I spent a good part of this morning unsuccessfully looking for an old black & white Halo Benders promotional photo from the mid 1990s.  I’ve been working the same type of hustle that I am now for half of my life and, when I was in high school, I spent the majority of my focus on getting companies to send me free shit for my marketing program’s “trade show” projects.  The Calvin Johnson founded, K Records was one of the most helpful and provided me with tons of merchandise and materials, including that Halo Benders photo, which was intended to hype the group’s sophomore effort, Don’t Tell Me Now (1996).  Two years prior, when Johnson (Beat Happening) first started the side project with Doug Martsch (Built to Spill), I had begun hearing the song “Don’t Touch My Bikini” on the local community college radio station.  Both keeping with and ending their pattern of dropping a new album every other year, Halo Benders released their final album, The Rebels Not In, in 1998.  That release contained “Virginia Reel Around the Fountain“, a song that is still a regular feature on Built To Spill set-lists to this day.  Calvin hopped on stage with BTS for a few random cameos throughout the following decade and the group reunited with a slightly altered lineup for a pair of shows in Boise, Idaho.  There have even been some random non-confirmed rumors of a possible new album and/or comeback but, for all intents and purposes, The Halo Benders were a Nineties band.  At one point or another during that initial run, the side-project even made an infamous, yet rarely seen, appearance on a quintessential 90‘s television program.  Thanks to today’s technology, the footage from that fiasco is just one more thing that has managed to resurface in our current times.

The ’90s were fucking weird, but that probably has a lot to do with the fact that I spent my Jr. High and High School days during them [every decade is fucked up and crazy in one way or another].  Still… Punk returned, but it wasn’t really punk.  Ska broke through, but it wasn’t ska.  Almost as soon as it was coined, the term “Alternative” lost all meaning and became as mainstream of a style of music as possible.  One thing that still held meaning in the ’90s, however, was “Indie Rock“.  It wasn’t until around 2000, when I moved to the Olympia, Wa, (birth place of K Records and Kill Rock Stars) that I truly realized how many other people were familiar with the independent artists and music that I had been exposed to and stumbled across as a teenager.  This was also about the time that I began hearing about The Halo Benders‘ brief run in with the law, that had been documented on the program Real Stories of the Highway Patrol.

A lot of people credit shows like The Real World with spawning the “reality show” craze that we have today, but, before “reality” was used to describe methodically edited footage of carefully selected people placed in extraordinary circumstances, there were already shows like The People’s Court and documentary-style programs like COPS.  Capitalizing off of the popularity of COPS, Real Stories of the Highway Patrol ran from 1993-1999, approximately the same span of time that the Halo Benders existed themselves.  Over the years, the band’s appearance on RSHP had, somewhat, become a part of urban lore.  Although many people knew of it’s existence and the details of a marijuana charge, it seemed as if few of them had actually ever seen the episode.  In an old interview for what appears to be a now defunct website, one person did get an official answer from Doug Martsch after asking about the validity of the legendary television clip.

Q: “…did Real Stories of the Highway Patrol really pull your van over when you guys were on tour as the Halo Benders?”

A: “Oh…it did happen. Yeah. But I don’t really want to talk about it. But…someone got in trouble. It wasn’t me. It wasn’t Calvin. Well, Calvin got in sort of trouble for smarting off. I never saw the episode. To me it was just a dramatic, bad situation. To some people it’s funny, but to us, it was a bummer.“

Thanks to the power of Youtube, the original video has finally resurfaced for all of us that have been waiting to see it.  I first found out that it was available in March, via a Facebook post by my friend Benny P., but have completely slacked on getting it up until now.  Unfortunately, Doug Martsch was right about the video, because it’s not as “funny” as I had always been led to believe and it actually is a “bummer” to see another example of how shady law enforcement can be.  This is especially true for those of us who have been in similar situations with “the man”.  The Highway Patrol officers in this video are from Utah, which may not come as a surprise for many of you.  In 2008, a Utah man by the name of Jared Massey successfully sued the UHP for $40,000 after having the shit tased out of him, when he questioned a speeding ticket, and, as recently as last month, another lawsuit was filed against Utah law enforcement who actually managed to tase a man to his death.  A stun gun wasn’t busted out on the Halo Benders, but they did handcuff Calvin and they definitely put the kibosh on their Freedom Ride.

[Video below, after this MP3, taken from the debut album, God Don't Make No Junk.]

Click here to view the embedded video.

