Tag Archive: ReRun Gastropub Theater


11:44 PM – BOB

I drove in from Long Island and met up with Chad and Rafael in Brooklyn. Rafael has a roommate and a guest.  Both of whom seem like fine folks.  There’s also a dog that is 183 in dog years and wears a diaper.

Getting back in the tour groove took a bit of effort. Needless to say, I was late to The Tank.  As I did with all the venues, I shipped DVDs so that if I’m late or in jail, they can screen the film without me.  For some reason, The Tank couldn’t find the disks.  Adding insult to my tardiness was the fact that I didn’t realize that I’d have to drive through the Theater District to get to the joint.

Running Late to the Tank

In the long run, it all went down just fine. There was a little group for Hell on Wheels and about twice as many for Total Badass.  The crowds were into the flicks and we got a great response. This is our final NYC screening and we’ve been having a blast here.  It was just plain cool to see the killer reviews we got in the NY Times and the Village Voice, but it didn’t seem to translate into noticeably larger audiences.  Last Friday at reRun was probably our biggest draw.  It was a pretty full house, but not a sell-out.  And the cinema is tiny.  I think it holds 80.   I guess I figured that a great review in the Times would get some asses in seats.  Hell, maybe it did. Maybe there would have only been 8 people there without the Times write up.

Tank Basement

2:50 AM – CHAD
So tonight we screened Total Badass in Manhattan at a place called The Tank. We were right in the middle of the theatre district and Times Square, down the road from Radio City Music Hall and all that shit, but oddly didn’t get much spillover of tourist traffic. On the bright side, most of the people we had been staying and/or partying with in Manhattan came… Payson, George and Virginia, Raphael for his third appearance, and my old college buddy, George Gierer even showed up. It seems like Austin’s James Teiser was there too, but don’t take my word for it. We went to Rudy’s Bar and Grill afterwards to eat hotdogs, and Gierer treated us to some Pork Slap beers, which immediately became my favorite new beer I discovered on the entire trip. Not because it was good, necessarily, but because of the two pigs slapping their bellies together on the can. In fact, I think the beer might have even been kind of disgusting, but the pigs made that alright somehow, and it seemed to get you fucked up more than usual. So fucked up, in fact, that I went ahead and lost the Flip video camera that had survived through the entire production of Total Badass as well as our west coast trip last summer and seventeen days on the road this time around. As such, I have no video of the riveting Q and A that followed our Manhattan premiere. Eventually, most of us went back to George and Virginia’s house and partied into the night. I didn’t have to shit near as bad this time when I got over there, because there were bathrooms at The Tank.

Anyway, remember how on yesterday’s journal entry, I told you that I wrote an article one time that explains why I don’t get as bent out of shape about Texas Longhorn Football as I used to? Remember how I told you I would reprint it later on when there wasn’t much else to talk about? Well, you’d think that the night that a movie about my life premiered in Manhattan wouldn’t fall into that category, but I really don’t have anything more to say about it, so I’m going to go ahead and get the Longhorn shit out of the way right now. This is a story I wrote back in 2005, when writing didn’t bug the living shit out of me, like it does now…

