Columbia
Footsteps and rustling shattered my already delicate sleep. I had forgotten where I was. Eye wide open, everything pitch black and unfamiliar. Momentary confusion consumed my mental resources while I palmed the surroundings. And, as the reality of being on the bus flooded back into me so did the realization of a compound hangover. I could only laugh, peeling the curtain open to let the morning light bombard my senses. I rolled out of the bunk, almost losing my balance before landing on my feet. I braced a hand on each wall, walking down the bus like I was inside a ship on rough waters. It was a small miracle when I discovered the fridge stocked full of sugar-free Red Bulls. I would find out later Jeff had managed to swing a deal with a Red Bull rep.
Tucker had been the source of the noise. He was setting up his laptop on his table. I tried to hide my agony as a stumbled by, grunting in place of morning pleasantries. Stepping off the bus, the southern air was thick but hollow as if god was rationing out oxygen. I finished the red bulls before finding the hotel room. A knock on the door revealed that Charlie was already awake.
“Sup dude, how was your night?” He said, going back to packing up his suitcase.
“Ugh, okay. Bar was too busy. Lots of beer, though.” I closed the bathroom door behind me. Unzipping my toiletry bag, I stared into the mirror. My reflection avoided making eye contact. It’s a good thing because I had some words for him about repeated bad decisions. If insanity is doing the same thing over again and expecting a different result, what do you call doing the same thing over again knowing you’ll get the same agonizing result?
Sociopathy?
After showering and dressing, I walked down to the van to see most of the crew had left their luggage against the rear door. I lifted the suitcases in between seats where they would fit. My body shook in poisoned defiance with every movement. I stepped back on the bus to take another six red bulls. I hoped one for every hour of the drive would suffice.
Dave was sitting just inside the door. He handed me a day sheet, which outlined all the pertinent details leading up to the night’s show. “Have a good night’s rest?”
“Yeah,” I lied, “slept in my bunk.”
“Glad to hear it. You’ve got a long drive ahead of you. You should stop half way and grab a quick bite to eat, stretch your legs and all that.”
I feigned enthusiasm with a grin that hid gritted teeth, “Will do. I’ll see you in a few hours.”
I waited for five minutes until Jace climbed into the passenger seat. He laid out a bag full of drinks, energy bars and other assorted food. “I grabbed a bunch of stuff in case we need it.”
“My man,” I said pulling out onto the highway.
The sun shone with mid-day intensity but from a horizontal morning plane – one of those late August days when nature basks in the pinnacle of its maturity. Butterflies extended their wings, flashing their utmost brilliance before becoming plastered slime on the windshield with an anti-climatic thud.
“God, this drive is going to suck,” I sipped from my red bull.
Jace agreed twisting the radio dial to find something resembling music. “I wish I had an i-pod adapter. These stations only play crap.”
“You kids and your technology.”
“Shut up, dude. Everybody has an i-pod, even old people like you.”
“Watch it. You keep up with comments like that, and I’ll fall asleep at the wheel to kill us both.”
“Whatever, I could take over driving. I drive these fifteen passenger vans for tours all the time back home. I’m a runner. Music acts come to town and hire me for a day to run errands.”
“What?” I crushed the empty can and tossed it into the back. “You do this shit for living? Why the hell am I driving then? My skills would be much better served guarding the beer cooler.”
Jace put his feet up on the dash, “I’m not twenty-five. They wont let me drive the van for insurance reasons.”
“I’m sure they just think I’m the better driver. They know I’ll be responsible and trust me with such an important job.” I weaved the van into the left lane and around a car. “So, is that how you got the job on this tour then? Because you had experience?”
Jace’s trademark mischievous look grew across his face, “Sort of. Except I applied to be tour manager and bullshitted a little bit about my experience. They were interested at first until they went the professional route and hired Dave. Then they called me a week before we started and said they had a new spot open up as a gopher because someone got fired last minute.”
“They did can a guy who wasn’t pulling his weight. Man, we would have been proper-fucked if they hired you as tour manager.”
Jace laughed still fiddling with the radio to make it play something that wasn’t gospel. “Yeah, we would have been screwed. I just really want to work in the music touring business but there’s no way I could have done Dave’s job. Tucker would have killed me.” He turned the volume to zero, “fuck, is all the music about jesus down here?”
