Gamblin’ Time!

Kimm's birthday, a CH3 gig, and Las Vegas...sounds like a peaceful weekend to me!

So the road show rolls into a nutty little town we like to call Las Vegas this weekend, eh?

When you’ve been around as long as yer ol pals in CH3, you develop a certain history with the cities you visit on a periodic basis.
Yeh, we’ve seen this burg grow from a classless little hick hole to the classless monument to excess that it is today!

This is how we like to remember the joint....

And don’t give me that crap about the Wynn art collection or Tommy Keller’s slop houses raising the cultural bar!
Listen, if I’m gonna drop three hundred goddamn dollars at Bouchon or Nobu, it’s not gonna be in a place where I have to look at a faded cougar on an oxygen tank play penny slots, Brother!

Sure, keep goin' Ma! The kids back home in the holler don't need no shoes this winter!

Besides, you wanna talk about fine dining when any sane man is gonna stroll down the strip for a 99 cent half pound dog at Slots of Fun??!

Ya know what would hit the spot after this? I'm thinkin 25 cent shrimp cocktail and a Heimlich maneuver!

Over the years, we’ve done Vegas a hundred different times and a hundred different ways. From the Bellagio waterfront suites to sleeping it off in the downtown parking garage, this town has always welcomed us with open arms and then kicked our asses back down Interstate 15.

But there’s always been one constant: Yeah, you got it–Gambling!

Ah, hell yeah! Tell Alf he doesn't have to pass out the whore flyers on the Strip any more!

What is it about gambling that sets the blood to boil, hmm?

Is it the thrill of risking what you really can’t afford to lose?
The chance—ever so slight!–of winning?

Actually winning— now there’s a concept!

To receive unearned monies, dropped down upon your grateful open palm like a feather. A reluctant gift from the last sad bird of an exotic and now extinct species?

Your reward in chips: the reduction of familiar monetary values to meaningless tokens. Kinda like buying a Youth Brigade T shirt!

Nah. We simply gamble for the free booze and this simple fact: They let ya get away with murder if yer gambling!!

I mean really, where else can you stumble through a ritzy lobby (or ride a wheelchair *ahem*), a smelly cigar on your lip and all your junk hanging out of your vomit-crusted trousers without getting kicked out on your ass? Just drop a coin in the video poker and they’ll bring you a bloody mary and a Keno card!!!

Keep yer eye on the tall Jap with the two wetbacks....
either they're counting cards or they're too drunk to count to 21!

It’s the spirit of Las Vegas that we love, that sleazy independence that has survived through shitty lounge acts and white tigers!
Come join your buddies out in the desert, won’t ya?-and give Kimm a kiss for luck.

(Need more push? Click the goddamn arrow below and listen to the coins clatter into the tray—it’s the sound of a million lucky angels with prosthetic wings, baby!!!)

Gamblin’ Time

Didn’t I learn a goddamn thing
Is it only half way through Lent?
This hundred bucks is getting awfully warm
And it ain’t going to the rent

I want a chance at something more
Or something different at least
Gimme a shot, a shot at hope
To get me through one more week

Is it wrong to use that cash
Well, her teeth are really pretty straight
Over under’s at fifty four
That one dude’s groin is strained

All I know about myself is nothing’s never enough
Screw the payment on the truck and the rest of that boring stuff
It’s gamblin’ time

In Sam’s Town I double down
The bitch held back my King

The frickin’ horse dropped down in class
She didn’t learn a goddamn thing

I dream of jet black roulette wheels on a velvet ocean of green
I hold the dice like wounded birds and then I set them free

Ode to Fall

Ah, Autumn! What is it about this time of year that makes us reflect on our lives?

Is it the gentle cooling of the Earth, gradually bringing our toasted synapses back onto the level playing field?
The changing folliage-yes, even here in Southern California!– reminding us of mortality’s ever vigilant watch on our fragile existence?

Photoshopped palm trees lining the greenbelt, Seal Beach CA

A man reverts back to his primal mammalian urges, seeking the comfort of warmth and family, fattening up for a hibernatory season.
It is time for cozy board games by the fire and the long patient stewing of thrifty cuts of beef!

psst--hey Dad, if you move green to sector H4, we can crush mom's spirit forever!