From Top to Bottomus

I could sit here and carry on for quite some time about how much The Texas Longhorns winning The National Championship in football means to me, but it’s actually much too special and important of an event in my life for me to completely share it with you people. Let’s put it this way…. Before the Longhorns won, Jesus could have come back to Earth and told me, “Chad, it’s time. I’ve come to take you, your family, and your friends to heaven with me.” And I would have said, “You know what, Jesus? Fuck You. I’m not going anywhere until The Longhorns win a National Championship.” That might seem a bit worldly to you, but seriously, there is no way in Hell I would have died a happy man if this hadn’t happened and now that it has, my life is complete and nothing can stop me from reaching my full potential. Oh sure, you would think that little creature comforts such as having children, graduating from college, or being such a phenomenal success in the entertainment business would have afforded me this level of happiness in life, but they offered me nothing compared to the sense of accomplishment and overall satisfaction that have swept over me since that glorious day. You have to understand that before now, underneath all of the smiles and successes, I was but a husk of a man because I knew it was all a lie. I would be out in society going through the motions with the rest of humanity, trying to make my mark on history, but all I could hear inside my head was a little voice saying, “It’s all bullshit. You, your people, and your state are all a bunch of losers because The Longhorns haven’t won a National Championship in your lifetime. You will all be forgotten, and your lives are in vain.” I have never really used the word “bliss” all that much in the past. In fact, I always thought it was kind of a pussy-word, but now I’m not ashamed to tell you that in my heart and in my mind, I have a feeling of absolute bliss. The best thing about it is the lack of caring… the complete and total aloofness… that I have towards sports now. All of the failures and setbacks and tragedies in my life… the deaths of loved ones, the felony convictions, the struggles with substance abuse… they were relatively easy for me to deal with compared to The Longhorn’s 1999 home opener upset at the hands of North Carolina State and the three blocked punts that went along with it. I used to suffer every loss as though it was a lesion upon my very soul. Every season that The Longhorn’s shot at a title slipped away left me with the horrifying uncertainty of whether or not all of my dreams would ever come true and because of this, I was never able to live my life without fear. Now, I could give a fuck less if a plane goes down with the whole team on it because it doesn’t matter anymore, nothing does. All of this bad shit that is supposed to happen in 2006 and all of the signs of the apocalypse and growing indications that we’ve all succumbed to evil are much easier to deal with since the UT win. In fact, maybe it’s a good time for the end of the world. What else do we have to live for? These are the things I’m telling myself in the aftermath of the most wonderful thing to ever happen to me.

So anyway, this other time, I fucked shit. I actually fucked shit. As fun as that might sound, it actually turns out to be quite unpleasant. If you don’t want to hear about it, I suggest you quit reading. I had gone to the home of a large woman who I met over the internet, which should come as no surprise because I’m like Nanook of the North when it comes to hunting down fat chicks on the computer… I log on with a fucking ice axe. Before you get the wrong idea, I don’t want you to think I’m complaining. I obviously think fat girls are sexy, or I wouldn’t fuck so many of them. The funny thing about this is that the fine girls I fuck get all weirded out when they find out I fucked some fatty… They take it all personal like it’s a reflection on them or something. I don’t know what it is, I guess they’re just pissed off because they spend all that time and effort staying in shape and being fine, and it turns out they could have fucked me anyway.

So, I’m laying back in bed with homegirl, who’s balled up at my waist, giving me head, and I tell her she needs to swing her ass on up my way so I can start manipulating it whilst she goes about her business. I don’t know what is behind the universal assumption that fat girls are always going to let you fuck them in the ass, but I have a couple of theories. First, there’s the self esteem issue, where maybe the girl feels like giving up the ass gives her a much needed advantage over the competition. That might explain the girl’s motivations, but why does it always seem like such a natural option to the guy? Is it because every part of a fat girl is much larger than the corresponding part on a skinny girl, so it stands to reason that the same would hold true for her butthole? I mean she eats more, she takes bigger shits, so maybe her butthole is more suited for having things stuffed up it. The truth is, some girls are so fat, their butthole is pretty much the only place you can fuck them.

I know that may have all been a bit over the line, but it’s nothing compared to the shit you’ll tell yourself about not needing a rubber when you fuck a fat chick. First of all, you mistakenly assume that you are the only person on earth who would even fuck this girl, when deep down inside you should realize that ninety-seven percent of your friends would, too (with the other three percent being gay). Then, you start telling yourself that she must not have AIDS, or she wouldn’t be so fat. Or even if she does have AIDS, she’s so big, by the time it gets down to her pussy, you’ll be gone. Some girls are so fat, their AIDS never even know you’re fucking them. You’ll be all draped on top if her, hounding away, and she’s like. “Shhhhh! My AIDS are sleepin’!” Some of you guys with smaller dicks don’t have to worry because your peehole is never going to make it anywhere it could pick up a disease. You’re fucking skin, dude… labia at best. What were we talking about again? Oh yeah, so homegirl motors around to where her ass is facing me. Despite their awkwardness on the land, fat women are actually quite fluid and graceful when in bed, which brings me to a story that I have been wanting to tell for years.

