, almost pushing me over the banister. I try to yell, "I said 'fuck off',"but all that comes out were the muffled grumbles of a desperate dude with a mouth full of crud.
"That tickles!! I love moostaches!"
I'm bracing myself from the precipice with one arm while this cretin is fumbling for my phone, trying to rip it from my floundering grasp. So while I got one hand holding both of our weight up on the railing, a titty jiggling in my teeth, and another arm trying to pull my phone away from Crystal Meth over here, I make one fateful attempt to push her off with a thrust from my shaky left leg. I force myself at her as hard as I can like an olympian trying to shotput an old donkey and I lose focus. My phone goes flying from our hands and crashes onto a bunch of liquor bottles below. I look at the girl with a glare of shock and disgust.
"Where'd it go?", she exclaims.   "This is boring."
It happened so fast I couldn't believe that it did. I later recovered my phone, but it looked like it was run over by an electronic cart driven by the people of Walmart. So now I have a new one.
After 30 straight hours of driving from Louisiana to Hollywood we eventually played at the Metal Blade 30th anniversary party at the House of Blues. That was a pretty wild night. We hung out with Luke Perry and he ensured that I can make it as a heart throb if I fix my face and get some talent. So I got that going for me. Metallica were there except for Kirk. They begged for me to take his place permanently but I was like, hmmmm, nah. I'm a loyal bandmate and the only thing that could draw me away from Gypsyhawk would have to have something to do with outer space and three tittied bitches. 
We then drove 22 straight hours to Tulsa. The part of town we were in looked like it had been quarantined for the last 20 years after a plague and some young rich jerk decided to start putting money into a few mass graves to see what would sprout. The name of the venue was Eclipse and it was cool. They let us set up our gear and play some songs and shit. I spent most of the time across the street at another bar having $5 whiskey and beers and flirted with the smoking hot bartender. My flirting style pretty much involves just telling chicks that I'm in a band and that my mom thinks I'm cool. What else are you supposed to talk to a girl about? Their tits? I've tried. It's a good way to sniff out the slutes but most babes kick you in the dick.
Next night was in Kansas City. Go to Oklahoma Joe's if you like BBQ. Best pulled pork I've ever enjoyed. Make a sandwich with it and the brisket and spicy slaw on Texas toast and you got yourself a makeshift orgasm feeder. The show was epic. Sold out plus a hundred more. Lots of drunk slutes and one dude looked exactly like The Dude. We played "Red Wedding" for the first time this tour, which is wreckless when you haven't played a song in over a month. But as usual all it takes is some liquid courage and the willingness to let go and hold on tight and you can play anything. However, with a belly full of barbequed animal and foamy beer you run the risk of shitting your pants so it's important not to let go too much.
I forgot to mention: In Eagle Claw's wake we've procured American Sharks. Haven't had too much time to really bro down but I can already tell that they are brave and true, and know how to party. In other words, I like them. And their band kicks ass too so go check 'em out.
Remember all that shit I said about civilians in the green room, and civilians at the front of the stage, and civilians from Mars? Well, it turns out we are the civilians on stage. How could this be possible? I guess it is some sort of aspbergers related condition we all share, not capable of picking up certain social signals. Long story short, we have to shit in the van now.  So if you're a broad who wants to come drink whiskey with us, watch your step. Our van is the dookey soaked green room of choice now.
Denver was tight. Sold out show again, obviously not because of us. Some tweeker tried to break into our van so Ian asked him very politely if he could leave. The guy responded by asking for a free ticket to the show. What is this, Bakersfield? Get the fuck out of here.
"Did I do that?" - Steve Urkel
Let's try another haiku.
Salt Lake City blues.                               
Three bottles of whiskey down
Not Ian on couch
I can't believe we drank that much, but we did. We got our usual bottle of Jameson, and Ian and I supplemented it with a bottle of Jack to start, then I bought a bottle of Jim for the party we intended to crash, and crash we did. But who doesn't like a campus hero that brings a bottle of booze right when the beer is running out? I'm not sure who's house it was but they were really good folk. Probably Mormon.
Certainly had our best ever Boise show, it being the third in our short and illustrious career.  The high light of the night was definitely Ron getting food poisoning from some Chinese food. I've never had food poisoning but these guys seem to get it all the time. It seems completely horrific, with all the puking, pants shitting, and screaming. I've eaten a lot of shady Los Angeles taco joints and have never gotten close to getting sick. These dudes must just be consistently upsetting the metal gods. 
Played a super show in Portland the next night. Another sold out one.  There we these two little kids right up front staring at us like we were asking for their lunch money in German. Turns out they were just at their first rock concert. Hopefully they'll remember us when they're interviewed by blogs later in life about their first show. Also, some 50 year old school marm said she's putting us on her "wall of fame" in her classroom alongside Mastodon and The Sword. Later we partied until the sun came up at my friend's house.
The next night? Sold out in Seattle. We smoked heroin where Kurt Cobain used to smoke heroin.  There's a rumor that the drummer from Alice in Chains was there.  We had a green room again.  I didn't really spend any time in there. It was soooo packed that I couldn't get around. The Sword is good at selling tickets. We're good at selling drugs, but we don't have any for sale on tour so don't ask. But feel free to hand yours over to us. We'll take pretty much whatever you got, except bath salts.  My friend damn near chewed out his left eyeball when he tried it.  

Well, that's it. The rest of the tour ruled too much. We will miss The Sword, Eagle Claw, and American Sharks tremendously. See you all later.