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So I've been through most of this thread while I was on the bus and haven't seen much posted. Anyone else into the folk punk scene? Johnny Hobo, Mischief Brew, Days n Daze, Andrew Jackson Jihad? That kinda s**t makes me love people
 
The Blueberry Hill Incident Backlash

I'm sure I talked about the incident where my friend Nutty Brandon slapped and spit on a few WP freshcuts and ended up with us have guns drawn down in the parking lot. if not, I'll tell that one later. this is the aftermath. Iwas sitting with some people I didn't know outside a Jitters on the corner of Warm Springs and Green Valley Dr. in Henderson, NV weeks after the incident. they were employees, it was after hours, and I talked my way into some espresso drink. we were just hanging out outside talking when I see Nazi Nate (from the incident) and some of his friends walk up. I told one of the employees to dial 911 on his cell get get ready to hit send as this guy might want to kill me. Nate skipped the pleasantries and went right into accusations. he said that me and my friends called the cops on him and his friends for pulling guns on us. an off duty cop in Blueberry Hill called, not us. we lived by "Snitches Get Stitches". we always kept the law dogs out of it whenever we possibly could. he didn't care about what I was saying, he wanted to beat me. we argued back and forth for a while. the whole time the Jitters employees were pissing down their legs. the kid holding the cell phone was shaking like a leaf on a tree. I still don't know why Nate never hit me, but he and his friends ended up leaving, warning me that they were out for me & my friends. they made good on that. they followed me to work, chased some of my friends through Vegas (high speed, running traffic lights, guns out the window), fist fights in the streets... Nazi Nate and I never once found ourselves fighting each other personally. I fairly certain one of his minions was the kid that blind sided me with the aluminum bat handle. I can't be 100% on that though. even the WP guys fought among themselves.
 
Riot said:
So I've been through most of this thread while I was on the bus and haven't seen much posted. Anyone else into the folk punk scene? Johnny Hobo, Mischief Brew, Days n Daze, Andrew Jackson Jihad? That kinda s**t makes me love people
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Mischief Brew and AJJ are amazing.
 
I saw Descendents on Friday night and it was the wildest show I've ever been to. The band was loud and on their game, the pit was total chaos. It was an unforgettable experience. My ears are still ringing loudly.

On a different note, in response to the above few posts, Andrew Jackson Jihad is probably my favorite band.
 
ONe for the wayback machine, inspired by my own sidetrack in another thread:

1994. The Engine Room, Ft. Worth TX. DFL, Joykiller, Pennywise. Amazing show. DFL ripped the roof off, and grafittid the back of the satge. Hella fun band. Joykiller comes on, and Jack Grisham (legendary frontman for TSOL, Joykiller was his new band, nothing like TSOL, keyboard based weirdo punk) was generally being insane. Inviting anyone and everyone on stage to flash the crowd. Tons of boobs, too many johnsons and hairy punk cracks. Jack always wore a kilt. Always. Bad Religion mentioned it in a song, that's how much that dude wore kilts. Under the kilt...he was full Scot. Anyway, Jack Grisham teabagged my face whilst stage diving. I'm still horrified, 21 years later. That mans junk smelled like old milk, and it was on my face. Later on, during Pennywise's set, I would bear the full weight of one of Ft. Worth's best and largest dudes (RIP Harlan Hill, I'm singing Bro Hym and crying again) directly on top of my head, suffer the only confirmed concussion of my entire life, and end up puking all over DSL's merch table.
 