One time my parents took my sister and me to The Houston Zoo and we were all at the hippopotamus tank. I was about twelve and my sister, Ashley, was about five. We were in this big crowd of people watching the hippopotamuses swim around in what was really nothing more than a large swimming pool. It must have been mating season, because there was this big male hippo courting a bunch of females. He hopped up on one’s back, and I remember I decided to try out the word “humping” on my parents. You know how when you’re young, there are bad words you aren’t supposed to say, but as you get older, some of them become fair game? For instance, at twelve years old, you might get away with damn or hell, but shit and fuck are strictly off limits and words like “hump” are in a grey area. Well, I decide to try it out and I announce to the crowd, “Look, they’re humping!” and my dad, Bo, just backhands me right there in front of everybody because if there’s anything he hates, it’s being involved in some kind of sophomoric public spectacle. I promptly took “humping” off the list of acceptable words to use in front of the folks.

Moving on, have you ever heard a hippopotamus bellow? They have this really loud “moo” that you’d recognize anywhere once you’d heard it, and the male starts belting out a couple of them while he’s humping his girl. Well, Bo cups his hands around his mouth and starts bellowing back, and they get in this big argument, for lack of a better word. The hippo would just go “Bwaaaah!” and Bo would go “Bwaaaah!” right back. I don’t know if it thought that Bo was another male hippopotamus, or if it was just pissed off that somebody was bothering it while it was fucking, but the hippo was becoming visibly agitated. I hopped off its mate and swam across the pool towards the crowd, pulling up in front of us all broadside, like a battleship. Its tail was right above the waterline, and it started to whirl around, like a propeller… I had no idea hippopotami could do this. Well, this thing starts taking a shit, and its tail was just slinging the turds right out of the pool and up towards the crowd. The shit started raining down over to everybody’s right, and the hippo just turned its body accordingly, strafing the crowd. I can remember watching a wall of doo-doo working its way towards us, like a sprinkler hitting the sidewalk. People were literally running over each other to get out of the way.

Anyway, I’m not trying to say this girl was as big as a bull hippopotamus by any means… but she could have passed for a calf. Once again, I want to assure you that I’m not complaining. In fact, this was one of the better buttfuckings I’ve ever been involved in, before everything went to shit. It was one of only a couple of times in my life that a girl’s butthole had totally given way, allowing me to fuck it as I chose. I’m not sure if you’ve ever been around when that has happened, but you can get pretty wrapped up in the moment. So, I’m hammering away back there like John Henry, and I had no idea that anything was even wrong until my whole dick just started stinging. I looked down and everything looked fine- clean as a whistle. I didn’t realize that she had taken an entire shit, and my dick was the only thing holding it in. I had been fucking it for about five minutes without knowing because my cock had created a vacuum at the anus from which nothing could escape, not even smell. My dick was being digested. I pulled out and broke the seal, and her fucking butthole turned into Spindletop. I had like three pounds of shit in my lap in a half a second. I fucked shit. That’s all I could think. I would try to come up with some witty way to explain to you exactly how much damage was done, but I have never seen this much shit all in one place in my life and this was fucked shit, mind you, so it went everywhere. I was in a state of shock as I got up and walked to the shower, and my dick was still hard. I had like two and a half turds worth of pounded shit piled up on top of my dick like a key-bump, so I had to walk all slow so none of it would fall off on the carpet. It was like that race they do at picnics with an egg balanced in a spoon, except with shit and a hard on. I saw myself in the bathroom mirror out of the corner of my eye and I looked like Rambo hiding in the mud, hunting for Russians. I don’t know if you’ve ever been shit all over by another person, but it gives you this look on your face that you can’t get rid of for days. It’s a look that says, “I fucked shit.” I always try to be a total gentleman when dealing with women, believe it or not, so the whole time homegirl was apologizing, I was like,”Sorry? What are you sorry for honey? Oh, that little ol’ mess? Don’t be silly…”

