Archive for November, 2010

11:34 AM – CHAD:
I’m over at Anita HardOne’s (Jacksonville Rollergirls)  place where we spent the night last night and Married to Rock is playing on television while I’m catching up on writing and she’s paying her bills and I just wanted to say something real quick to Perry Ferrell: “I always knew you were full of shit. You didn’t have me fooled for a fucking second and I knew you’d end up involved in something like this before it was all said and done.”

Now that we have that little bit of unpleasantness behind us, I have come to a realization. Over the course of this east coast film journal, I’ve mentioned Chef Boyardee Raviolis (Hop Sing in New Orleans) high school reunions (Woody Woodard in Panama City Beach Florida) and Darrell Maudlin (Santana Moss’ shade-tree tactics in Jacksonville). This is all shaping up just like an article I wrote for Rank and Revue way back in… 2004 or 2005. You can use the context clues in the outdated sports updates to figure the date exactly, but I’ve got pills to do and people to screw:

The Couch Trip
Have you ever come across a clitoris so big; you thought it was a dick? How did this make you feel? Were you scared, or did you like it? I am reminded of what has to be one of the tackiest, most tasteless nights of my life. Ah, who am I kidding? It was just another night out.  Actually, it wasn’t just another night out; this was the night of my high school reunion, bringing Brazoswood High School’s Class of 1991 together to wallow in the mire once again. There were a shitload of us partying Brazoria County style at a river house just outside of Richwood, Texas. The house belonged to Darrell Evans, who is father to Will, of Affordable Sound fame. When I first moved up here to Austin from the coast to go to college, the last thing Mr. Evans told me was to have fun, but to call him if I ever got arrested. Since then, I’ve been arrested over a dozen times, and haven’t called him once.
Anyway, I was absolutely starving, hanging out in the kitchen with Will while he made me a huge pot of Chef Boyardee Ravioli. Over in the living room, the call was sounded. One of Brazoria County’s most beautiful and notorious women had finally had enough, screaming, “Fuck you, you motherfuckers, fuck me!” as she tore off her shirt, threw it across the room, and fell onto the couch in a passed out heap. What followed would have best been viewed in slow motion. Myself, in the kitchen, and Darrell Maudlin, out on the patio, both immediately sprung into action. As the shirt still hung in the air, we were both in a full sprint, me rounding the kitchen counter and Darrell barging in through the sliding glass door. We were on opposite sides of the house, heading to an equidistant point in the middle. As the shirt landed, I hurdled the coffee table and laid out in a swan dive for the spot on the couch next to our fallen angel. I could feel Darrell in the air, sailing towards me. We both crashed onto the same spot on the sofa like two linemen pouncing on a fumble, jockeying for position. I somehow outmaneuvered him and snuggled up next to my date, laughing hysterically in victory. She had passed out in a half laying, half sitting position at the end of the couch. As it was, she was way too drunk to be coaxed into lying out lengthwise, allowing me to lay beside her and thus filling the couch to capacity. “No, no you fucker, I’m not going anywhere.” Darrell announced, spooning up behind me. The siege had begun.
As the rest of our high school friends partied on into one of the best night of their lives, Darrell and I remained on the couch, opting for a high stakes battle of wills. We both knew that sooner or later, in the wee hours of the morning, the house would lay silent, allowing the victor of our deadly game at least a half hour’s pleasure with our quarry, who would be just waking from her stupor by then. To the loser… Nothing. Nothing but the lifelong knowledge of having blown off your high school reunion in some fucked up “One in the hand is better than two in the bush.” type of scenario. Neither of us realized how bad it would get.
Darrel struck the first blow. Having finished slaving over a huge pot of raviolis, Will came into the living room and made a disturbing announcement. Will was in love, you see. He and his fiancé were living together in sin up in Austin, and much of the furniture at the river house had been bequeathed to them, including the couch, which the missus had taken a particular liking to. She didn’t want anyone eating on the couch and Will, in a sickening display of weakness, was upholding the decree. In order to eat my raviolis, I was going to have to get up, relinquishing the upper hand to my opponent. Darrell, on the contrary, was free to come and go as he pleased, so long as I didn’t have enough time to lay out prostrate with my sweetheart. He got up, sat across the coffee table from me, and ate the whole pot right in my face. He kept saying shit like “Mmmm, these are the best fucking raviolis I’ve ever had in my life!” as he licked the sauce off the spoon. Upon finishing, Darrell snuggled back up behind me. Three dominoes, lying toppled over on each other, we looked like a love triangle gone bad. The party raged on around us.