Back in October, comedians, Nick Kroll and Jon Daly introduced their characters of “Bobby Bottleservice” and “Peter Papparazzo” (aka: “The Ed Hardy Boyz”) to the world via a video short on FunnyorDie.com.  Taking jabs at gaudy, tanning bed glamor boys and playing off the name of the classic, fictional teenage detectives, the video featured the duo trying to solve the case of a stolen belt buckle.  We liked that video and posted it.  Apparently, Funny or Die became aware that we had, because I just received an email from the site asking if we’d be interested in posting the follow up as well.  We were.

Since the first video, a few things have changed.  Nick Kroll was already a well respected comedian among his peers, however, he was little more than a familiar, yet unplaceable, face to the large majority of Americans.  By the end of the same month that the last video aired, Kroll‘ recognizability began to grow as a cast-member of the FX program The League.  Perhaps even more important to the viability and relevance of The Ed Hardy Boyz is the instant phenomenon of Jersey Shore that hit the world in December.  Kroll took advantage of the hype by sending in an audition tape as Bobby Bottleservice to the reality show and has even been featured on a Jersey Shore related special.

The biggest effect that this popularity has had on the creation of the Ed Hardy Boyz videos themselves involves who’ve they’ve actually been able to convince to star in them.  This sophomore effort, “The Case of When That Hot Filipina Girl Lost Her Tramp Stamp At Mini-Golf,” stars a plethora of pseudo-celebrity talent ,with an open willingness for self-satire that I haven’t seen since Ricky Gervais‘ EXTRAS.  Then again, I’m sure that some of them probably just needed the work/publicity.  The biggest shocker is the inclusion of Ed Hardy designer, Christian Audigier, himself.  With an “If you can’t beat ‘em…” attitude, he not only c0-stars in the film, but is also credited as executive producer.  Also featured as themselves are Pauly Shore, Tom Sizemore, Aubrey O’Day (ex-Danity Kane), Pat O’Brien, Fred Durst, and Ian Ziering (90210).

Tell us what you think…

The title of this post pretty much explains it all.  Of course, if the recent Phish reunion shows were held on the West Coast, I would have titled it “Hella fools get arrested…”  Thousands of excited concert goers arrive in Hampton, VA to see their favorite 4-piece throw down the crazy funk jams that they’ve been dreaming of for the last 5 years, only to be fucked with imercifully by the local Po-Po.  You may have heard about this on various websites or even on your local TV news, but I’m calling bullshit on many of these reports and the operation as a whole. I’m also going to tell you exactly why.

The mugshots I’ve provided in the gallery were taken from thesmokinggun.com after our writer Onsen emailed me a link.  Apparently, these images are public property.  I originally checked them out to see if any of my friends were featured but, although this is only said to be a small sample of those reportedly arrested, so far…so good.  Cross referencing the smokinggun post with an Associated Press article sent to me by another writer, A.Misallati, the general consensus seems to be as follow:

* There were 194 arrests
* Most were for “possession” and “distribution”
* Nearly 200 officers were working the event
* $68,000 was seized
* Street value of drugs confiscated was $1,213,882.80

Yep, and “80 cents“.  The exact calculation of the narcotics seems ridiculous, since street value will fluctuate, especially in a concert setting.  My belief is that the number was inflated by authorities in the report because, this is the type of shit that freaks out soccer moms across the nation.  I can almost guarantee that the amount of cash collected, on the other hand, was severely higher than reported.  My bet is that it was at least twice that and the rest was pocketed.  Sixty-eight grand sounds like a lot of money but not compared to the 1.2 million dollars worth of drugs that they are claiming to have seized.  This gives the impression that the officers were so on point that they were able to prevent most of the distribution from even occurring.  Most of this must have gone down outside the venue and within the time that the fans arrived and showtime, because I doubt that many arrests took place in the venue during the performance.  It’s true that a number of “phans” without tickets were probably getting popped in the lot outside of the venue but, from what I remember, Hampton Coliseum does not provide a camping area.  Coupled with the fact that the venue is known to be a historically sketchy spot to try and work anything illegal, not many people were likely to stay behind too long after the shows; limiting the amount of time for law enforcement to work their magical brand of justice.

