From page 31
fied with the full contact sticker toss he had
previously initiated, Hosoi was now giving
away his own personal clothing to the
adoring legions. Socks, shoes, shirts...they
all went. Unfortunately some of his female
fans demanded more. Christian, ever the
gnetleman, was forced the give the girls his
last pair of dirty underpants, such are the
perils of major league stardom. The lucky
recipient was last seen gleefully holding
Christ's boxer shorts and occasionally
wearing them on her head.
PIZZA-THEY DON'T LOOK
FOURTEEN-THRASHING
AT THE BRICKS
After the contest, a bunch of us cruised over
the Eggs' parents' house for showers and pizza
(thanx Mr. and Mrs. Williams, you're the
greatest hosts, ever.) Somehow a couple girls
snuck in with the rest of us and proceeded to
blend in (one clutching boxer-shorts in her
fist).
"Do you know how old those girls are over
there? Micke said as I threw out my paper
plate.
"Nineteen, twenty, twenty one?"
"Fourteen, dude."
"I'm next in the shower."
The Faction were making a marathon trip
out this way to play tonight, and then turn
around and go back. A noble feat, yes.
"Where's the band, Caballero?"
"They'll be here."
The club was this empty brick warehouse,
pretty big. Nothing special, nothing much.
Practically beautiful.
AT THE DOOR-"Yeah, I'm on the list."
"List? What list? There are no lists. What's
it for?"
So I can get in free."
"It's only four bucks."
"I'm from California."
"Oh, you can come in," the guy says. He
had on a cool chicken bone-necklace and I
wanted it. From here on out, it was every
wife-hunter for himself. I began questioning
potentials to see if they had the "right stuff." In
the parking lot were some seriously weird
goings on, and somebody let Lance Mountain
get a hold of fireworks. Caballero walked by.
looking as if he might have just given someone
some fire crackers. Guilty?
"Caballero, when's your band get here?"
"Any minute now. They've entered the
state."
So I corner these two thoroughly legal coeds
and proceed with the savage lies: "...yeah,
sure. Oh, and my other Corvette's in the tire
shop, getting new meats, 'cause the old ones
got scuffed doing donuts on 101 over by where
James Dean died. Yeah, man, I do it there for
inspiration.
It was funny how we all pulled out cigarettes
at the same time. I think one of us chuckled
just then. One of the girls lit a match, put it to
my "Camel-non," then to her friend's "More-
menthol." As she was about to torch her
Benson and Hedges menthol light (with the
silver inlaid logo on the filter), I savagely
whacked the match from her fingers and
scolded, "Don't you know never to be third on
the match?
"Are you serious? Why?" She whimpered
with her eyes screaming.
"It's bad luck. Back in WWII, at night,
enemy snipers would look for some dudes
lightin' up. When there were three or more
dudes lighting up...well...you figure it out.
He sees the first light and gets ready. The
second guy, he beads on the match and by the
time the third guy...pow!"
"Oh really?" the other one asked.
"Either that or you'll wet the bed. Guaran-
teed."
Stacy Peralta was in one of the back rooms
leading a chorus of pro skaters clapping hands
along to the beat of a Greek folk dance song.
Newton pulled a beer from his back pocket,
and hands it to me as we approach the guy at
the door.
"How much for your necklace?" I asked.
"How much you got?"
"Nothing. Give me your address and I'll
send you money if you'll make me one like
that.
As he wrote on a torn brown paper bag, a
grasshopper hit my shoulder and fell to the
ground. Grabbing it by the back legs, I lifted it
up to observe.
"Hey, he must've gotten out of the bag," the
guy says, looking up and reaching for the bug.
"Wanna see somethin'?" He shoved it into his
mouth, chewed it, spit out the legs and swal-
lowed it.
I looked at Newton, who stood beside me
lookin' at some wife matter across the room.
"Jeff, did you see what this guy just did?"
"Naw."
"He just ate a grasshoppper!"
"He just ate a...a...A GRASSHOPPER?"
"Do it again." The guy reached into his bag.
pulled one out, shoved it into Jeff's face and
shoved it into his mouth, holding it between
his teeth a while for visual impact, then
crunching it down real quick. "You got to
swallow them fast, before they secrete some
bitter stuff," he said.
The gig to catch that nocturnal interlude
was the Get Smart/Skinny/Baby Hot Line/
Faction show at the Brickyard on 17th and
H-ridge. For hours the eastward progress of
Faction's auto/van was eagerly charted. A
rumor floated regarding the appearance of
the infamous band "No Practice." Billy
Ruff and Mad Lance sang street corner
symphonies in the parking lot while Hosoi
discussed the finer points of jewelry with
five beautiful betties. Alba stalked the
environs while Newton recited local liquor
laws and made plans to encase road rashed
armadilloes under plate glass.Other crazies
did suitably insane things. Subtle moves
were out, skate moves were in vogue in the 1
front room of the Brickyard. An aspiring
local band sang a vicious tribute to a prom-
inent Nebraskan, whom they labeled as a
'fudgepacker.' Such infamy is the price of
being different. The efficient local police
force entered the gig and extracted one male
participant. According to "the man," a
young woman had complained to the police
about this lad's unwarranted and unwanted
actions. In short: He pinched her ass and
she squealed to the cops. The charge: "sexual
harrassment." The gig lurched on, and as
the full contact to the knockout dancing
continued, one of the Drunk Injuns took out
four fellow dancers in one barrel roll.