Fall is the season that ushers in our birthday season and the deliciously hectic swirl of holiday parties. Benefit shows and chilly dark nights on the road– visions of ominous brown liquids poured tall into buckets.

This? Shucks, we just call this the lemonade of the Autumnal Equinox, people!

Wicked hangovers that are endured only by fried egg sandwiches and Advil, eased by the mercifully short days that melt into yet another chilly night.
The chance to wear that smart tweed blazer you bought so long ago–July, wasn’t it?–on a drunken thrift store jag on Haight…..

And here at CH3 basecamp, we prepare for the next campaign after a well deserved Indian Summer’s sabatical.

...absent from the tabloid pages since Summer, the fellas resurface briefly at the recent Emmy awards.....

So let’s take a look at the upcoming social calendar, shall we? And we’ll brave the oncoming Beast of Darkness together!!

First show after a long layoff--lyrics are forgotten, fingers bleed...Alf shows up at the wrong club!

Record release party--Come help us christen the new baby! We're thinking of leaving the foreskin on this time...

CH3 in a casino lounge...I bet ya never saw this coming!

Come on out and join yer pals won’t ya? Cheers-M

RIP Fat Paul

The Man, the Legend....

So yer sittin there at the Gold Brique, watching the heavy glass pitchers of beer sweat, Credence on the Juke Box. Herman’s manning the bar and scolding us as we try to sneak tips on the bar. “That’s your money, young mister! Put away your change, you earned it, didn’t ya?”
Joyce chimes in from the corner stool and agrees with the old coot. They smile at each other, a shared secret long forgotten.

Helen snores softly in the back office, the door cracked open just enough so we can peek in and catch a glimpse of her weathered bra-enormous! –glowing blue in the flicker of a Dodgers game.

Maybe ya just got back from throwing back a tumbler of Jack at the Embassy Lounge next door, and when you look around all you see are people you know. Maybe there’s a steaming basket of broasted chicken cooling on the table in front of you.

Jesus, the chicken’s always too damn hot, man!–and you always wake up on Saturday morning after the Brique with the fine first layer of skin burned off your palate. You say fuck it, dunk one of the potato logs into your pitcher of draft Bud, and take that first bite, juggling the molten goodness between tongue and molar while mouthing-ho-ho-!

As the Box switches songs, (Lodi to Traveling Man, there’s a good one!) there is a sweet pause in the music. In that moment of your life, you hear only the sound of laughing and cussing; it is the sound of your friends talking to each other.

By God, was there nothing better than a Friday night at the Brique??

You can imagine the sound of this beast, can't ya?

And yet, nothing made the picture complete as the sound of the ‘42 flathead coming off Norwalk, one last rev before shutting her down on the sidewalk right out front of the Brique.
You could easily hold your breath in the short pause it took a man to dismount and walk into the bar pulling off his gloves, for these were the golden nights long before a helmet law.

And there he was –Fat Paul.

Paul Avila, mechanical madman, community jewel, all around bon vivant around town.

After the Brique shut off the sign and Helen threatened to call the goddamn cops on us for the fourth time, you considered yourself a lucky man if you were invited along for after hours at Paul’s. A short jaunt up Norwalk blvd and you found the wonderland of Fat Paul’s house.

Though there might be a disassembled trike transmisson on the kitchen table, and the very real threat of live ammunition in the cupboard, Paul’s house felt as warm and welcoming as Grandmas. Besides, where else could you play with a taser gun at 3 in the morning?

.....

The years roll on, and somehow life becomes more complicated. But you still catch yourself looking down those familiar streets when you’re back in the old neighborhood, somehow hoping the Brique would suddenly be there again, Helen at the door and Fat Paul pulling in the driveway.

Paul passed away just before the Summer turned hazy, but it’s taken this season for all of us to absorb his passing and prepare to say a final farewell. Come join us Sunday at the Blue Dog to say GoodBye to a pal–Cheers!