Eventually, Darrell and I fell asleep. As the party dwindled, at about 4 A.M., we both awoke to find that our hostess had pissed her pants. Through the process of osmosis, everything was completely soaked in piss: her clothes, my clothes, Darrell’s clothes and, most importantly, the precious sofa. Shedding layers of clothing and flipping over couch cushions, Darrell and I tried to make ourselves as comfortable as possible. Even our little princess had begun to stir a little, stripping down to her g-string and smiling at us briefly. “Hey baby.” she cooed, right before falling back asleep. She probably thought she was seeing double. I don’t blame her for pissing herself; it had been a long night with lots of drinking. I myself had to piss so severely that I grabbed a Big Gulp cup within arm’s reach on the coffee table and filled it to capacity. There was no way I could surrender now… too much had been sacrificed. Too much had been lost.
About an hour later, violent pounding on the front door awakened all three of us. It was the type of knocking reserved only for police officers and maniacs, neither of whom you want to talk to at five in the morning. Everyone else in the house had finally passed out and the three of us, closest to the door, were default favorites to answer it. Lying on top of me, Darrell knew I wouldn’t be able to get up unless he got up anyway. Victory was mine.
Apparently, a drunken neighbor had shown up at the door, threatening to kick everyone’s asses. My lover and I giggled to one another; stretching out comfortably on the couch while listening to the slurry brow beating Darrell was taking out on the porch. “You sons-a-bishes, making goddamn racket all night, drinking and driving shit all around the goddamn shtreet….” It was a classic case of adding insult to injury. The two of us fell into a deep embrace.
Ok, before I continue, I must address the fact that I’ve taken quite a brow beating over the years for eating homegirl out after she pissed her pants. I have no regrets about this whatsoever, and feel like there is plenty to support my case. First of all, she had already pissed all over me anyway. Secondly, people seem to have the false impression that just because a girl gets up, goes to the restroom, takes off her pants and pisses in a commode, all of a sudden her pussy is as clean enough to eat off of, no pun intended. Most importantly, this girl is fine as all hell… always has been, always will be. She could have SHIT in her fucking pants, and I still would have gone down on her. In the end, we fucked and sweated and came all over the piss-stained couch that Will had tried so hard to protect while Darrell lay helplessly uninvolved on the living room floor. Revenge, indeed, was a dish best served cold.
Looking back on the article to this point, there’s one thing I would like to clear up. Because I opted not to use the lady-in-question’s name, I feel there is an overall tone of objectification taking place when I talk about her. The fact that she was passed out most of the night might also lead one to think she was taken advantage of. It’s important to me to point out that she is a very good friend of mine, one of my favorite women of all time in fact, and we’ve been close for about fifteen years. She was even married to one of my best friends at one point. I didn’t use her name because I never mention women’s names under these situations, not wanting to kiss and tell. Anything that came off as chauvinistic or rude towards women in general or towards this girl specifically was completely unintentional.
Thing is, she has this huge fucking clit. I mean the thing was gigantic… like three or four inches long. I was able to wrap my hand around it and suck it like a fag. When it swole up, I wanted to sit up on it and ride it. It was fucking great. After I got up, she used her clit like a mussel’s foot to dig her way down into the couch cushions.
Now that that little bit of unpleasantness is behind us, I’d like to take a look at the recent developments in the world of football, both high school and college. For starters, the High School Playoffs have begun, ushering in one of my favorite times of the year. Do I like the High School Playoffs? Well, instead of going to Slayer on Friday, I drove down to San Marcos by myself to see the San Marcos Rattlers play the Schertz Clemens Buffaloes in opening round action. On the heels of several red-zone turnovers, San Marcos suffered a disappointing loss in front of the home crowd, bringing an end to a season that had seen them go 9-1 up to that point. Far and away, the highpoint of the game was the Rattler band playing Breadfan. Can you believe it? BREADFAN!! Numerous perennial powerhouses, including Texas City, Denison, Duncanville, Euless Trinity, Grapevine and Sealy saw early exits from the playoffs this weekend. With The Longhorns being off next weekend, I expect to take in two, if not three second round games.
Speaking of The Longhorns, my Uncle Ronnie came up for the Texas Tech game this weekend. Couple of things here. First of all, Texas’ defense looked absolutely shitty against Tech. I don’t give a fuck about the “high powered” offence they’re running in Lubbock these days. Several teams, including Colorado, have managed to keep Tech in check this year and to let the Red Raiders come into Austin and go apeshit like that is truly despicable. Secondly, Mack Brown’s call to bench Vince Young for Chance Mock on the last drive of the game makes him one of three things; a genius, an idiot, or a maniac. Having never heard him called a coaching genius, and seeing him do too much for the program over the years to call him an idiot, I have to assume we have a maniac on our hands. As we speak, Mack Brown has gone completely fucking insane. Oh sure, his call won the game, but what does it say about the way he has handled the quarterback situation all season up until this point? I have no idea. Insane, I tell you! – Chad Holt