“What’s the matter, is your jew-guilt getting to you?” Jace threw an empty chip bag at me. I threw it back at him, “Don’t you fucking start with me, you little shit.”
Jace reclined his seat back, “I hope I can learn a lot from Dave. I’m going to be, like, his assistant on this tour. Then I can get on another tour when were done, a music tour. If I don’t, I’ll be pissed off.”
“Sounds like you have a little crush on Dave. But, seriously, you’ll make it happen if you want it enough. Dave knows his shit. I can’t imagine a better manager to learn from. That’s both the best and worst part about following a dream, you’re invested in it. When things go right, you actually get a genuine chemical high from it, like you might experience in a relationship and unlike the cheap, fleeting high drugs can buy you. But when things go wrong, you actually get depressed. It makes a good argument for taking the safe route and chaining yourself to a cubicle. At least then you don’t give a shit one way or another what happens. There are no emotions aside from empty ones such as irritation with coworkers, boredom arising from monotony and stress to meet deadlines. It’s just something you do between eating, fucking and drinking your face off, or raising kids or whatever is important to you. But, I wager that in the long run you’re better off dealing with the momentary setbacks and heartaches in favor of a more fulfilling existence. Do what you love, love what you do and all that stuff.”
“You love dudes, and love doing them too.”
“Goddamnit Jace, I’m teaching you a life lesson here.”
Jace folded his arms and shifted lower in his seat until the back of his knees curled up onto the dashboard. “I need some sleep. I’m still tired from drinking last night.”
“Those few sips of beers were killer, huh? You had, what, six gulps and I think you chugged three of them.”
“Shut up,” Jace muttered turning his head away and closing his eyes.
He slept for the next three hours. I drove along in silence, too bothered to dick around with the radio. The caffeine did an adequate job at keeping me awake, but sent my thoughts spinning into high gear. Rubber and pavement hummed beneath my feet as I found myself in disbelief – was this really happening? Am I really driving a van through godknowswhere USA to a destination I couldn’t point out on a map? This is what I live for. No time to really stop and think. No stagnation. Everything was in motion and not even exhaustion could catch up to me.
There is a difference between exhaustion and fatigue. It’s like putting money on your credit card. Fatigue is the interest. You can skirt by from day to day as long as you make small deposits in the form of fitful naps. Exhaustion is the outstanding principle balance that accumulates as you withdraw more and more. Eventually there will come a day when you have to pay it down, and when you’re stretching the limit like I was not even a quarter of a way through the tour, the process of reimbursing your body is an ugly hybrid of hibernation and detox.
My body’s sleep mechanisms kicked about halfway through the trip. Forgoing the whole nodding off and startling awake from the rumble strips dance, I pulled over at a rest stop. Jace sat up sensing the van had come to a stop.
He cleared his throat, “Are we close?”
“Half-way. I’m stopping to take a leak.” I stepped out of the van. The large shrubs near the side of road offered a superior alternative to the undoubtedly disgusting truck stop urinal. The sun had risen directly above us blasting away any shadows. I jogged down a gravel pathway a couple hundred yards and back, drinking a warm redbull. When the blood was sufficiently moving, we headed out on the road. Jace’s nap served him well. He was awake now and we felt like we were on the final stretch, even if that stretch was over two hundred miles.
I propped the wheel with my knee while opening an energy bar. “Remind me to stop at a hardware store. Jeff said we need some tape to designate the press and reserved seats for the showings.”
“What kind of tape?” Jace took the final sip from a vitamin water.
“He said something like yellow caution tape, but without caution written on it.”
“Dude, just get red velvet ribbon from a craft store. That’s what they use in the music business. VIP shit.”
“Good idea,” I said, watching Jace climb in between the front seats to the back row. “What are you doing?”
“I gotta piss. I’ll use this bottle,” He held up the empty vitamin water bottle.
“We just fucking stopped a few minutes ago. Why didn’t you piss then? Don’t use a bottle. I’ll stop again soon.” Before I finished the distinct hollow sound of urine flowing into a bottle filled the van. “For fucksakes.”
