A couple solid hours of dorking
Close your eyes as you look at these pictures, and try to Imagine all of this crug taking place. Starting up in the top left hand corner, Lance looks like he's acting out
a part in "the Sound of Music," but Instead, he's sneezing at a ditch. Here's a dork photo in front of Alfred E. "Muffler holder Newman. Next, Christ was trying to tell
me that if you hold your finger on your lip like this, all of your wishes will come true. Bull, there is no truth. Lance oflies the radius-transitioned-planter-thing. (over to
the left again) Monty did an axle stall above me as I was trying to focus on the area. He looked down at me and flipped me off. What a guy! Right before my eyes, Lance
yanks a weed out of the ground and puts it on his shoulder, between him and Steadham. I know it must have some meaning. Stagoo does a sweeper on the planter-
thing.
Wino: "No, no, no..." Lance: "C'mon ya' baby." Then Lance and Stagoo show how it's done. (left again) So, I'm taking their pictures, then Lance starts chewing on his
board, and Steve tries to put his whole wheel into his mouth. There's a whole story behind this photo, but to make it short, Lance is saying "Oww!" Posing with the
wino who thought Steadham was Michael Jackson. Lance tries to manually wrap his face around his head. Now wasn't that funny?
36
afraid a couple of judges might be getting
lynched. Well, he won.
During the whole spectacle, there were
a few hyena voices screaming incredible,
meaningless phrases out beside the
flat-bottom.
"Get me drunk fast I'm gonna be sick!"
"I love you, you fish, you fish, you flying
fish!"
"Oh my god! I'm gonna die. Marry me
baby! I'm dead, I'm dead!!"
"Run at my face you orange, those are
the hottest airs I've ever seen!"
"Why Gator, Why?? Tell me why, oh
why?!!!"
I think it was John Lucero, and Jeff
Grosso. Those guys are weird. They're
O.K., n' all, but very strange. Nothing
contagious I hope.
The rest of the placing after Phillips,
went something like this: believe it or not,
Christian's blazing consistency eamed
him a comfortable slot at second place.
That bugger is some kinda character.
Definite star material, complete with street
savvy. After Christ, came Caballero.
Funny but true. Caballero put in a fine
performance. Not one of his finest, but
certainly a commendable effort. Maybe a
lack of enthusiasm showed a little in the
way he looks, when he rides. A sort of
carefree, expressionless and casual air
about him. If blasting mind boggling aerials
isn't enough to keep your conscious
pre-occupied. Lance checked himself in at
fourth place, which is well deserved. The
guy was in excellent form. Yeah, you bet.
Freakin' Madman, Craig Johnson slew out
the vicious vertical attack, riding to destroy,
my gosh. He fledged a meanly deserved
fifth place. On top of that came Bill Ruff at
sixth, Gibson at seventh and Al Losi at
eighth.
A new acquaintance of mind, Jay Gee,
from Lawrence, Kansas had come down to
meet me. I told him how bizarre these
contest things were, and he thought it
would be fun. He says he works for William
Burroughs (an author), but I think he's
really a mega-millionaire, and owns part of
Coors or something. Anyway, Jay Gee is
down and we have fun observing the local
wildlife, and drinking expensive Scotch
whiskey.
I swear to god, that I should be hired to
the Hertz Rental car test drive team. I've
got those cars dialed. We're talking Pinky-
steered off-road 360's at speed with the
eyes closed and drinking a beer. You can
do that here, drink beer and drive. So if you
were in Dallas that weekend and saw a
mud-covered Hertz rental car with one
hubcap, speed past you with its passen-
gers holding cold Coronas up high in the
air...it wasn't us man.
A mind can sometimes race faster than
the speed of sound or light. There's no
actual way of telling, so it must be true.
There was a party, the night before the
contest. Some bands played, and the
infamous pro skater non-band "No Prac-
tice grabbed the instruments. Bill Ruff,
Caballero, Lance and who knows who
else, were thumping and rhyming around,
beckoning me to come sing. Well, Gibson
intercepted the microphone and started
Budda-budda-budda-ing the vocals which
started the whole room into a tornado (this
one in someone's dining room, say good-
bye to the china). Micke Alba screamed for
me to come over that someone was in
trouble. Just then, across the room, I saw
Gator backing out a room fast with some
loud mouthed hick type geek getting ready to
crawl all over him like stink on shit. This
hick dude I had noticed had been looking
for a duke-out situation all night, and finally
found an excuse in Gator. Two steps and I
was between them, telling intoxi-hick that
he shouldn't start anything because he
was grossly out-numbered. But not only
was this guy drunk, he didn't have any
brains. Well, to make a long story short,
Owen Neider hits one of this guy's buddies