1977Brewer said:
ONe for the wayback machine, inspired by my own sidetrack in another thread:

1994. The Engine Room, Ft. Worth TX. DFL, Joykiller, Pennywise. Amazing show. DFL ripped the roof off, and grafittid the back of the satge. Hella fun band. Joykiller comes on, and Jack Grisham (legendary frontman for TSOL, Joykiller was his new band, nothing like TSOL, keyboard based weirdo punk) was generally being insane. Inviting anyone and everyone on stage to flash the crowd. Tons of boobs, too many johnsons and hairy punk cracks. Jack always wore a kilt. Always. Bad Religion mentioned it in a song, that's how much that dude wore kilts. Under the kilt...he was full Scot. Anyway, Jack Grisham teabagged my face whilst stage diving. I'm still horrified, 21 years later. That mans junk smelled like old milk, and it was on my face. Later on, during Pennywise's set, I would bear the full weight of one of Ft. Worth's best and largest dudes (RIP Harlan Hill, I'm singing Bro Hym and crying again) directly on top of my head, suffer the only confirmed concussion of my entire life, and end up puking all over DSL's merch table.
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that is a great story!:rockin: I love hearing these stories as much as I like telling them. maybe more.

I started a game of making emo kids cry at shows starting at a No Means No show. no time now.
 
I was at the No Means No show at the 4H building in Rapid City, SD. all the EMO kids loved looking like Buddy Holly and standing lifeless right between the band and the pit. they would whine when anyone from the pit would bump them. I bumped one of those whiny cry baby sissy pants. he turned around and started yelling at me, "I'm just trying to enjoy the show! Why are you trying to ruin the show for me?!?" I thought, "Alright, you floccin' pterodactyl. I'll ruin the show for you." next round (it was a circle pit) I run at him full force and rammed him, knocking him into 3-4 other cry babies. it was like pterodactyl bowling. ol' poopy pants laid there for a moment the turned (not getting up) and screamed, "THANKS FOR RUING THE SHOW FOR ME!!!" then ran to the bathroom in tears with 2-3 of his manginas in tow. ever since then I always tried to find the cry babies and knock them down. we had a point system. knock one down: 1 Punk Rock Point. knock 2 or more down: 2 Points+ how many extra at 1 Point each. make them cry: 2 Points make multiples cry at the same time: 10 Points. winner got bragging rights for the night.
 
I never understood standing next to the pit and not wanting to be in the pit. There's room in the back if you don't wanna dance.
 
Eh. I was either in the pit, or on the side of the pit taking a breather from the pit. I also got pissed when people IN the pit hit folks NOT in the pit, but instead of crying about it, I just got revenge later. One time some f***tart decided to roundhouse the periphery of the pit. I took a boot to the eye socket (and had a shiner for a good week afterwards). Later on in the show I got him with a boot straight to the kneecap, and he went down and pretty much stayed down, had to limp out of the pit with help. Don't know if I broke his knee, but really don't care.
 
Sunday Morning Breakfast

it was a tradition in Rapid City among a large number of punks that I inadvertently started. I was hanging out with my friend Willis (as in Willis D**k Fit In Your Mouth) quite a bit. quite often I would wake up in his house after a big night of binge drinking. we usually made sure we had some cheap beer like Old Schwillwuaki or PBR around for the next day. I woke up about 6-7 in the morning as usual (uncomfortable thing in other peoples houses). I went to the fridge and grabbed the 12 pack of Ol' Schwill out of the fridge and just started drinking out of boredom. Willis woke up about an hour later. he stopped dead in his tracks when he saw me sitting in the dim light with 4-5 empties around me. I only said one word to him, "Beer?" he laughed and replied, "Hell yes, I'll have a beer with you!" we had to go for more beer by 9:30 was were completely ripped by 10:30. Sunday Morning Breakfast was born. for years after it was becoming a trend. I would wake up places on Sunday mornings and start drinking with anyone who was awake. others were doing the same under the same name. it only lasted (as a trend among the punks) for 4-5 years. but it was nice while it lasted.
 
Can anyone explain Turbnegro to me? I was at PRB this weekend and I just don't get it. What's with the sailor hats? At one point the lead singer yelled out 'I see a lot of sailor hats out there!'. Those words should never be uttered by any band at any time. (OK, maybe by The Village People.)

On the flip side, The Business and Agnostic Front kicked ass. Jello was by far the hit of the show - at least for me.

Also, what's with all the hipsters? I saw a guy wearing skinny jeans, a tweed jacket, and a bow tie. I had an overwhelming urge to stomp on him.
 