I was stopped and grabbed on my way to a Honey Bucket during Bonnaroo 2005.  I wasn’t doing shit at the time, either.  I was laughed at and told, “Sorry.  Looks like you were in the wrong place at the wrong time.“  My hands were placed on a vehicle and $1,200 in cash was taken from my pockets.  I was then simply thrown out of the venue and sneaked right back in.  That year, someone had built a strip club in the lot (complete with pole), girls were being pimped down Shakedown, and people were slanging rock everywhere.  It was dirty as fuck but I got stopped trying to take a piss.  People were getting stopped for things like drinking from glass bottles.  They would then get searched and arrested or “legally robbed”.  After the festival, we read a police report much like this one and, although I can not recall exact numbers, the cash that was claimed to have been seized was comparable to that mentioned here, if not less.  I saw people who’s confiscated money would have attributed to 1/10 of what they reported, all by themselves.  The ration of cops on hand, versus the arrested attendees, means that each and every cop is averaged to have made one arrest a piece.  Think about it.  Plus, most of the busts for “distribution” did not take place during a sale to law enforcement.  If they went down during a transaction between concert goers, then officers probably swiped the buyers loot as well or, at least, searched them and, undoubtedly, found something else.  The rest of the busts for distribution were likely because the arrested parties had narcotics that were bagged separately and/or the weight of what they possessed was beyond a possession charge.  Unless the parties involved were openly walking around holding giant buds in there hands, I have questions about how most of the possession charges occured at all.

(Click photos to enlarge)

I know that these are only 25 of the mugshots provided out of nearly 200, but look at these people.  Some are blitzed out of their gourds, a few were probably busted legitimately, and the rest are just too stereotypical.  These are the first shows of the tour so why do so many of these people look like they’ve been sleeping in a Toyota Chinook for the last 3 months?  These kids were getting grabbed on hunches that panned out.  Once you’re found with something, there’s not much you can say.  You don’t see people getting patted down on the way into Celine Dione shows like you do at rap concerts.  It’s a shame too, because you know that they have to at least be on some heavy meds to attend that bullshit.

FUN TIP:
Get out an old copy of the boardgame “Guess Who” or purchase one at your local thrift store.  Cut the mug shots out and glue them to the pictures of the original game characters.  Play your own version.

“Do you have dread locks?”
“Nope”
“Are your eyes tweeked out?”
“Yes”
“Are you sporting a hoodie”
“Nope”
“I guess you’re Tom!”

-Dead C

The other night the ol’ ball and chain wanted to go out (She loves it when I call her that). She used the kind of non-descript, “take me somewhere honey, I wanna drink” type of whine that girls are prone to do sometimes. It was a Wednesday night and I couldn’t think of an excuse not to go so, of course, I obliged. In any event, I was as hungry as a carnivorous platypus and, since there was nothing goin’ on, I thought a drink and some delicious eats would do me good. Well, we didn’t end up going to “Eats” (which is a cheap ATL staple, since forever, for food and it is delicious), but I did remember this one other delicious place called O’Terrils which is near Central Park where my friend used to live. Of course it’s an Irish pub, and they have good food like cranberry and turkey sandwiches, and all sorts of shit on rye bread. It is usually a pretty safe place to eat. As “safe” as anywhere near a Central Park (see MLK Dr.) and a methadone clinic, that is.

On the way to eat we had to pass the Methadone clinic. First, let me just say, I think that methadone clinics serve a very needed purpose to a problem that, in some ways, society and the government have created. I have friends that go to the clinic and without it they could very well be dead, instead of living normal, productive lives. That being said, for all the people that go there and pull it together, hundreds of shady no goods also frequent there and don’t leave. Due to the type of area that we are in, they also frequent the block over…and the block after that…and after that and so on.

We were about 5 minutes from the infamous neighborhood, known as “Little 5 points“. My girlfriend was in the passenger seat of my car and was looking with wide eyes over the scene that was unfolding before us. Where we were is a progressive area that melded a smattering of upper-class citizens, with an unsettling myriad of homeless, crack heads, drug dealers, and hookers. Unfortunately, this is not a generalization, nor should it be. It is not meant to call out the oppressed or less fortunate in the area. No, that is simply how it is.

My girlfriend leaned over to me and asked if this was a “safe place“. Let me preface her answer by stating that earlier during the day, the Marriot that she works at was evacuated as well as the surrounding Cumberland Mall, because of a bomb threat. Due to this fact, the potential presence of criminals and crime in the area had her a little more on edge than normal. Having driven through these “mean streets” a hundred times before, I knew it to be criminally active but generally only dangerous if you’re “stupid“. Nobody is probably going to jack you walking down the street. That being said, you shouldn’t flaunt wealth either. What I mean is, common sense should prevail. It is, as I like to say, a “know your place” kind of area. A place where, as long as you are just doin’ your thing ,you should be ok. So I leaned over to her and said, “Honey, this place is full of less fortunate people. With poor people comes crime” and left it at that. I mean, of course it’s not “safe“, but it’s not “not safe” at the same time. Bear with me.