Anyway, they took the hippopotamus tank out of the Houston Zoo years ago. My kids and I went there last summer and they were devastated to learn it was gone. They have always loved the story about the time the hippopotamus tried to poo-poo on grandpa. I have yet to tell them the one about the time I fucked shit…

3:14 AM – BOB
We ended up partying all night with some old Austin friends and some new New York friends.  We met up with Austin ex-pat Bryant Jackson who has offered his couch/floor for the next three nights.

Chad and I ventured to the late night pizza joint to grab a bite of booze-absorbing pizza before crashing out.  We witnessed this spectacle while chomping our grub:

Street Brawl

Guns were flashed.  Fun!

Film Tour Website: http://www.badassfilmtour.com
CrashCam Films Store:
http://crashcamfilms.com/store.htm

Advertisements

12:21 PM – CHAD:
We had to wake up in Raleigh today and haul ass directly to New York City for our big Friday premiere there tonight. Along the way, we blazed through Richmond Virginia, Baltimore Maryland, Wilmington Delaware, and Philadelphia Pennsylvania. They’re all on film, if anyone gives a shit:

Richmond:

Baltimore:

Wilmington:

Philadelphia:

8:20 PM – BOB
The drive from Raleigh to Brooklyn took eleven and a half hours.  It should have taken about eight to nine, but we got lost.  The good news is that I hear that if you can make it to NY, you can make it to anywhere. (NOTE: And that’s despite the toll roads):

Toll 1

Toll 2

On the Road in the Car…

Lost

Toll 3

Toll 4

More Toll

Aaron from reRun Theater in Brooklyn had some questions about the “stunt”:

Chad’s Phone call Request for a “Stunt”

Drive/Arrive in NYC

Pulling up to the reRun Theater

9:30 PM – CHAD
Ok, so a week or two before we left for this trip, our producer, Mia Cevallos, had been talking to Aaron Hillis, who booked us our week-long run at The reRun in New York City. Somewhere along the way, they decided it would be a good idea for me to do some type of publicity stunt before, during, or after the screenings for the audience’s delight. I told Mia that sure, I would come up with something between now and then, but that it goddamn sure wasn’t going to involve me getting into a trashcan of any sort, which I already had the sneaking suspicion was exactly what the theatre had in mind. Along the way, I also started emailing and chatting back and forth with Aaron, all the while promising that I would do something spectacular, but steering the options away from anything trashcan related. I even told him at one point, you know, why don’t we announce that I’m going to have sex with a minor right there in the theatre and then at the last minute it actually turns out to be one of the Chilean miners and the whole thing had been a big play on words? This was back when that was much more topical humor, mind you.

