Tag: close call

I Was A Teenage Murder Junkie pt.3: Here Come The Cops

As suddenly as they were switched off the stage lights burst back on. The confused and intoxicated crowd mingled around desperately trying to figure out what the fuck was going on with the on and off again lights. Just then the basement door flung open with such impact that when it slammed against the wall it sounded like a goddamn concussion grenade. The Bar/Club owner bum rushed into the room like a bull released from its pen at a rodeo. He strode to the middle of the room and promptly announced that do to “The Destructive Behavior Bullshit” and ” A Totally Fucked Up Band Lead By A Bald Degenerate Fucking Nightmare” was shutting the show down immediately. This did not bode well with the fans in the least. Instantly the Owner (and the 4 or five bouncers he had brought with him to work security, mainly his own) was plunged into a barrage of insults, violent threats, and pro GG Allin rhetoric. Needless to say the Owner made an extremely hasty retreat back upstairs to his bar. GG then took this pause in the pandemonium to address the crowd.

“Fuck is this Shit?! We want to keep playing but these motherfuckers keep cutting the power! The owner wants to shut our show the fuck down, do you want us to stop?!” GG yelled belligerently at the still awe struck audience. The unanimous answer of the crowd rang out like riot as fans screamed over each other like methhead auctioneers.

“FUCK NO!”, “GG IS GOD!”, “FUCK THIS SHIT!”, “RIOT TIME MOTHERFUCKERS!”, “WE WANT BLOOD!”, “BLOOD FOR YOU!”, “EAT MY FUCK!” and so on and so forth.

This incited GG like gasoline being pissed on a fire. GG was scowling in intense hatred apparently for everything and everybody present. GG was pacing the stage back and forth like a caged fucking animal as he quickly picked up his pace. GG grabbed a crushed beer can from the side of the stage and then used it to slash his torso preparedly  like some primitive caveman’s knife.

From what I had reseated about GG Allin this kind of shitshow common occurrence at GG’s concerts. GG Allin concerts/shows on average only lasted 15-20 minutes total before (like now) the Club owner cut the power or the venue was stormed by the police. GG had been at this point in career to be arrested 52 times for lied acts, indecent exposure, obscenity and even shitting on stage. I had watched the infamous GG Allin documentary films called “Hated: GG Allin and The Murder Junkies” by a young Todd Phillips in 1994 (a year after GG’s death due to surprise, surprise a Heroin Overdose on June 28th 1993) In the documentary GG’s older brother Merle Allin and bass player for The Murder Junkies is interviewed rather extensively throughout. In one of the interview clips Merle even states this fact further.

Merle commented that”When you went on tour (with GG) you never expect to finish the tour and thats for one of two reasons either The Hospital or Jail.” referring to the fact due to his stage show GG not only could/would be arrested , but due to his intense performances GG could also just as easily end up in the ER.

Thats when a small calvary of cops started to slowly file into the basement show venue like the fucking gestapo. Apparently the Owner had fled back upstairs and called in the cops ASAP to bail him and his Bar out of serious trouble. The crown seemed to split into to distinctly different groups this point. The one group were the ambivalent and angst filled Anarchistic fans who stood their ground while antagonizing the cops relentlessly. The second group were the polar opposite as the scrambled for any exit out of the show before getting beaten and arrested by the militant police personnel.

My buddy and coworker Chuck has decided being antiauthoritarian to the core of his basic being was siding with those who chosen to enter into the escalating conflict with the cops. Meanwhile my other friend and coworker Mike and I agreed it was in our best interest to skedaddle like our lives depended on it.

While the insanity ensued The Murder Junkies stood on the stage just a confused as anyone else caught up in the may lay. GG had abandoned the stage and immersed himself in the crowd to avoid initial detection by the conclave of cops. A handful of GG’s hardcore fans had grouped up and were now attempting to get GG out of the building before being apprehended by the asshole authorities.

 

“GG Over here, Over Here GG Come on lets get you the fuck outta here” yelled the group of hardcore fans desperately trying to get GG’s attention, and aid him in his escape from prosecution. Finally at last GG’s then girlfriend Liz (who was leading the group) managed to grab GG”s arm and redirect him. The problem was while the escape group comprised of die hard fans had united and caught up with their quarry still had no real plan for escape. The motley crew of super fans circled around GG and were aimlessly migrating through the crowd towards the stage at the back of the room (being the farthest point away from increasing police presence). Once they reached the stage GG pushed and shoved his way over to his brother Merle who was still standing on the right stage smoking a cigarette. Mike and I figured GG and his Mega Fans were experts at exactly this, and being we too wanted to bail the fuck out for the identical reason figured it be wisest to follow them. We managed to make our way through the small sea of human bumper cars to the back of the room by the left side of the stage.