A couple of blocks from the methadone clinic, and right across the street from Central Park, is O’Terrils. We roll in, get a parking spot, and walk on inside. We sit right by the door in a booth which, at the time, seemed like a good spot. We had a booth, an LCD TV in front of us, and a nice little window to play Spot the Crack Head which, turns out, is a real shitty game to play there unless you like to keep score. This is because every time you point your finger you win.

A half hour or so goes by and we’re about finished with our pitcher of libations, when, all of a sudden, I see this motherfucker fly up the street, open the door to the restaurant we were at, and run behind the bar. I knew instantly this was not good and not normal but, due to his out-of-nowhere poise, he kind of fooled everyone in bar for a second. You could have almost really thought that he worked there for a moment. Well, not me exactly, but some other idiots did. Two seconds later this other cat comes running in with long ass, thin dreadies, a flashy New Era cap, and a hip, splattered, neon, collared shirt. Without so much as a warning, he and the aforementioned character just start fighting. Since I happened to be positioned right next to the door, I naturally turned around. Well, if ever faced with another unfolding and confusing situation, I don’t know if I will be doing that again. I think next time I’m just going to act like nothing is happening and, the reason being, is that I turned around only to see two guys wrestling over a gun within about a foot away from me. The first guy shouted to the heavens, and to the dismay of the customers, “HE’S GOT A GUN!! HE’S GOT A GUN!!” Sure fucking enough he did have a gun, which sent this entire little bar into fucking calamity. I jumped behind a pool table, which was across from my booth, while my girlfriend ran to the other side of the bar. Countless other people ran into each other like lemmings bouncing from wall to wall.

As the blur of insanity started to paint a still picture, I realized what was actually going down. Two guys engaged in a gun wrestle, Hollywood style, possibly involving illegal substances, women, money and maybe even…. neon shirts? I’m telling you, this was an instant classic. Both guys have their hands on the gun and are trying to shoot each other with it. It is being waved in every direction around the bar. Grunts, groans and a surprisingly contained fight proceeded to develop. While always maintaining their position in front of the door that they came in through, they seemed to be in a perpetual bear hug. Wrestling with the gun, both men were looking forward; one behind the other. What I saw next would define this journey. How it escaped my initial sights I don’t know, but when I finally did focus and realize, it certainly became omnipresent in my mind. I saw that the dready dude was also holding a paper bag, which was torn during the tussle. It ripped open only to spill tens of thousands of dollars, wadded up in rubber bands, all over the floor. All over the floor but also right next to me. It was literally like a scene from Grand Theft Auto where you shoot a guy and money falls out everywhere. Yeah, that shit is dope. Anyway, the point is that this was reality but it also was entirely surreal, and my upbringing can only liken it to a video game.

As these two guys continue wrestling over this gun, there are about 10-20 wads of cash in large bills strewn on the ground from the melee. If I had to guess, and mind you I have never seen stacks of cash before, ever- no denomination or affiliation at all-for any reason- but if I did have to guess how much money was there, I would probably guesstimate …. ummm…. let’s see… about… hmmm… there was exactly $1,000 in cash wrapped tightly into each individual cash wad. If you look outside there is a literal Hansel and Gretel trail of cash wads of cash leading up to the bar that he had also dropped. I have no idea why the fuck these guys ran in the bar, or for that matter, why they were careless enough to drop dirty fucking cash money everywhere, but that is certainly what they did. The fight quickly spread back outside and down into the one-way street.

By now the scene inside has reached it’s peak. Girls are taking off their clothes, people are screaming to call the cops and to lock, get away from or stand in front of the door, and dogs and cats started living together… Obviously it is really crazy. Suddenly, the dude with the dreaddies reappears- sans his gun buddy. I don’t know if this was an emergence after a posthumous encounter- one where he shot that mofo he was with and left him for dead- or if the dude managed to run off, but this time he was alone. He starts walking down his manmade trail, collecting his cash wads of cash. Unfortunately, for him, the bar manager had already walked over and picked up all the cash wads of cash that were inside of the bar while I was contemplating, way too long, about swiping this hoods dough myself. In reality though, one you decide to live the C.R.E.A.M. lifestyle and carry a gun… Basically, I didn’t want that repercussion and I’d just as soon let the bar manager pick up that money. That, and the fact that I couldn’t seem to do it without someone seeing me.