Well, today we’re rolling up The New Jersey Turnpike about three hours before show time, and Aaron calls us. The motherfucker is at Home Depot as we speak, shopping for trashcans, talking about what color and size do I want. I’m like dude, my trashcan jumping days are behind me… but he sort of skirts around that and tells me the bar needs a new trashcan, anyway. I tell him that as long as the bar needs a new trashcan anyway, then I tend to favor the larger (64 gallon) Toter brand trashcan and have never seen one in any color but gray.  I then reiterate that I’m not getting in a goddamn trashcan but I did offer put on a clinic of sorts, where I would teach members of the audience or members of the staff or whoever was interested how to jump into the trashcan and do all of the tricks themselves. He’s like, what tricks? I explained that it’s not just as simple as jumping in a fucking trashcan like some asshole, there is actual skill involved in it, and there are specific, recognized tricks and stunts in the world of trashcan jumping (a world, keep in mind, that I saw come and go years back) many of which I had invented and perfected myself. You’ve got The Guadalupe, where it’s just like when you jump off a dock along the Guadalupe River with an inner-tube, slide the tube under your ass in midair, and splash down into the water sitting perfectly in the tube except instead, you’re jumping off the stage with a trashcan and landing inside it on concrete. There’s The Holy Diver, where it’s  basically diving head first off a platform into a barrel of water like the daredevils of yore, except it’s not a barrel, it’s a trashcan and there is no water in it. You’ve got The Grand Prize Game, which is just like the game of the same name from The Bozo Show out of WGN Chicago where the kids would throw ping pong balls into little buckets arranged in incrementally increasing distances away, winning prizes as they went, except you are the ping pong ball and you’re throwing yourself off a stage into a series of trashcans. There’s The Inch Worm, where you stand in one trashcan, bend over at the waist headfirst down into another one, and then “inch” along the floor inside the two of them while people try to break your back. There’s also The Fondren Family Planner, which is really just getting inside a trashcan and throwing yourself down several flights of stairs, but it’s actually only called The Fondren Family Planner because one of the best ones I ever pulled off was on a night at Room 710 when most, if not all of the important Fondren Family members were in attendance. There are shitloads of tricks… King Kamehameha, The Butterball Turkey, Oscar the Grouch, The Walk In The Park, The Man In The Can… too many to name, really. Back when I was into this shit, I was probably the best in the world at it and might even still be, but I’ve moved on, you know? I’m ready for a new generation of trashcan jumpers to come along and take it to the next level, which is why I was more than willing to put on a clinic for the people who were coming to the movie. No fucking way am I going to get into a trashcan myself though, because in all seriousness, I actually have done some other stuff since then creatively, like the movie I’m touring the country with, and I just don’t need that shit anymore.

So, fast forward to the theatre/bar a couple hours later. (Ok, I want to talk about something real quick. We get a lot of theatre/something-or-others on this trip, ok? Most of the places we show at, when we roll into town, it’s not simply a theatre… it’s a theatre/bar, a theatre/museum, a theatre/roller rink, a theatre/something-or-other. I just want to make that clear, to you and me both.)  We get to the theatre/bar and everything is going fine… Mark Hutchins is there early on with his wife…Raphael Vargas shows up with this fine-ass date…a girl who used to work at Cream Vintage on the drag when I delivered Whoopsy! Magazine is there… we couldn’t have asked for a better reception when we rolled into Brooklyn.

Hutchins

9:55 PM – BOB:
Aaron Hillis, the mofo who books reRun was a nice mofo.  The mofo even bought us dinner.   I had a game bird with foie gras stuffing.  Fucking good shit:

And thrust upon Chad a shoddily writer Liability Release form:

Liability Form – Evidence

10:03 PM – CHAD:
It was mentioned to me that Aaron had printed something in a magazine promising these people a stunt and he also had a couple of cameramen there to record it, so again, I start getting the impression that trashcans are becoming an issue.  The reRun Theater has a really nice restaurant attached to it and before the movie, Bob and I were treated to dinner with Aaron and one of the cameramen who was there to film me making a fool of myself. I had the filet mignon. You and I both know this was the only time in my life that I will ever dine on filet mignon as a guest of honor, so I made goddamn sure and did that while I could. Over the course of dinner, Aaron and I are going back and forth about how I’m not going to jump in a trashcan and he even gets me to sign some kind of waiver that releases him and the establishment of any type of liability, which I found to be extremely unorthodox, but I signed it and told him it was a moot point because I wasn’t going to be doing anything dangerous. Somewhere around that time, I hear a voice in my head… not one of my voices, mind you… but just the collective voice of differing opinions says, “Hey asshole… He booked your show for a week-long run. He gave you a filet mignon. Now, shut up and get in the fucking trashcan.” So, I cut a deal. I told him that if I could get someone from the audience to do a trick with me (which was obviously going to be The Fondren Family Planner straight down the two tiered flight of stairs right at the bar’s front door) then I’d do it too, knowing that nobody in the place is going to have the guts or the humility to try such a thing. I also told him that I’d take a vote after the Q&A and if more than half the people wanted to see me do the trick, I’d do it because I was convinced that having seen the movie and then heard what I was going to say afterwards, most people would understand why getting in the trashcan would be a bad idea.