TSOL (Wash Away and Superficial Love) and Death (Freaking Out and Politicians in my Eyes) :mug:were enjoyed by all after the Cavs secured the Eastern Conference Championship
 
Fish

Me and Fish go back to junior high. Well I was in junior high. He was a few years older. Fish was a drummer. A Damn good one. He was probably my biggest first hand musical influence when I first started playing drums. He was so fluid. Excellent musician and only got better as the years past.

Fish was a punk rocker. The first I had ever met, growing up in a small, rural Arkansas town. He took he under his wing for a while. I had always felt different from the kids at school. Not quite sure why but I'm sure you can relate.

Fish helped introduce me to a new lifestyle and a way of thinking that I had in my heart but wasn't sure how to express. He showed me that there were other people out there who thought along the same lines, and that I wasn't alone. That made a huge difference in the way I saw the world. There was more. I just had to go and get it.

Years past. Music was played. Bands were formed and disbanded. Hell was raised. But mostly, liquor was drank. Fish was an alcoholic. I won't blame him for my own alcoholism, but he didn't help.

We didn't gang out all that much in later years, but when we did, it was always much drunkenness and dumbassery.

Fish and I got vodka drunk one night. Well many nights, but this one particular night we were leaving a certain small town and decided we would climb the lookout tower. This tower is a tourist attraction with stairs , a couple hundred feet high. If course it's closed at two o'clock in the morning, so we hop the fence and start climbing. About halfway up, Fish reveals to me his dreadful fear of heights. We press on and when we get to the top I immediately hop the rail and swing myself out over the edge. He freaks out and tells me to get back, do I do. We sat at the top of the tower and finished the flask of vodka. Before we leave we decided we should steal the flag. A big as American flag hanging from the tower. It was padlocked on so we cut it loose folded it up and headed back down. We made it home just fine, despite him being way to drunk to drive his van.

Fish was an *******. He liked to punch his friends in the face when he got drunk. I had several fistfights with him because of this habit. He would get a wild hair in his ass and just punch his nearest friend. A character flaw, I suppose.

We were drunk on whiskey one night at another friends house and someone broke out a blow dart gun. Fish said he wanted to get shot with it. I have a video of him getting pepper sprayed, willingly. I've been pepper sprayed, but not willingly. Anyway he decides he wants wants us to shoot him in the nipple with the blow dart gun. No problem. He takes off his shirt and we go to shooting. Unfortunately, we were all drunk and terrible shots. We were using broad head hunting darts ,BTW. Twenty or thirty darts later and his chest is a bloody mess. All darts within a couple inches of his nipple. Finally someone sticks one right in his areola and then he was done.

About ten minutes later he punched me in the jaw and we had a pretty good fight. He won. He was a tough mother ****er.

I could go on with stories all night, but I won't.

Fish's real name was Cory. Cory died in a car accident yesterday. I hadn't seen him for several years.

Rest in pieces, Fish.

I'll be along to piss on your grave shortly. You wouldn't have it any other way.
 
Fedora said:
Fish

Me and Fish go back to junior high. Well I was in junior high. He was a few years older. Fish was a drummer. A Damn good one. He was probably my biggest first hand musical influence when I first started playing drums. He was so fluid. Excellent musician and only got better as the years past.

Fish was a punk rocker. The first I had ever met, growing up in a small, rural Arkansas town. He took he under his wing for a while. I had always felt different from the kids at school. Not quite sure why but I'm sure you can relate.

Fish helped introduce me to a new lifestyle and a way of thinking that I had in my heart but wasn't sure how to express. He showed me that there were other people out there who thought along the same lines, and that I wasn't alone. That made a huge difference in the way I saw the world. There was more. I just had to go and get it.

Years past. Music was played. Bands were formed and disbanded. Hell was raised. But mostly, liquor was drank. Fish was an alcoholic. I won't blame him for my own alcoholism, but he didn't help.

We didn't gang out all that much in later years, but when we did, it was always much drunkenness and dumbassery.