By now the the fight the power fans  were locked in full on combat with the cops. Swearing at cops had turned into swinging on the cops. Beer bottles were being pelted at the police along with anything else that wasn’t bolted down. The police retaliated with excessive amount of mace and then upped the ante by taking their tazers out. As the first few fans were rendered enabled by the first wave of tazings the crowd got crazier. Fans were using chair legs and other various debris to club the cops like police piñatas. Some fans were flailing all over like snakes having seizures as the police used zip ties to restrain them. Others were continuing the chaotic carnage by battling the police, and others already detained and restrained were being led out of the show in a single file line. A security guard of the Owner had been leveled to the ground and was being mercilessly kicked and stomped by a growing gang of blood thirsty violent minded fans. The building noise was reaching a deafening level as all hell and high water had laid complete waste to any as resemblance of a concert.

Mike and I while following GG and his escape artist hardcore fans we had become stuck up against the left side of the stage. We could no longer move having been blocked in by a number of other concert goers who launched into a fan on fan full out fist fight. At this moment I looked over at Mike who shot his gaze up to the actual stage and I instantly knew what he meant. Mike hoisted himself up onto the stage accidentally bumping into the then guitarist for The Murder Junkies William Weber. Mike then helped me as clambered up on stage. The members of The Murder Junkies barely batted an eyelash at us as if to let us know they could care less who the hell we were. We weaved around behind the drum kit and the drummer Dino The Naked Drummer who was vacantly staring off into space or some shit. Once we had achieved moving across the stage Mike grabbed my arm. I asked him what the fuck could he possibly want, and thats when Mike directed my attention to behind the curtain hanging behind Dino. It was hiding the back wall where there to our enormous luck there was loading dock door. Its one of those street level doors you see walking down the street that opens from the basement of the building, and onto the street for receiving deliveries and such. This was the chink in the aggressive storm of utter anarchy that would be our escape to the freedom on the street. Just then Mike did something that surprised the shit out of me and then some. Mike fought his way over to the front right of the stage and blurted out,

“GG! GG! We can get you out right fucking now, COME ON!!”

READERS: Stay tuned For The Final Installment Of This 4 Part Piece.                       I Was A Teenage Murder Junkie pt. 4: The Salvation of the Street                 COMING SOON DATE TBD

How I Crashed My Dad’s New Car And Got Away With It Scott Free.

Just like every high school student since the dawn of the high school I took Drivers Ed when I was a junior. Now by the time I took Drivers Ed. the training equipment had surpassed old into ancient, and was now teetering on being completely antiquated. Back in those days the internet was in its infancy so I’m sure today Drivers Ed. must be like going to a fucking theme park, but I digress. Anyway when I was taking Drivers Ed. you sat in a “driving simulator” which sounds way fucking cooler than it was, remember again this was before the Internet and its technological spawn. The “Driving Simulator” was just an uncomfortable seat in front of a mock dashboard (Speedometer, Wheel, Ignition, Review mirrors, fake break/gas peddle basically everything but a shitty mock radio.) and stared at a crappy worn out movie screen. As you stared at the screen a variety of driving scenarios played out like driving in a residential neighborhood when all of a sudden a kid’s ball bounces into the road, and you act accordingly by using the fake brake. Now the fake peddles on the simulator required a good bit of leg strength to operate due to the fact the peddles where rusting most likely do to poor maintenance (the gym teacher and substitution for a real driving instructor must not of known about WD-40). In the end of all of this fantastical automotive madness passed the class and along with it earning my drivers permit.

IMPORTANT NOTE: There was a small part at the end of the class you, the driving instructor (Gym teacher) and a fellow student would get in and take turns driving an actual car . There was a secondary break for the instructor to use incase shit got out of control. With that said my high school’s Drivers Ed. interpreted this part as tooling around the school’s parking lot practicing K turns and parallel parking. The rare time I did drive on an actual street all I was instructed to do is drive down the small town’s main street (who’s speed limit was a whopping 25mph) 10-11 blocks down to the tiny strip mall and directly back to the school.