Stunt I – Chad’s Acquiescence…

Ok, so it’s after the movie and we’re doing the Q&A and according to Bob, I rambled on quite a bit drunkenly and bored the shit out of everybody. In my mind though, I was delivering one of the most impassioned sermons on the state or art in our society to ever be publicly expressed in New York City. My main point was that if I got in the trashcan, it wouldn’t be art, it wouldn’t be real, it would not only be bullshit in that particular moment in time, but it would retroactively go back and turn everything I had ever created in the world of trashcan jumping into bullshit, as well. My main piece of evidence was the trashcan itself… the one Aaron had just bought from Home Depot. Not only was it physically deficient (it was a little 32 gallon piece of shit) but it was completely devoid of any soul or spirit. It had never been used. It was completely clean. In order to drive this point home, I told them the story of Alan Nelson, which is good for Alan, because he ghosted us out in New York and didn’t come to any of the shows, but it looks like he made it into the tour journal, anyway. I met Alan through his brother Pat, who used to work at Room 710 and was not only always a good friend, but he was a big supporter of the stuff I did… my writing and my shows. I always thought that was cool because he was a bit younger than me and it just made me proud that something I did could have an effect on someone from another generation. I used to call Pat Nelson “Butt-Crack Pat” because he always wore his jeans low with no underwear so when he was behind the bar, you had to sit there and stare at about a third of his ass all night. It wasn’t really as unpleasant as it sounds though, because Pat’s ass looked just like a little baby’s. Every time I’d see it, which was usually about fifty-three times a night, I’d think to myself… not in a gay way, mind you… but my fatherly instincts would come out and I just wanted to like, powder it and wrap it up and put it away for him, like he was my kid or something. Anyway, Alan moves into town, and Butt-Crack Pat really wants us to meet because it’s his older brother and he’s also a performer and shit, so Pat gets him to come out to a Frunttbutt show even though Alan was really sick with a stomach virus or something. Well, we get about two songs in, and I notice Alan off in a corner at the 710 leaning over a trashcan with it gripped in both hands, just puking his fucking ass off in the thing. My first thought was, wow, at least Alan wears his pants a little higher than his brother, Butt-Crack Pat, but I also realized that even though that particular trashcan wasn’t “in-play” just yet, it would be. Sure enough, about fifteen minutes later, I’m so covered in Alan Nelson’s puke, I could taste it, and not because any had gotten in my mouth, no, but because there was so much of it on my face, I was breathing it in through my nose and it was cycling all the way through my sinuses. This wasn’t just, had-a-little-too-much-to-drink-on-a-Saturday-night-so-most-of-it-is-just-beer-anyway style puke, either… it was sick-man vomit. Now, was there anything redeeming about being in that situation? Not at the time, no, but years later, I thought it served as a good parable about the difference between an authentic, bar-used trashcan and one that still had the fucking price tag on it. A trashcan at a bar is filled with not only physical perils like puke, spit, broken glass, cigarette butts, and so on, but it also contains the lies, the broken dreams, the tears, the laughter, the so-called good times of all the people who have gotten fucked up there. That’s what makes it a trashcan in a bar. Therein lies the art. (Did I spell it wrong on purpose? We’ll never know, will we?)