Fish and I got vodka drunk one night. Well many nights, but this one particular night we were leaving a certain small town and decided we would climb the lookout tower. This tower is a tourist attraction with stairs , a couple hundred feet high. If course it's closed at two o'clock in the morning, so we hop the fence and start climbing. About halfway up, Fish reveals to me his dreadful fear of heights. We press on and when we get to the top I immediately hop the rail and swing myself out over the edge. He freaks out and tells me to get back, do I do. We sat at the top of the tower and finished the flask of vodka. Before we leave we decided we should steal the flag. A big as American flag hanging from the tower. It was padlocked on so we cut it loose folded it up and headed back down. We made it home just fine, despite him being way to drunk to drive his van.

Fish was an *******. He liked to punch his friends in the face when he got drunk. I had several fistfights with him because of this habit. He would get a wild hair in his ass and just punch his nearest friend. A character flaw, I suppose.

We were drunk on whiskey one night at another friends house and someone broke out a blow dart gun. Fish said he wanted to get shot with it. I have a video of him getting pepper sprayed, willingly. I've been pepper sprayed, but not willingly. Anyway he decides he wants wants us to shoot him in the nipple with the blow dart gun. No problem. He takes off his shirt and we go to shooting. Unfortunately, we were all drunk and terrible shots. We were using broad head hunting darts ,BTW. Twenty or thirty darts later and his chest is a bloody mess. All darts within a couple inches of his nipple. Finally someone sticks one right in his areola and then he was done.

About ten minutes later he punched me in the jaw and we had a pretty good fight. He won. He was a tough mother ****er.

I could go on with stories all night, but I won't.

Fish's real name was Cory. Cory died in a car accident yesterday. I hadn't seen him for several years.

Rest in pieces, Fish.

I'll be along to piss on your grave shortly. You wouldn't have it any other way.
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damn, son! I'll have one for Fish. brutha sounds like he was a riot. R.I.P.
 
My band was playing a show in a basement. Just a party at some dudes house. We really had no business there in the first place. The guy that owned the house, Scuba Steve they called him, was a cool cat but the crowd that showed up was your typical preppy redneck bunch and not appreciative of a punk band drowning out their country and hip hop. Whatever, we were invited and came to play and have a good time.

Fish was there with us, and we were drinking 40s. Dont remember what brand. Probably O. E.. Anyway Fish was dancing, mostly by himself as we were being largely ignored by the crowd. About halfway through our set, Fish starts breaking 40 bottles. He smashed one on my crash cymbal then one on his head, then one on the floor. Of course he's bleeding from his head at this point.

The rednecks had had enough and we were not so politely asked to leave. Fine. We packed up our gear and headed outside.

The redneck ******** were talking sh*t the whole time and I was mouthing right back. When we got all our gear in the van, one ******* came over and got in my face.

I'm nose to nose with the dude, standing my ground, but also trying to diffuse the situation as we were greatly outnumbered.

Here comes Fish out of the back and sucker punches the redneck. Just lays him the bless out. I swing at the next closest one, cause what the hell else was I gonna do.

The rednecks piled on and we all got beaten to a bloody pulp. We limped to the van and went home. We caught a few of them by themselves in later months and got our payback.
 
Word on Fish's accident is that an engine block fell off a truck and came through his windshield. Just smashed him to ****. Crazy.

Anyway, Fish had a small penis. I know because he made no secret about it, and would whip it out on any occasion. Often, just because he saw you. You'd walk up to him and there it was, just hanging out in the breeze. Put that mother floccer away. Dont nobody wanna see that ****.


Fish had " **** you" tattooed on his ass. Three inch black , block lettering. **** on one cheek, you on the other. So if he liked you, he would drop his pants and greet you with a big **** you. And if he didn't like you, thats the last thing you would see. Him with his pants down. A big **** you.

What an *******.
 
b-boy said:
What is a 'typical preppy redneck bunch'. I have no idea what that means. Does it mean that they keep both overall straps snapped vs just one? :D
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redneck is different than hillbilly. most places I've been, rednecks can range from sleeveless flannels & mullets to Big Dog shirts & RayBans.
 