1:49 PM – CHAD:
We’re leaving Jacksonville for Gainesville today, but we’re going to stop along the way at St. Augustine Beach and check out the Atlantic Ocean.

2:22 PM – CHAD:
Someone left a butthole on the beach. I don’t think I can take it, because it took so long to bake it. I’ll never have that recipe again…. No, but seriously, I found a butthole on the beach. It was like Macarthur Park, Florida style. Someone must have left it there the night before, and it was reacting to stimuli. Go ahead and watch the clip if you don’t believe me. I also filmed a dead horseshoe crab.

9:00 PM – CHAD:
Gainesville’s shows were fucking awesome. A shitload of Gainesville Roller Rebels were out for Hell on Wheels and the better part of eighty people (mind you that could be anywhere from 41 and above) showed up for Total Badass. Easily one of the best back-to-back audiences we’ve had on either coast. Now granted, most of the people at Total Badass were students of Roger Beebe who teaches film out there at The University of Florida, but we’ll take them.

Chad’s Intro

Q&A for Total Badass

2:17 AM – CHAD:
We ended up crashing at Adrienne Filardo’s house, and I made some great friends over there. I’d like you to meet them:

2:18 AM* – BOB:
*[really, it’s day 18 and I’m at the NYC library again… but if you’ve been reading these blogs with any bit of loyalty and pride, you already know this.]
Yes, what Chad says sounds true.  I’m gonna go with that.  Hanging with Gainesville Roller Rebels’ Stocky and Ragedrienne was fun.  And thanks, Roger Bebee for forcing your students to watch our flick and giving us a nice li’l crowd.  Oh yeah, I just remembered:  I did two different interviews for journalism students.  Weird, but true.  I guess it’s slim pickings, story-wise in G’ville.

11:38 AM – CHAD:
We went with Doss and Shelly to eat oysters and see the beach before we left town for Jacksonville this morning. Here’s some video of Doss (and the beach) for all you back in Austin. He appears to be doing really well out in Florida and says they’ll be in town to visit during SXSW…

(Coming Soon) VIDEO D06-c-dossbeach

12:42 PM* – BOB:
*[It’s really day 18 and I’m sitting in the Mulberry Branch of the NYC Public Library.  Exciting, eh? But, for your reading pleasure, I’ll act like it’s still day 6 and I’m writing this as I’m driving.]
I drove about four and a half hours to Jacksonville.  Here’s proof:

6:45 PM – CHAD:
Ok, so we rolled into Jacksonville on Monday. If you want to know anything about me at all, you have to realize that I’ve spent every Sunday and Monday of the last eight NFL football seasons glued to a television set and a microphone “calling” play-by-play of the games on pirate radio. Along the way, I’ve always played fantasy football and been in betting pools, so I’m constantly abreast of the scores, stats, facts and figures that roll in on game day. Much like my kids, my pets and my job as a career criminal, this was something I had to leave behind in order to go on this trip. Why am I telling you all of this? Two reasons, really. For one, I’m now doing the show with my son on Sunday mornings… the noon games as we call them in the central time zone, but basically the first round of games wherever you live. I want to tell you that this has been the most rewarding thing I have ever done in the entirety of my creative endeavors. Not the most noteworthy, not the most successful, maybe not the coolest, but the most rewarding, personally. It really hurt me deep down inside to leave him in the middle of the season and miss doing a whole bunch of shows with him, but I got him set up with all of the equipment he needs, and he has continued doing the show by himself and I’m very proud of him.