The next step in the learning to drive process was to bug the shit out of my parents until (inevitably I wore one of them down) they agreed to teach me to drive. In my case it was my it was my mother who gave in and agreed to teach me whatever I needed to know. Now the conditions around my first actual driving lesson with my mother should have made for enough sufficient foreshadowing to have called it off immediately. You see just a few mere months before the lesson my father had finally bought the sports car he had always wanted ,(and of course my brother and I were not allowed anywhere near it under penalty of…well we never found out because obviously it be bad.) My mother made the decision that it was time for lesson when my father was out of the country in Ireland ,AND that it would be quite a good thing I learn how to drive a stick shift which makes sense on paper. I say that because my mother owned a manual minivan so if I was to learn how to drive stick it have to be in my father’s new sports car.

Much like my high school driving class the first place we went was to a large and completely empty parking lot by a bunch of innocuous office buildings. Now this parking lot had a particular architectural design difference then the parking lot of my high school, and that would be the systematically placed islands with a bit of grass, small buses/scrubs and a sampling tree smack in the middle of them. The islands were surrounded by a massive cement curb that must have been at least 5-6″ high. My mom parked the car at one end of the lot, and I eagerly jumped into the drivers seat with building excitement. After adjusting the mirrors and buckling my seat belts it was time to get on with the real driving, and thats when all hell broke loose going from bad to worse to worst in a matter of split seconds.

Remember the aforementioned Driving Simulators with their corroded peddles that made then difficult to push down well heres where they came into play. The peddles in my father’s prized new sports car were the exact OPPOSITE of the Driving Simulator’s (they were sensitive and required little more then just placing you foot on the gas) and just the weight of your foot would get the car going. So needles to say the car engine roared as it revved up and took off like a Cheetah with its ass was on fire. I’m not going to say I had the wherewithal to shift gears, but I did manage (by shear coincidence) to get the car into second gear when I pulled back, jammed even further on to the gas peddle, and stomped on the clutch violently. I remember hearing my mother’s voice yet to this day I don’t have a goddamn clue what she said not a single word. I did upon hearing her voice look up and saw the end on the parking lot which we were hurdling towards as the asphalt of the parking lot disappeared beneath the wheels as if in fact the tires were feeding upon it. In this case I did the most natural thing one can do and I banked a almost 90 degree right hand turn to avoid crashing head on into the thick woods that lined the perimeter of said parking lot, but thats not all. When I whipped the car wildly to the right to avoiding crashing into the woods I accidentally clipped the corner of one of the aesthetic islands I mentioned earlier. The curb being so abnormally high turned the car instantly into a vehicular bucking bronco as it jumped the curb. The car came careening off the curb and landed with a devastating thud back onto the asphalt where the shocks seriously earned their money , and sent the hubcap flying off like a fucking frisbee. Finally at last at that point I managed to get my shit together enough to stop the car by jamming on the breaks.  Frantically my mother jumped into the driver’s seat, I ran about 100 feet off to retrieve the lost hubcap, and then we sped off as fast as we could still suffering from a shell shock of sorts and embarrassed as all hell.

My mother managed somehow to get my fathers now defunct sports car to her mechanic who reported the front axle was cracked severely along with some other pricey problems due to the crashing into curbzilla. As I stated earlier my father was out of the country in Ireland at the time, BUT he was returning in a matter of days after the accident. Now as my fathers return crept closer and closer my mother started to panic a bit and was calling her mechanic frantically waiting for the car to be repaired. The bitch and bane of the repair was the mechanic had to order a certain part and was simply waiting for it to arrive so he could finish fixing my father’s car. It was a waiting game (strait out of a sappy family comedy movie) as my mother anxiously awaited the car part’s arrival at the mechanics while simultaneously she was growing much more worried about my father’s arrival home to find his car missing. It came down to the last day as my father’s trip as he was flying  home the vital part finally arrived at the mechanic’s shop. My father’s flight had landed and he was  well on its way home in a taxi when my mother picked up his car from the shop now literally racing the clock. My Mother maniacally managed to get my father’s beloved sports car fixed and back in the garage by the skin of her teeth with him being none the wiser.

ENDING NOTE: Since then my father has passed and as far as I’m aware he never knew a single thing about my disastrous first driving lesson in his prized sports car or what really happened to it while he was away.