This thread brings back pleasant memories of many a show at Trenton's City Gardens - Henry Rolling, Ramones, Circle Jerks, Scorn Flakes, X, GWAR, Ween, Dead Kennedys, Bad Brains, and so many more. Good times.
 
MEPNew2Brew said:
This thread brings back pleasant memories of many a show at Trenton's City Gardens - Henry Rolling, Ramones, Circle Jerks, Scorn Flakes, X, GWAR, Ween, Dead Kennedys, Bad Brains, and so many more. Good times.
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we had a lot of great shows in Rapid City. all the kids were a pain in the butt, but they had tons of great energy. the bands feed off it like me in a candy store. I've always been jealous of bigger venues. when I lived in Vegas, we had the Huntridge and the Sanctuary. but the best shows were in squats and up on Sunrise Mountain.
 
b-boy said:
What is a 'typical preppy redneck bunch'. I have no idea what that means. Does it mean that they keep both overall straps snapped vs just one? :D
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Billy nailed it. I'm hillbilly as they come, but I'm not a floccin redneck.

This crowd was wranglers, work boots, and polo shirts, with copious amounts of axe body spray. If flat bill caps had been around, they'd have been sporting them.

A couple actually grew up and made amends with me in later years. I try to see the good in people, if there is any.

I want some new Docs!
 
This is how hillbilly I am...

IMG_20150620_124740.jpg
 
Really is a lot of punk roots amongst brewers. Brewing job I interviewed for last week, head brewer has punk roots. I list as a reference my former head brewer boss/friend (also with punk roots), who talks to potential future head brewer. Potential future head brewer boss, armed with nothing by my short hair, chops, and love of reggae (because apparently music is a question in brewing interviews, been the case in every one I've had), asks former head brewer boss/friend if I was a skin. I was wearing just shy of a floccing suit.

I'm certainly hoping that, based on what he could put together, he knows better than to assume I was WP or something.
 
Qhrumphf said:
Really is a lot of punk roots amongst brewers. Brewing job I interviewed for last week, head brewer has punk roots. I list as a reference my former head brewer boss/friend (also with punk roots), who talks to potential future head brewer. Potential future head brewer boss, armed with nothing by my short hair, chops, and love of reggae (because apparently music is a question in brewing interviews, been the case in every one I've had), asks former head brewer boss/friend if I was a skin. I was wearing just shy of a floccing suit.

I'm certainly hoping that, based on what he could put together, he knows better than to assume I was WP or something.
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people almost always assume I'm WP. it's downright floccin' annoying.
 
Billy-Klubb said:
people almost always assume I'm WP. it's downright floccin' annoying.
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If I were to walk down the street with turnup jeans almost to the knee, 20 eye docs, green flight jacket and braces hanging out the back with a straight razor shave to the head, then I would expect the average person to think I was WP. Because that's what people have been fed.

However, I'm lucky in that my style's more on the subtle side and it's only folks familiar with the subculture who pick up on it. And as such, don't usually assume anything (which is what I'm pretty sure this was). But I still find it funny who ends up picking up on it.

Last time I remember someone questioning it was actually an ARA guy who we knew a lot of the same people but had never met, and there was a nazi thing happening in town. And a quick semi-in my face "you 88?" "no" and that was the end of it when mutual friend showed up. Hah.
 
Qhrumphf said:
If I were to walk down the street with turnup jeans almost to the knee, 20 eye docs, green flight jacket and braces hanging out the back with a straight razor shave to the head, then I would expect the average person to think I was WP. Because that's what people have been fed.

However, I'm lucky in that my style's more on the subtle side and it's only folks familiar with the subculture who pick up on it. And as such, don't usually assume anything (which is what I'm pretty sure this was). But I still find it funny who ends up picking up on it.