You Lie!

Well, the fellas at CH3 Mission Control were all in a tizzy when they called me on the landline. Seems a tremendous overnight spike in Channel 3 Itunes activity crashed the entire Apple system, caused by ravenous purchases of the old track You Lie!

...we can't explain it, Sir! Also, we've been selling an unusual amount of Got A Gun XXL tees in Chino Hills!!

Apparently, the overnight downloads of that track funneled enough monies into Posh Boy’s pockets that he is currently in the market for a new villa in Bordeaux.

Wha? Well, a quick log onto the Huffington Post confirmed our suspicions…that scamp Joe Wilson was up to his old tricks!
Apparently, he tried to get a pit going last night during the Healthcare Reform speech by yelling You Lie!!, and then jumping off the Congressional bannister, knocking a beer out of the hand of Representative David Price (D – NC, 4th District).

I just want some Skank! I just want some Skank!

Heh–fuckin Joe! We remember when he used to hang out with his crew at the Galaxy Theatre and yell shit at us from the pit…but when ya called him out on it?
Silence.
Some things never change!

Who the fuck said that, huh?! Yeh, that's what I thought.....

And now, like clockwork, comes the official apology from Wilson’s office:
“This evening I let my emotions get the best of me when listening to the President’s remarks regarding the coverage of illegal immigrants in the health care bill. While I disagree with the President’s statement, my comments were inappropriate and regrettable. I extend sincere apologies to the President for this lack of civility.”

Oh brother. Apparently even the Republicans are condemning the outbust now too.

I know nothing!

Yeh, that’s because the Rebuplicans were salivating over Obama’s lowest approval ratings in months due to the Heathcare issues, and then Wilson decides to get all drunk before the gig and ruin it for everyone!!

Whatever. At least it got a little TMZ-style attention to the issue at hand.

And while we applaud Obama’s tackling of the Healthcare issues, just don’t get us started!
It’s well known that CH3 has been championing total Health Service overhaul since the early 80’s, when we proposed going back to a basic Commodities-based valuation of the Nation’s Healthcare.

In other words, a case of Syphyllis is gonna cost ya a basket of eggs, breast enlargement one veal calf..etc!!

Yes, we have goat....one vasectomy and and Coronary Artery Bypass Graft, if you please!

Listen, if Joe wanted to man up and take on the Prez, you don’t just namecheck your favorite CH3 song and then go hide by the chicks’ bathrooms! You gotta go for the stage dive like those nutty punkers over in South Korean Paliament, am I right?

Up the Punx!

Then they really get things boiling in the pit!!

Gaaa! I lost my shoe!!

Click the shiny arrow to hear You Lie by CH3!!

The CH3 Eye on TV: True Blood

We were all thrilled here at the CH3 entertainment offices when the advance copies of HBO’s True Blood Sunday Finale arrived via DHL. Oh sure, we’re usually more interested in the more cerebral offerings of subscription cable, and haven’t really been tuning into the the Big H since they totally screwed up with the Sopranos finale….

Really? Journey? Hey, thanks for the fuckin ear worm, Chase!

Hey sue us! This is scary good fun for the whole family.
See, in this sitcom, vampires are out in the real world and trying to get along with the rest of us! Kinda like Will and Grace, when you think about it….
But oh man, hilarious hijinks ensue when the locals start mixing with the vampires, people start getting killed, regular people start drinking vampire blood—whooo boy!

All they need is Don Knotts and Tim Conway as the local law and they’d be onto Television Gold!

...well if you didn't sneeze, I didn't sneeze...gaaaa! L-L-let's get outta here!!

In this, the second season of True Blood, the sleepy redneck town of Bon Temps has been cursed by the evil Maenad, some kind of crazy beast that eats raw meat and gives everyone these real cool Marilyn Manson contacts so they can have non stop sex and parties.
Alf asks: where do I sign up??

The evil presence is played by some Dom bitch that was on thirty-something or a Summer’s Eve commercial, I know I’ve seen her somewhere before——but on here–evil!

Dionysius commands you to stay morning fresh all day long!!!!

