When Stickman Lincoln and Las Pesadillas shared a practice space, we were fortunate enough to find a self-storage facility that was band-friendly—there was something like twenty bands that had spaces there. This was before some band, at one of the storage chain’s New York locations, accidentally set their space on fire. If they used discarded carpet stapled to the walls for soundproofing like we did, I can see how easy that could happen—in fact, I’m amazed we didn’t do it. We once had a camping stove in the center of our practice space for extra heat in the Winter. (This is in addition to some unreliable heaters, old lamps, three or four amplifiers, all sticking into cheap power strips.) At some point the thing malfunctioned and sent a GIANT FLAME STRAIGHT UP TOWARD THE WOODEN CEILING. It was very scary, especially being behind a drum set (TRAP SET is even more appropriate here) in the corner.

 

But all that aside, we also had the fortune (?) to meet up with this character—I forget his actual name, but I never saw him without his trucker’s cap with “I HATE THE RAIDERS” in plain, boldfaced black block letters on it. So that became his nickname (aren’t nicknames supposed to be shorter?). His job description fell somewhere between handyman and professional dropout, with some meth-abuser thrown in for yucks. He lived on the property with Rick and Frieda, who were the owners—and I thought were his parents, though his references to them by first name (and the claim of his only working there for three years) would tend to disprove this.

 

On one occasion, when he was particularly “wound up” (sniiiiiiiiiiiifffffffffffffffff), he came by and started telling old war stories in a very loud and jovial manner. We thought quick enough to hide a tape recorder near him this time. The following transcription is from the full recording, and a sample of the third subject is included. (The first subject is his confrontation with someone with a leafblower; the second is the habit of all the rock bands pissing on the walls, rather than walk across the complex to use the one bathroom.)

...back up the tree...(unintelligible)...I say in the back of my mind, like, “fuck you, man.” I can't say it out loud, or else I get in trouble. I said, no, man, I blow around the street...down the street! “I'm just cleaning my front lawn.” I said, “what's your problem, man?” I says, “you'd better get walkin', next time I call the cops on your ass.” He's all...I never seen anybody move so fast. Once you say the words C-O-P, man, cop...wooo! Not “cup”. I say, “leave me alone, I'll leave you alone, I don't hurt nobody, you don't bother me, we're OK.”

A lot of these guys, y'know...pee on the wall, and run down to the gutter there. I'm like...and somebody goes...”oh, I spilled some soda there! Coca-Cola!” “You spilled eight cans to make that big stain? You guys peed there about eighteen times!” “I poured Coca-Cola...’”, gimme a break, man. I go, “I know what pee-stain and Coke-stain look like, OK? Shit, I been here almost three years, OK?” But uh, no. But, you see, they pee right off the wall here.

Well, I been here almost three years, right. And this gonna sound terrible but...twice...I had a…OK, we got those ten car spaces in the front, and two in the back, one by the F building and one down by the H building, those are those smallest buildings there…and this is about a year ago. Somebody shit behind our dumpster down there, there was a guy who used to have a boat down there, storing a boat...and the way that one was, I was driving one day...”what the fuck?” I thought it was a rattlesnake, rolled up like that, right? I didn't touch it for three weeks, I let the sun dry it up, because…'cause I got a weak stomach, even pickin' up like dog poo-poo with a shovel, I go “uuggh”, I got a weak stomach for that. I go, “motherfuckin' sick bastards, man.” It's bad enough they peed on the ground, but SHITTING? There's a fuckin' toilet up there, with toilet paper! And soap to wash your hand and paper towels to dry! These fuckers gotta just fuckin' pull down their pants and...I'd like to see somebody get caught when the security guy comes there one day. “Hey you! What're you doin'? I gotta tell Rick and Frieda about this one! Rick, somebody shit on your lot last night, man.” Boy, when it come out, baby, it came out!

 

 

mp3 excerpt