Now, enough of that faggot shit. Let me tell you the real reason I’m bringing all of this up: You’re not going to fucking believe what happened to me in fantasy football this weekend…  I’m playing in the Mucky Duck league against my hated rival, Darrel Maudlin and his Nancy Boys fantasy team… it’s The New Oilers vs. Nancy Boys. I’m not going to get into the way fantasy football works for those of you not familiar, so you will just have to rely on the fact that I’m such a good writer, I could be talking about anything and you will enjoy it. Anyway, my team was riddled with so many bye weeks, I was going to have to drop my kicker, Sebastian Janikowski, who was leading all other kickers in the league by 30 points. The Mucky Duck League, I might add here, is one of those leagues that will give you more than three points for a fucking field goal if it is of a certain distance… you know, the four and five point field goals that make the entire league’s scoring a total fucking joke. Even though I’m complaining, I’ve been reaping the rewards of that with Janikowski this season and have even called him single handedly winning games this year for me on the radio with my kid. I decided I was going to ride out the matchup and see how things went before I dropped Janikowski (who would have been immediately snapped up by the wolves on the waiver wire) because I had the option of picking up the Cowboys kicker during the late Sunday game or the Redskins kicker on Monday night. I figured if the fantasy matchup was a blowout either way, it definitely wasn’t worth losing Janikowski over. Well, worst case scenario happens. I go into Monday night trailing by 19.18 points (yes we use fractional scoring) but I still have LeSean McCoy (eagles running back) and Santana Moss (redskins wide receiver) left to go, not to mention the kicker spot that still remains empty with Janikowski on his bye week. This was just enough of a deficit to warrant dropping the kicker, but I decided to risk it. Right out of the gates, LeSean McCoy gets me a touchdown and a decent amount of yards in the first half to where I’m well on my way, points-wise… He had me about 12.

I do notice, however, that Santana Moss has been practically unheard from and this is no big surprise to me. You see, Santana Moss is on at least one of my fantasy football teams every year. He is the premier wide receiver for the Washington Redskins and is perfectly capable of putting up solid if not huge numbers, but will always come tits up with a shitty game for me when I need him most. You know why? Because Santana Moss knows when I need him to do well for me in fantasy football and he plays shitty on purpose in order to get me back for slavery. You know how you’ll be at an intersection and a black person will be crossing the road in front of you and then they look over and see you’re white so they quite visibly, purposefully slow down even further to punish you for slavery? Well, Santana Moss does that to me in fantasy football every fucking year and I keep picking him up because, even though I don’t want to admit it, I somehow feel guilty about slavery and secretly desire the punishment. Now that I’ve brought up this controversial topic, I’d like to expand on it a little further. It’s widely known that black people can run faster than everybody else and they get all the credit they deserve for this feat but what is often overlooked is that they are also able to move slower than any other human beings on the planet. Black people walking in the mall or out in the middle of the road, especially when they know white people are waiting on them, are able to move at such a slow and undetectable pace, that if like a white person or a mexican tried to walk that slow, they would fall over face first. So yeah, Moss ends up with twenty-eight total yards for the fucking game and those 2.8 points added to McCoy’s 15.4 left me exactly .98 of a point short and I lost to the Nancy Boys. Obviously, either kicker that I could have picked up would have won the game for me with just one PAT. Incidentally, if you’d like to listen along to my son’s radio show, you may do so at noon central time on sundays by going to and clicking on “SPORTS” in the upper left quadrant. You can also listen to Bill Davis and Daniel Timmins do the Sunday and Monday night games the same way, if they get the proper equipment and programs in order and put the show back on the air. Unfortunately, you have a better chance of getting around Santana Moss and his family in the food court that you do of that ever happening.

9:25 PM – BOB:
Tonight, we screened at the 5 Points Theater. We had a pretty big crowd for Hell on Wheels.  About 6 m’f’ers braved the Total Badass experience.