Hours later, the Faction finally showed up
and ripped through four fine numbers to a
tumultuous reception. You can imagine
how the crowd reacted when the ever-vigil-
ant Lincoln law enforcement officials shut
down the gig for an after-hours violation.
O'Brien looked particularly displeased.
The Faction, being the professional outfit
they are, packed up, visited friends and
family over burgers, gassed up and returned
to San Jose. Considering that they drove
both ways straight through, the Faction
deserves public acknowledgement for their
diligence. Meanwhile around town other
shows went on. For example those two men
of few words, Nolder and Balma, each
moonwalked away with two fine specimens
of prime beef. There is nothing finer than
watching such master scammers at work.
THE SUN RISES AGAIN
Dawn. Sunday. On our way to church (?),
Gnit and I found Rogowski winding down
from the night in a prone position in the
back of the much dreaded Chevy Lowrider.
By now the local grapevine had set Alan
Losis' box score for the weekend at four.
Losi, of course, was working up to his next
hit. Pity the poor airline stewardess.
Streetstyle was the order of the day and
ferocious sessions were breaking out all
over Lincoln. I survived two, one at Pier
One and the other at the Ice Pond. Mar-
shmallow Stomp was the unofficial thematic
score. Out at the State Capitol Building,
Stacy Peralta was unobserved performing
forbidden rolling maneuvers on the price-
less mosaic tile floor. The floor depicted
strange animals and even weirder looking
women in various states of undress. Up on
the railing another Drunk Injun violated all
local regulations as he reorganized the
bronze statue of Buffalo Bill.
At the airport I noticed Mofo was still
wearing the pelt of his favorite childhood
cat. So did the security officers. I was next
in line and they x-rayed every item in my
possession. I could tell it was going to be a
long flight.
On the wall of the airport lounge was
posted one simple sticker. It stated: "If you
live a good life and say your prayers, when
you die, you'll go to Nebraska."
Everything (or not enough?) said and done,
the ever present threat of delays in the airport.
Denver, exchanging flights, only to find out
the flight to S.F.. has been delayed three
hours. The boys continuing on to Long Beach,
namely every one else except me, Caballero,
Boss-man and Eggs, that is until Lance, and
then Mr. El Lay were escorted off their flights.
Arm raising expletives, impatient gestures and
technical jargon, all contribute to another
skater victory over airport bureaucracy.
Well, pretty uneventful trip, all in all. No
wives. I'll stay single some more. A sandwich
and a cocktail in the airport set me back $8.
America, land of rampant capitalists. Eggs
almost gets punched by a big black man in the
seat in front of us, once we were airborne.
Eggs kept saying. "Heckle-Heckle-Heckle. I
heckle for Reagan. Heckle-Heckle-Reagan!
Reagan! I'm buying a new car with my heckle
money. REAGAN! REAGAN!"
"Keep yo' po-lit-i-cul preferences to yo-self,
before I do sumptin yul" regret," a large black
man in front of us said.
I think from here on out, I'll begin with a
whole new ending.
Meluxe
P.O. Box 883311 S.F. Ca. 94188
12" VINYL
eckouts No More $5.00
TSOL Change Today $7.00
Decry Falling $4.00
Whipping Boy Muru Muru $4.00
Mh De De My Doing $5.00
Maths Earth AD $7.00
Negative Approach Ted Down $6.00
Dischorge The More See$5.00
Suglords
Sos of Sime $5.00
Stolog 13 in Contol $4.00
7 Seconds The Cew $7.00
Die Keen $7.00
GH Do What You Do $5.00
Septic Deam $5.00
Marginal Mon $5.00
Domus $6.00
CASSETTES
DRUNKNING
MyDod Buch $5.00
Change day $7.00
T-SHIRTS
Small-Medium-Large
KUNS
$8.00
LOUDER!
ISHORTER
FASTER
1985 CALENDAR
MONO
ROCK ACTION
Pholography by MORO
$6.00
CLASSICL
S.F. PUNK 1478
VIDEO
WUKA Death From Above
DIS-Craen
AVENGERS The Amenkan in Me
LEEPERS Sater ume
MUTANTS Insect Lounge
New Dork Ages
ROCK
entre luck
Polished Finish $10.00
SKATE EQUIPMENT
Painted Back or white) $11.00
Thunder Fuck Limited Quote
Suspension $1.50
Speed Washer $1.00
$24.95
OTA
VINYL
y loter $3.50
Last light Churas $3.50
Youth Brigade What ce
Ofenden Hate Mysed $2.50
From the V
$3.00
The faction Corp in Digun
$3.50
Gang Green Sold Our $2.50
Happy Now $2.50
Screaming Sens $2.50
POSTAGE
$1.00 or 12, 50 for each
P&Cossete.50
hucks $2.00 Videos $1.00
Canadian Orders add-
European Ch 030 $1.50
Pease pint your order on a sepo
e paper include the following
ems you wah to purchase
your order porloge your
ona godhes check
or money order payable to
DELUXE