Last time I remember someone questioning it was actually an ARA guy who we knew a lot of the same people but had never met, and there was a nazi thing happening in town. And a quick semi-in my face "you 88?" "no" and that was the end of it when mutual friend showed up. Hah.
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I walk around in jeans, tee-shirt, and my pull on work boots and people still just assume. when I could still grow a mohawk (which I miss) and sporting my spiked leather looking all sorts of punk, they still assumed. I've had some dumb heated conversations with some of the dumber ARA members I've met assuming I was WP. even after I showed them my anti-swastika tattoo. I've also had WP guys not believe me that I wasn't after showing them my tattoo and telling them to flocc off. I learned that "*******" is a Dutch door. hahahaa!!
 
Frog: long over due.

I met Frog when I was 15-16. he had a very macho persona. I did not like to be around him because of it. he had moved to South Dakota from California with his parents and stayed when they moved to Las Vegas. everyone hung on every word because he was from California; a/k/a "the real deal". another reason I didn't like him at the time. fast forward to when I was 19. I was living in my car where I worked: McDonalds. he got a hell of deal on an apartment from a guy he knew. $150 a month for a downtown economy. he offered me a place (I had a mattress in the "kitchen") for $75 a month. we became good friends and had no problems. people even started calling me "Tadpole". he started having problems with his ex-wife and decided he was moving to Vegas. I wanted to get out of South Dakota, so I was in. we packed up everything that fit in my '89 Chevy Cavalier and hit the road. we got stuck in some Colorado ski town for a day and harassed the flocc out of some hippies. Frog saw himself as the punks punk. he saw himself as dyed in the wool hardcore punk rocker until the day he died. we finally get to Vegas and stayed with his folks. I found a job and looked for apartments. his mom hated me with a passion. her little Frog was home and I was ruining it for the happy little family. we finally found an apartment (after I been tagged by local Nazis as their enemy). he met a guy guy (total floccin liar) named Sean. I have more stories of that dumb floccer. I'll get into that later. the three of us stayed up all night playing Monopoly to figure out who gets what room. Frog got the master and let it go to hell quick. he was a complete floccin' slob. the ***** of the bunch was his attitude. we get there and he pulls the punk rock retirement card: I'm getting older and it's time to be more respectful so now I'm a skinhead. it would have been fine if he wasn't so damn arrogant about it. he went to a party with Old Jerry (I might have mentioned earlier) and came back bragging about some nonexistent crew and how me and Sean wouldn't understand because we weren't skins and will never be. come to find out Old Jerry was consistently full of s#!t and inflating his ego. meanwhile I was on the streets with other punks & skins we met while he was at home playing video games and turning a blind eye to the WP problems the rest of us were facing. he would then tell us "what we needed to do" while he sat all comfy in front of the TV. it was like seeing your hero fall. like a psychotic Superman or Batman robbing a bank. I was the guy getting into fights and shot at while he was sitting pretty at hom. when the WP guys showed up, they didn't follow him to work or home. he wasn't a threat, but he sure preached like he was. I was their threat I was their enemy. not this guy playing Final Fantasy whatever on his PS all night. my hero had fallen. Rome had fallen and I walked away while the wall crumbled. I walked out of the frying pan but was still in the fire. I had WP all around me and very little back up (punks fighting punks, skins fighting skins, and no one uniting against a common enemy). the whole time, Captain Macho sat at home whining while I scraped the s#!t off my boots and cleaned the blood off my face. we would be some place and run into Nazi skins or some other WP guys. first thing out of his mouth, "We don't want any trouble." speak for yourself! I was looking for trouble. I was 20 and full of a jaded hate and discontent. I had an enemy and they were right in front of me. we would back up against the wall. difference was that my fists were up while he was waving a white flag. and who the flocc was to say I wouldn't know what it was like to be a skin?!? I walked with them. I lived with them. they always said I was more skin than punk. I stood my ground and took my lumps. flocc you, Frog, and all you claimed to be. I'm just sorry you ain't who I thought you used to be 17 years ago. I had more respect from the punks and skins than you ever hoped for. keep cowering behind you PS controller. I have 12 teeth you sunuva bastich.
 
I'm not real familiar with skin culture. Do ya'll have something against paragraphs?

(Dodges the berry punch)
 

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