9:30 PM – CHAD:
I’d like to thank everybody who came out to see Total Badass in Jacksonville. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Is that six? Ok, we’re good….

11:00 PM – CHAD:
I’m not sure what went wrong, but Bob and I seem to have missed the Q&A for Total Badass in Jacksonville, Florida. I mean, granted, there were only six people there, but we were at a bar right next door and really shouldn’t have had any trouble getting back in time. As it was, there was just one guy hanging around when I walked into the theatre. Needless to say, he won both of the door prizes. Here is some video of driving in Jacksonville at night, in case you’ve ever wondered:

4:03 AM – BOB:
If I remember correctly (and I’m struggling to recall the details from 11 days later as I sit in an NYC library and write this tour journal entry), we partied well into the night with the Jacksonville Rollergirls.  I hope that is enough detail for you and my struggles were worth the wait.

Film Tour Page:

11:54 AM – BOB:
I woke up in a girl’s room.  Not the good kind of waking up in a girl’s room.  You know the kind: you wake up, disoriented and dry-mouthed, wonder where you are and who the sexy gal next to you is. It wasn’t that kind of wake up in a girl’s room kinda morning.  This was the “there is a pile of diapers next to my face” and the “this room is a fucking baby’s room” kind of wake up in a girl’s room kinda morning. The little girl in question wasn’t home.  Her mother, and our hostess for the night, is in some sort of bitter divorce and decided that bringing home two sexy Texans was the perfect way to gain the upper hand in said divorce.  So, out of the kindness of her heart, she let us crash at her pad.

The next morn I went to piss and, upon exiting the bathroom, I was assailed by paparazzo. Our hostess thrust a vid cam in my face asking me to testify that I had not had sex with her.  I scratched my balls, sniffed my fingers and confirmed that we had not.  Glad that’s officially on the record.  We did have to sneak out when no neighbors were watching, so maybe she had second thoughts about the whole ordeal.

1:30 PM – CHAD:
So, we headed out of Mobile today and took off for Panama City Beach for a layover on the way to Jacksonville. I can’t emphasize how much fun we had in Mobile last night, so I have put together a little video montage for you here that I feel captures all of the sights, sounds and excitement of the city:

Seriously though, we had a great fucking time in Mobile… definitely one of the all time great nights of either tour.

7:45 PM – CHAD:
Well, my buddy Woody Woodard from Brazoria County had his 20 year high school reunion back in Texas this weekend, so by the time we got to Panama City Beach, he was worn out from that and had to work in the morning, having just flown in. We didn’t get to party with him, but I’ll catch you next time, Wood. We did, however, get to hook-up with Austin expatriate, David Doss, who has moved back out to Florida. We went to a couple of local bars and pretty much called it an early night.

10:35 PM – CHAD:
When I woke up this morning, it occurred to me that Bodger, the dog, is a living example of what I’ve been doing with my life for the last 20 years. I opted not to hang myself in light of this. Or him, for that matter…

Also, here is a look at the ghost house…

Additionally, here is a peek at some of the wildlife native to the region:

Drive to Mobile

6:33 PM – CHAD:
So, we split from New Orleans and are now in Mobile, Alabama where we began the evening with a rollergirl pre-party at Veet’s, which struck me as a nice place to watch football games if you’re ever in Mobile, and then all of the girls skated down to the Crescent Theatre for Hell on Wheels. The procession can be seen here:

Mobile CAKE!

10:45 PM – CHAD:
We really had a great time with Max, the theatre owner and Will, the projectionist. Here they are early on in the night giving us the lowdown on The Crescent Theatre. Things got so much worse as the night went on, I assure you:

Thanks, Max and Will for Keeping Indie Film Alive in Mobile, AL!

11:30 PM – CHAD:
Well, I told you things got much worse, right? First, we left the theatre in the back of a truck with Max, the theatre owner and Will, the projectionist so as to go to their houses to look at art and presumably get all fucked up if they were, indeed, the getting fucked up type. Here’s some footage of Mobile from the back of a pickup for those of you who’ve never seen it that way. Like there’s any other way to see it… (I also threw in a clip of Max’s place.)