I’ll tell you what, this cougar looks like she’s having a grand time chewing on the scenery. In fact, I have to keep reminding myself that this is actually on broadcast television, the acting is so deliciously bad! They tell me Anna Paquin, who plays main character Sookie Stackhouse, actually won an Oscar when she was just a kid for the Piano! Lemmee guess–she didn’t try a Southern accent in that one, am I right?

Shoulda quit while you were ahead, kid!

Meanwhile-meanwhile!- our boy Keitel goes commando in that and Bad Lieutenant and gets zilch?!! I hereby turn in my Academy card– good day sir!

Nudity and crack smokin? That's what we call acting!!!

Anyhoo, in an effort to save the town from turning into some Norwegian Black Metal festival, (though believe me, Brother-that would be an improvement over this hick hole!), the Vampires go rescue other Vampires and the hicks go rescue other hicks, all the while wondering “What are we gonna do, Bill?? What are we gonna DO?!?!”

Christ, I haven’t seen this much over the top emoting since the Dino and Lewis reunion on the ‘76 MDA telethon…

Just hug me, ya fuckin greaseball-- Frank's watching!!

Our girl Sookie is in love with Bill, a Civil War era vamp. But get this–Bill’s a good vampire!! He prefers not to drink Human blood any more, and tries to get all the vampires and humans to just get along, and gee, wouldn’t it be nice if……..snnnnore!

Listen, If I wanted to watch a blood sucking monster with a conscience I’d be watching Oprah *rimshot* zing-Hey0!!!

Pussy

If some hot Vampire-Lesbo action ever broke out between Sookie and that one Ginger babe, you just know ol Wet Blanket Bill would put a stop to that!

Sookah! Give her back her panties and come watch Huel Howser with me!

Sheesh–but don’t worry– it’s over on the other side of town where all the cool kids hang out, a Vampire nightclub called Fangtasia!!! FANG-tasia, do you get it?!

This is a seedy, yet oddly familiar nightclub where all sorts of otherwordly beasts gather to worship the night and drink exotic potions that make them lose their minds….

Mein Gott!!! Back to Hell, wretched Beasts!!!

This place is run by Erik—meow!! Now you’re talkin Vampire! This guy cheats, steals, kills–that’s how we like our Vampires, am I right?

Come to me, Children of the Night..I hid a bottle of Jager in Alex's office!!

Anyways, in the thrilling Sunday finale, the vampire bad asses team up with the local yokels and chase off the hot party broad. Booo!
But then, local folk Tara and her cousin Lafayette are gruesomely killed, when Tara’s Mom Lettie Mae comes to embody the Dark Lord and rips out their hearts-Shocking!

Now what tha fuck is HBO gonna do with us? Put us with Larry David?

*SPOILER ALERT* Don’t read the preceeding statement if you…oh, right.
Shit-sorry about that.

Warped Los Angeles

Sunday morning: I stir slightly from my sleep, the delicate *snick* of the Braun KF520 coming to life. Soon the house is filled with the aroma of brewing coffee, and a man of near-fifty contemplates a relaxing Sunday at home.

Perhaps whipping up a batch of beignets to go with that coffee, and carefully dissecting the Sunday Times. Front page through Sports, the Calendar sections next, and yes, maybe even clip a few coupons.
Hey, really– what’s up with Parade magazine? Do people really write these letters asking about Liza Minelli every month?

Someone's looking fabulous!

We’re saving the Travel section for the orgasmic bowel movement that is sure to announce its intentions following cup o java nombre trois.

By God how I love a Sunday morning of leisure!

But then: What the?!!!…. Tbone is knockin at the door, the dog is barking, Anthony lurches out of the spare bedroom dressed only in his Evel Knievel Pajama Bottoms….

It ain’t over yet–It’s show day, bitches!!!

Excuse me, did you request a wakeup call?

Jumping back into the van at 9am, we’re immediately hit by bad news:
the pork rinds are getting disturnigly low at this point.