Well, in all the haste, someone actually did manage to lock the door and call the cops, so that when this guy tries to get back in and collect his scrilla, he can’t because the door is locked. Naturally, he runs to the side door instead to try and get inside. These wonderful monumental shifts of the bar keep occurring. “He’s coming around to the other side! Go to the other end of the bar!” and people would shift. He manages to get to the other door, but he still can’t get in. Instantly panic and adrenalin is starting to set in for the patrons. “Is this motherfucker gonna shoot this glass door in or what?” I overhear one of them say.

We’re about 10 minutes into this whole ordeal now and within a known drug dealin’, crime ridden, hooker infested, hood rat of an area, and ATL’s finest have still yet to show up. It’s no surprise really except that City Hall East is only 5 fucking blocks down the road. If I was a donut eating pig, I could have walked over there faster than the real donut eating pigs did by driving over there, so it’s understandable that people are a little worried. Luckily, for the sake of the city, the gunman ran off when he couldn’t get in and no one else was hurt. Hooray! And the face of Atlanta is saved.

When the cops finally did come, the one who graced our presence inside the bar was a tuna melt cop and, by that, I mean a good ‘ol fashioned, butch female cop. A real classic, if you will. She was greeted by a sarcastic, yet welcoming, round of applause. She wobbles in with a haircut you could set your watch to, and starts asking questions. I noticed that the male cops are sitting in their, now ridiculously overly air-conditioned, police cruisers that are parked outside this corner eatery. It’s as if they sent their minion in to do all the paper work. At this point, this scene is no longer scary. The panic has all but subsided and orders can be heard from every corner of the bar from people asking for shots, as if everyone only now realizes what had just happened. The entire scene now exudes the air of a comedy; it’s fucking hilarious and people are laughing, joking, and, actually, really having a genuinely good time. People start to give the female officer all sorts of answers. Some are right and some are incredibly wrong and the bartender is the one directing the officer towards who to ask for information. Just then, I realize that this is a regulars’ bar, and that, even though I saw that shit from the get go, not even the instinct of a cop will sway this officer from the manager’s hand picked selection of witnesses. Since I became aware that nobody was ever going to ask me, the selfishness in me realized that I should have swiped that fools cash after all, just like I’m sure that the bar manager did.

I start to get pissed that I didn’t just become a thousand-aire and I feel a little lump of regret in my throat. To further complicate matters, both mentally and financially now, I was handed my bill soon after the incident. All the while, the cops are interviewing a bunch of idiots that were at the other end of the bar and didn’t even see that shit. I’m thinking, I could have gotten shot with a stray bullet, walked my ass out of the store because it was evidently very unsafe, and this sunnovabitch is giving me a check…now?! The timing certainly caught me off guard, but the surly look on his face caught me even worse. I decide that even if he doesn’t have the timing and panache of a good server, the $25 tab was definitely worth the price of admission. Well, since I’m alive that is. He probably would’ve ratted me out anyway if I had taken that dude’s cash wads of cash, because apparently no one else saw me but this lone server. This includes the cops who failed to ask the person seated closest to the action about what had actually happened. Brilliantly handled APD. Buh-rill-eant! Needless to say, both of those motherfuckers fighting over the gun got away, and I got to hand out a little street justice myself in the form of a shitty tip.

Would I have even told the cop anything? You know what, I don’t think I would have, because the only people they hurt were…well… no one I guess. So fuck it. The downside is, of course, that there is still a gun out there that could kill somebody but, if I rat that person out, my guess is that somebody would be me. Selfishness and the ineptness of a cop, win out again.

The only question that I have left is this, “Did the first dude deserve to be praised or vilified?” I mean, he did try to wrestle the gun out of this guy’s hand, and he did inform the masses that the guy had a gun. Then again, he did run into the bar in the first place and I’m pretty sure that he had something to do with the money if he was waiting on this guy to show up. Therefore, he endangered my life. Therefore, fuck that guy! He might even be more to blame than the guy with the gun.

Before we leave the bar, I notice this old lady looking in the bushes outside the restaurant, presumably for cash wads of cash. Pondering the moments before, I lean to my girlfriend again and say, “Does this answer your question about the kind of area this is?” We both laugh. Drug dealers are funny.

-Doc J