Mobile Truck Ride

Max  – Art:

(Coming Soon) VIDEO d04-c-maxhouse

12:08 AM – CHAD:
I’m not sure what went wrong, but Bob and I seem to have missed the Q and A for Hell on Wheels in Mobile, Alabama. Actually, I’m understating just how bad things went. The movie just flat out quit playing with about 25 minutes left in it. That probably would have been easy to fix but Max, the theatre owner and Will, the projectionist, were with us at some bar on the other side of town all fucked up on weed and pills, so there was nobody there to handle the problem. Max got a phone call from the ticket agent and we all had to hop in the truck in a mad dash to go back and try to fix things. Is said mad dash on film? You bet it is. Highlights include:  Dragging along a girl from the bar we were at, black people telling me not to film them because they feared it would capture their souls, Will the projectionist bailing in a traffic jam to run the rest of the way to the theatre, this old-ass fucked up rugby player (there was a rugby tournament in Mobile that weekend) named Gene hopping in the back of the truck and partying with us for the rest of the night, Max the theatre owner just getting out of the truck in the middle of an intersection like it’s the normal way to do shit (he was driving) and pissed off rollerderby girls filing out of the theatre upon our arrival…

The second video listed above shows Bob on damage control trying to soothe the masses after his movie went to shit, and then closes with a wonderful example of how we do shit on the road, as far as finding places to stay is concerned.

Mobile Tunnel

12:09 AM* –  BOB:
*(but really, I’m writing this from the distant future (Day 15), but faking like it’s still Day 4)
Yeah, that sounds right.  That sounds about right.

Mobile – TBC’d

Tour Page:

NOTE: This entry could be is considered (NC 17). More importantly, the lovely ladies referenced in this entry are in NO way associated with the sexually explicit content.

10:30 AM – CHAD:
Let’s go ahead and start this day out the way all days should be started on a road trip:

7:08 PM – CHAD:
Despite the wonderful review we received from New Orleans’ The Gambit, the number of people who showed up for Total Badass was barely enough to fill an egg carton. However, in that baker’s dozen, we had much quality. Austin expatriates Sarah Odem, Jimmy Bradshaw and Champ Superstar were there along with friends. Far and away the biggest surprise of any of our tour stops so far was when Brazoswood’s own Jeff Collard pulled in from Mississippi. I know it sounds improbable, but here’s proof:

9:48 PM – CHAD:
I’m not sure what went wrong, but Bob and I seem to have missed the Q and A for Total Badass in New Orleans. One minute we were at a calendar signing party with a bunch of roller derby girls on the other side of town and then the next, we were all fucked up drunk on pills trying to drive our way back to the theatre from memory. Shit didn’t work out… We did, however, get to stay in a haunted house where the lady who used to live there hung herself and her dog sometime around the turn of the century. I imagine my sister, Ashley, will get a big kick out of that. (Not as an enthusiast of the paranormal, but as a dog lover.)

9:55 PM* – BOB:
*(from the distant future (Day 12), but faking like it’s still Day 3)

The party. Right! I ran into a pal that I’d originally gotten to know while working on a TV show in New Orleans a few years back. Neither of us lived there. She hailed from Massachusetts and I HQed in Austin. But we were both in NOLA working on this show called “How’s Your News” and it was a fucking blast. The show basically had us running around with a gang of man-on-the-street-reporting adults with disabilities. These disabilities ran from mental retardation and Down Syndrome to cerebral palsy and Williams Syndrome (a.k.a. Cocktail Party Syndrome). And filming that show was some of the most fun and funniest shit I’d ever witnessed. At night when the reporters slept, the crew and the reporter-wranglers partied our asses off. In New Orleans. Booze. Strip clubs. You know. The usual.

Among the things I’ve learned in life, I discovered that when a lesbian says she “fucked” a gal, she could mean that she finger-fucked said gal. I know, I don’t get it either. That’s fucked up. Some of our other definitions of sex and related terminology didn’t jibe much better. Like a girl-girl-guy “threesome” that is just a bunch of finger fuckin, isn’t really a threesome in my book. It’s a lez-out with a dude nearby. Maybe our differences are because she’s a Yankee.

Anyway, Sarah P, it was great to see you! I hope you enjoy NOLA and kick ass as a Big Easy Roller Girl.