On The Road With Freak

ON THE ROAD WITH FREAK

by: Freak/Q101-FM

Hey kiddies buckle yourselves in nice and tight…because since this is a double holiday issue…ol’ Uncle Freak has a double feature planned for you.

That’s right…this month you get a double dip of daring rock ‘n’ roll exploits…

THE CLUBHOUSE

Dallas, Texas

11/10/02

Turd and I had already been drinking for quite some time before we found ourselves stumbling down the airwalk into terminal three of the Dallas/Ft Worth airport. We started at my house that morning and continued at O’Hare, on the flight, and in the lobby of our hotel as we checked in. A strong, steady pace that would carry us well into the night.

Our first stop was the Y.O. Ranch for some grub. Bar-B-Que frog legs, venison medallions, and a sixteen-ounce buffalo fillet washed down with several bottles of ice cold Lone Star beer. It was a vegetarian’s worst nightmare, but we savored every last bite.

Then it was off to the American Airlines Arena where the Dallas Mavericks were playing the Detroit Pistons. Mavericks owner Mark Cuban had been on Mancow’s show that Friday and had foolishly invited us down for a game to party. I don’t think he ever expected us to show up drunk on his doorstep the very next day, but he welcomed us like old friends and sat us three rows from the court. There, we continued drinking as the undefeated Mavs kicked the living snot out of the Pistons.

Game over, we were off to The Clubhouse, a nasty little strip club nestled in an industrial part of Dallas owned by the guys in Pantera with a BYOB policy and a fine herd of Texan females.

We rolled by a liquor store on the way and grabbed two eighteen-packs of suds for the evening. We arrived just after midnight and Vinnie Paul was waiting for us inside with a big tub of ice for our beer and a table in his corner.

The club is awesome with a laid-back attitude and a rock ‘n’ roll atmosphere where you can see top-notch ladies dancing totally nude while slamming an ice-cold beer. When we finally staggered out of the joint at four am, we were greeted by a full-on grilling session going down in the parking lot. Bar-B-Que turkey legs just never looked quite so good.

The next thing I remember was the phone ringing in my room. I pressed the receiver to my BBQ sauce-encrusted beard to hear a perky voice remind me that I had a flight to catch.

With m head slightly throbbing, I hung up the phone and happily noticed a half-full bottle of beer on the nightstand. A little hair of the dog, as they say...

Here we go again!

LAST RITES TATTOO PARLOR

New York, New York

11/16/02

The voice of Sesame Street’s Elmo wished me a good evening as we stepped out of the cab on west 42nd Street and into the bright lights and multi-storied video screens of Times Square.

Rockefeller Plaza, Radio City Music Hall, and The WWE Café all towered above the bums, peddlers, and trash that littered the streets around us. We had come to New York to get some tattoo work done, but my appointment wasn’t until tomorrow, so we were in full-on tourist mode as we strolled about Manhattan drinking Jack & Coke out of McDonald’s cups.

We made our way into Soho where we eventually came across the famous Coyote Ugly. We stopped in to see the bar that was so great, they made a movie about it, but were unimpressed and split after just one beer.

Eventually, we ended up in a corner bar on Mulberry Street in Little Italy where we were served by a little old man chomping on an unlit cigar who was a dead-ringer for Abe Vigoda. As we drank, I noticed the photos on the wall featured the old codger with the likes of Ronald Reagan, a “Scarface”-era Al Pacino, and even Marilyn Monroe. It was obvious that he carried a little weight in the neighborhood.

The next day we hit Paul Booth’s legenadary studio on 4th Street at three o’clock and it wasn’t long before I was strapped in and wincing as he went to work on my back. As I sat there, I kept thinking of all the famous metal guys who have felt the sting of Paul’s needles in that very chair and how he is the best of the best.

Six painful hours later we packed it in and headed over to CBGB’s for a beer or ten to unwind.

Sid (#0) from Slipknot was spinning some industrial noise when we arrived and we hooked up with him after his “set.” He assured me that although Corey (#8) and Jim’s (#4) side project Stone Sour was kicking ass and Joey’s (#1) band Murder Dolls was doing pretty good as well that Slipknot was NOT finished. He said that they would be spending the winter in a recording studio someplace warm.

Happy to hear this, I finished my beer and headed for the door as Sid returned to his turntables. After all, one can only handle so much of that crap.

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