A dwindling supply of heavenly goodness!~

A quick stop at Mercado Blanco and we are stocked to the rafters with brewskis. We refuse to let our friends and family pay 12 bucks per cup of swill. I am still lobbying for the buy-a-shirt-get-a-beer-even-you-minors-if-you-don’t-tell-Mom, but I am voted down. Burning bridges and all that, wot?

Hmmmm...a lil beer might be in order, ya think?

It’s last day at camp, and the tribes come together for group hugs and teary promises to keep in touch.

Joey Shithead actually takes me aside and calls me Ponyboy, tells me to Stay Gold….

OK, after this ya gotta sign my yearbook!

Joining the Old School Merch Mall is ol pal Edward Colver, he of the hairy paws on the backwards gun. Great to catch up and see his fine work, yeah?

Don't do it Ed! Ya got so much to live for!!

Gaaaaa!

Too much to do! Too much to see! Overload!!!

It’s all over too quickly, and we are left loading the van in the dark;
the refuse of a thousand broken promises collect in the parking lot corners like snowdrifts.

Once more into Big Black---we're gonna miss ya, babe!

As we load in our battered tools and injured bodies, I imagine the melancholy of the Carny packing up after the Fair has ended—but at least that tortured soul is comforted by a new town on the horizon and the gram of crystal meth in his shirt pocket!

For us, it’s the end of the line….

Put this thing out of its misery, already!

welcome to the saddest picture in this whole wide world.....

Heh.

What a great fuckin time, and back home now with plenty of Summer left for our beloved ocean breezes and groaning plates of Chile Rellenos–Cheers! M

Yall come back now, ya hear?!

Warped San Diego

After the blast furnace fun of Marysville it was time to load it and hit it….

Pete tries to hop in big black--but ya got a keg on your bus, mate!!

Overnighter drive to SD comin up! First had to provision the wagon for the road:

Oh shit, we're running low on the rinds, fellas!

Gas station freezer fun:

Leave me! So cold....so very cold...!

The drive was a breeze…..A delirious, hellish breeze. Drifting in and out of sleep to the Elvis Comeback Special, at one point we woke from our slumber to find these nifty cow glasses of Jack in our hands.

Lab tests confirmed our suspicions: Lead paint makes the whiskey extra delicious!

Alright, one more shot of the T Belly--but that's it!

Got to Chula Vista at 4:30am, up and at the van by 8:30am–I’m no math wizard, but I’m thinkin we didn’t get our full 8 of beauty sleep, yeah?

PJ's and overalls---if that ain't punk I give up, brother!

Over to Cricket Wireless Ampitheatre and immediately to the lunch line.

What? Ya think there was gonna be a whole post without the money shot?

We got the drill down now—check in, be first in line for chow, make fun of the screamo tantrum dancers, then suit up for stage:

Men of action, ready to take stage.....

Great show in San Diego–thanks kids!

Goddamnit! Nobody told me it was casual day at work!!

Our shared DOA/UK Subs/CH3 merch table is looking awesome by now–the rest of these bands have the custom screened tents from the record company,

but fuck that mang! This is the old school!

We don't need no stinkin custom merch booth!

Back to the van for the easy ride home. Well, as soon as we kicked the little groms off the entertainment console and plugged in Elvis again…..

Oh C'mon! My turn now!!!

A short hop up the 5 for a familiar bed and onto Carson tomorrow!

Take me home, lil Mama!

Warped Marysville

Arrr---give up hope, all ye who enter Punk Rock Island!!!!

Ooofah–hot—hot!!

It was a day when we punk dinosaurs shoulda been home nesting in the cool den, catching up on some knitting and daytime soaps.

Keepin outta the sun, that's all!

But no.

Shout out to Posh Boy from Kimm and Charlie Harper

Someone thought it would be hilarious to put on a punk show in the stifling heat—the fellas were prepared for it though, and the show went on!

We were hoarse from nagging the kids to hydrate and put on sunblock all day, but it all worked out just fine. The crews were loose and ready for the ten hour drive to San Diego….

Ten hours fly by when ya got internet porn!

But first more of the catching up with the punk rock high school reunion and a lil late lunch, yeah?

