After the contest, downtown, BLACK
FLAG was doin' a gig. But I was so tweaked
out from the night before, I just crashed in
a comfabed, and thought about French
Fi-Fis. It's dool though, I caught Black Flag
a few days later back in San Francisco, but
got maximumly french-fried, and ended up
playing the fool and accidentally fell off the
stage backwards. Does wonders on the
back, but good thing I didn't feel it till the
next day. I stressed out my left ear, sticking
it in Gregg Ginns cabinet.
Gator, I finally got a good shot of you. You owe dude.
over the head with an empty Corona bottle,
the fight just bursts out into the front yard
like a tidal wave through the house, and
somehow Monty Nolder ends up chasing
one of these guys down the street saying,
"Well, you want to fight? Fight me, c'mon."
The guy runs away only to come back,
later in the night to point a crossbow into Al
Losi's face, asking for Monty, and Losi
said, "I don't know, I'm from California."
Somehow out of all this, Caballero and
Lance get the keys to my rental unit and we
somehow find our way back to our hotel
room to watch some nasty foreign sex
flicks where the English speaking parts are
dubbed in. So I explained what they were
really saying, but otherwise I put my brain
in neutral for the evening. That's all I did
that night, I swear.
We checked out of the hotel, with Jay
Gee in tow, on a skate photo-mission from
god. Our two stuntmen subjects were
Steve Steadham and Lance Mountain. I
now have two more sheets, and four
matching pillow cases to supplement my
stock at home.
Dorking was the agenda, and we are the
finest crew alive for the job. First we gave
some of the other pros a chance at an
inclusion on this holiest of endeavors. But
they took too long to decide and I instructed
our small task force to shine them and bail.
We went and did some extreme posturing
in front of a giant Alfred E. Newman statue
holding a giant muffler. MAD MAGAZINE
car-fan-club? Next, a trip to a ditch inside a
clover-freeway-intersection-Texas-sized-
monster-green-thing. I took a few runs, but
at one point, my balance malfunctioned on
a backside carve-grind, and I met the
flatbottom with a giant thud-thump-sigh-
whimper. Bent back a rivet on my 501's, a
nasty, nasty thing to welt up your pelvic
region.
Next stop was a havoc ridden drive to
Fort Worth, with the mud-dabber rental car
being commandeered by Lance "Out of
control Mountain. We hit up some planter
banked-thing which was severely violated
by the skate jockeys. Later we contorted in
front of a building that was basking in the
glow of a reflection from a mirrored skys-
craper, then some winos came up to the
skaters, all blown away and calling
Steadham names like Michael Jackson,
Jesse Jackson, Reggie Jackson and
Martin Luther King, Jr. Lance tried to teach
them how to ride, but they declined, one
proclaiming, "I been doin' good, I'm doin'
good, No, no. A cop car pulled up to the
light and stopped on the red. The cop in the
passenger seat squelched in disgust,
sticking his head out the window for fresh
air. The driver had farted.
In the airport cocktail lounge, Jay Gee,
Gnit man and myself sat talking about
William Burroughs, Jello Biafra, and Iggy
Pop. There was a football game on the
T.V., with about a dozen fans looking in
from beyond the fringes. There's some-
thing weird about how some guys just lock
into the T.V. whenever a gladiator football
game is crankin'. Things will be quiet, the
T.V. suddenly goes, "....and he's at the 40,
the 25, the ten..." and all of a sudden
everyone gets up, lurching towards the
T.V. like it was a pile of free gold, or
something. Out of all the years in my whole
life, I've never reacted like that towards a
television set, especially to the actions of
jock-dudes on a gridiron. It seems kinda
funny to me. Anyway, so we're sittin' there,
I throw out a few sarcastic "Oohs and ahhs,
look at that hunk will ya. He's gorgeous!"
Then a lady comes up to me and asks,
"Could you tell me the score?"
Of all the real-type football fans in the
vicinity, this hag has to pick me, the biggest
non-fan in history.
"Sorry lady, I don't play football. You
see, I'm not into trends, or drooling over
dudes."
"Well excuse me!" an exclamation.
That's more like it lady." The plane flew,
we rode, a man is not an island, the checks
in the mail, now everyone can get A.I.D.S.,
people are killing Americans just for being
Americans in foreign lands, I've got to do
my laundry, are you still there? Do you
read me? Hello! Hello!! Testing, one, two,
three. Is anyone out there? Someone is
gonna get hurt.
IMPWISE
Impulse Truck Co.
P.O. Box 17070 Suite 277 T-VII
San Diego, CA 92117 619-275-2381 Ext. 277
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