Anyway, the crowd wasn’t buying it. They still wanted to see me jump in a trashcan. I even took out the release form and showed it to everybody, trying to explain to them how ludicrous the idea of signing a release just to do one fucking trick would be after doing the shit for real down in Austin for the better part of a decade with no such legal wranglings. I singled out Aaron and the other employees of the club specifically, and told them that even though they might have found the shit amusing in a movie, if one of my old bands were to actually come up there and play a show in real life, we would fuck their place up so bad that not only would they have to stop the performance, but they’d never allow me back in the building again. Nobody cared about any of this shit… the crowd was still split, literally right down the middle in numbers of those who wanted me to get in the trashcan and those who didn’t. Well, my faith in my fellow man was so shaken by then, I just figured if these motherfuckers were there to see tricks, then that’s exactly what I’d show them.

I scooped up the trashcan, told everybody come on, I’m not waiting, and walked right out the theatre up to the front of the bar where the stairs were while everyone was still clamoring to get out of their seats and break down their cameras and shit. I took everything out of my pockets, set the trashcan down at the edge of the stairwell, got in it, and threw myself down the stairs, just like you do a Fondren Family Planner. Only thing is, I wasn’t doing a Fondren Family Planner. I had reached a little deeper back in my repertoire, all the way back to literally the oldest trick in the book. Playing Possum was always fun back in Texas, because it weeded out the people who had seen my shit before from the ones who hadn’t. Playing Possum is when you do one of your regular tricks (The Fondren Family Planner in this case) and then act as though things have gone terribly wrong, leaving you either dead or paralyzed for life. Then, you lay right there in a catatonic trance until either the very end of the night when everyone has gone home, or until the trick itself transcends art back into real life and someone calls in the proper authorities to come and take back charge of reality. As an expert trashcan jumper, I can assure you that this moment always comes… usually in about the seventeenth minute with a standard deviation of four minutes either way. Far and away, the funniest shit that happened before the fire department showed up (keep in mind I was watching all of this go down, floating above the scene of the “accident”) was when Aaron was openly lamenting that maybe the trashcan he bought was of the wrong size and the big ass bouncer goes, “What’d you get, sixty-four gallon?” and Aaron says, “No, a thirty-two. “And the big guy says, “Nah, man. That’s not big enough…”

So basically, I had people just sitting around postulating about trashcan jumping, and the little nuances of the sport, like the proper equipment and shit. I really couldn’t have asked for anything more. When I saw that the fire department had showed up and they were headed inside, I transcended back into my body, got up out of the trashcan, walked up the stairs and ordered a beer from the bar. Eventually, EMS and the police showed up as well. I was summoned to come talk to the lead fireman, and when he asked me what was going on, I told him the truth. I said this is what I do. This is who I am. I have a movie out about me jumping into trashcans. I came out here on tour with it, people came to see it, and this place begged me, amid much fanfare, to do one single trashcan trick for them, so I did one. I even did one of my oldest, most basic stunts, seeing as how they were all newcomers. We had people here filming the shit and everything. It was all very meticulously planned out. I have no idea what went wrong….

Stunt, Part II:

?

Fire Department

After the Fire Department

After-after-math

2:02 AM – BOB:
The screenings tonight were fucking awesome! These were some of the most rowdy crowds yet.  The Hell on Wheels screening was a hoot.  There were lots of derby gals (and soon-to-be derby gals) in the crowd, including a cute pack of them right front and center.  I did the q&a and only after did I realized that my pants were unzipped.  I’m sure that was a thrill for all the front row gals.  They bought merch and had me autograph some posters, and I’m certain that this was only the case because my fly was undone.  I’ll do all my q&as this was in the future.

The Total Badass screening was rowdy fun as well.  And I think Chad did some sort of stunt tonight. Fun.

Thanks Raleigh and NYC, Aaron, Hutchins, Vargas and the hot toll road dames!
www.badassfilmtour.com