Fat Mike with Old Mike, Kimm Mike and Alf Mike

Pete Adict cuts in line for chow...but what a hat, mate!

Christ! Gotta go on a diet after this!

Back in the van and onto San Diego now-cheers-M

Warped Mountainview

Gaaa! Put that fuckin thing away Tbone!

Heh–sorry about ruining your breakfast–just want yall to see what we’re living with out here in the wilds of Warp!

Alright then, up and at em at the luxurious Pacific Inn Motel (Laundry at the far south east corner of the parking lot, 1.25 per load) iced down the beverages and a short hop over to the Mountainview ampitheatre thingy. Met up with some great fans at the old school stage…..

Finally--the fans are appreciating the classics!!

We got a decent 1:45 time slot, leaving plenty of time to socialize after:

Angelo Fishbone

Monkey man and Kimm man...

Charlie lays it down!!

Thelonius Bob....he gets a free toaster if he gets Kimm into rehab!!

Kimm in the midst of a punk rock nest!

Despite the gremlins invading the amplifiers, had a fun set–it’s kinda like playing a lunchtime assembly at the local Junior High:

And then? Onto dinner of course-queued up with the denizens and had a surprisingly lovely New york Strip with Blue Cheese topping….

Catering lineup Moutainview...

Bus call at sundown and how does the night end? Oh, probably like your Thurday evening, really. TBone in a wrestling mask, drinking from a gallon of Jack—

do you see? We’re really not that different after all…..

Just a normal night on the road....

Attn: All Employees Re:Warped Tour

Companywide memo to:
All personnel at the CH3 home office.

Hello staff! Before we begin today’s briefing, a quick attaboy to Phil in accounting, who recently celebrated his 45th year with the organization–way to go Phil. Also, Shelia in HR gave birth to a beautiful 8 pound boy last Wednesday.

Way to go, guys! Now get back to your fuckin cubicles!!

As you all know, our next sales campaign will be the Warped Tour, also known as The Van’s Warped Tour, Presented by Monster Energy Drinks and Remax Real Estate Services. We will be sending out the CH3 road team on these final dates.

They look so fresh and shiny here!

Due to the complaints regarding the travel arrangements for the recent European campaign, we have decided to upgrade to a larger vehicle for this week. The vehicle will be outfitted accordingly for the 5 day journey.

Ant kickin the tires

The 2009 Sprinter van seats 12, has full air conditioning and internet access, and has both Xbox and DVD player. The following motion picture titles will not be allowed in the vehicle: Any recent Hollywood title containing the words Star, Galactica, Destination, Lord, or Rings. Also, please do not (Alf) bring along any Porn with the words Bone, Gusta or Chupa in the title.

At this time, approved titles for viewing during transport:
Elvis ‘68 Comeback Special; Elvis ‘68 Comeback Special Limited Edition; Raging Bull.

perfectly ok for the ride...

Travel Day is Wednesday, Aug 20. The satelllite facility will be leaving the Long Beach office approximately 2pm.

Update: Due to dental complications, Ricardo Martinez will not be going on this journey. Filling in as company liason will be Erik “T Bone” Petersson. Do not-repeat-DO NOT reply to this memo with your complaints. This personnel change has already been approved and Erik has promised to keep his shirt buttoned for the majority of the work day.

Day one people--let's pace ourselves!!

Travel time will be approximately 5 hours to the Mountainview area. Rooms have been reserved at the Pacific Inn.

Hey--there's a fuckin jacuzzi in here! Who wants to soak with Tbone?!

Dinner vouchers are good for the local Chevy’s restaurant. Once again: Do not attempt to exchange the vouchers for cannisters of nitrous oxide or sexual favors.

A prayer before meal....

We will be giving away a beautiful set of Mont Blanc pens to any personnel that can guess the number of pork rinds in the jug. Please submit your guess to the box in the east cafeteria, only one guess per day please.

I'd say we're good to go, eh?

Okay team, that’s it for the day. We will be keeping everyone up to date on the daily statistics of the tour, please monitor your workstations often. As always, have a CH3 day!