Jace finished up and climbed back into the passenger seat. “What? Stop being a baby. It’s just piss. You want a sip?” He extended the bottle toward me. “It’s warm.”
“I swear to god, if that bottle so much as touches me, I will beat the living shit out of you.”
The next ten minutes involved Jace motioning the bottle toward me, and me swinging my fist wildly in his direction. The car behind us probably wondered why the driver in the large white van was swerving irately at the threat of apple juice. It wasn’t apple juice, you shitty Prius driving hippie! It was piss. Warm piss. Warm jew piss.
The long drive gave us plenty of time to put distance between ourselves and the bus. At the hotel, I put everyone’s luggage in their rooms and took a shower before the bus pulled up. I would have done the UPS run but we had a meeting about the next day’s show in Raleigh, NC. A large scale protest was being planned because, apparently, I Hope They Serve Beer in Hell and Tucker Max promote rape culture.
We met in an empty hotel conference room after everybody had a few minutes to settle in. It was nice to be on time for a meeting. The gist was pretty simple: don’t engage the protesters and if approached be professional and say “we’re only there to do a job.” In other words, don’t give the protesters more reason to bitch. There were some other details to go over, but I needed to hit the UPS store.
I took off alone since everyone was still in the meeting. At the UPS there were thirty or so boxes, more than usual. An order of Beer Pong kits had come in too, and I needed to use every square inch of space, cramming boxes right up to the ceiling to make them fit. On the way back, I pulled into a crafts store and picked up some kickass velvet ribbon, smooth as Aphrodite’s breasts, red as the lust that courses through her heart . Crafts stores are creepy. There’s so much pent up sexual frustration that a single mention of “boner” would send the whole place, and their Garfield knitting patterns, into a mass orgy. Gray hair, repressed desires, old ladies making out, hard. Thick hardened tongues containing just enough saliva to make them sticky as they tenderly explored each crevice on wrinkled faces. Whoa, holy shit.
I made it back to the hotel at 3:20pm giving me ten minutes to change before our 3:30pm roll out. I couldn’t remember the room number, so I had to dick around at the front desk for a couple of minutes, which delayed me. At 3:33pm I received the following text from Dave as I put my shoes on:
“Wake up sunshine 
are you coming down bro?”
Wake up? As in, from sleeping. I almost cried. Most people used the time between arrival and the show for a nap. Not Chris. I swallowed the distress down into my stomach with a mental note to kill it with beer in a couple of hours.
The setup at the theater went smoothly. Jeff walked in as we were draping the last swag bags over the seats. I remembered the red ribbon and handed one of the spools to him.
Jeff spun the spool around in his hand with a raised eyebrow, “This is about the worst thing you could have bought.”
“Really?” Fucking Jace and his stupid velvet ribbon idea.
“Yeah, I want something cheap that we can throw away after each show.” He put the ribbon into his backpack. “Not a huge deal. I’ll keep it in case we have some use for it.”
I did a beer run a took a bucket full of ice from the movie theater to top off the cooler. Tucker and Nils were discussing ways to fuck with the protestors the next day. I offered them each a beer. Tucker nodded in approval. “You’re getting better, finally starting to think ahead. Things like getting our luggage into the rooms. That’s the difference between an amateur and a professional. Look at Dave, for example. He knows his shit inside and out and is thinking twenty steps ahead at all times. He’s already hired off-duty police officers for the show tomorrow to guard the bus so nobody vandalizes it. We’re also going to remove all the pint glasses from the swag in case somebody tries to throw one at us on stage. The chances of any of that happening are basically zero, but considering them can be the difference between success and failure. You might only be driving a van, but you’re in the trenches and that’s where it all begins for the rest of us. Keeping things stocked, getting the swag on time, setting up for the show, it all contributes to the larger goal.”
Nils laughed, “I even saw him out in the Florida heat, shirtless and emptying boxes the other day.”
I thought about making a ripped like a Greek God joke but instead thanked them for noticing and went to the back while I was ahead. I saw the second spool of red ribbon in my bunk. I put it on the bus’s kitchen counter up front in case Jeff wanted to keep that one in his backpack too.
During the pre-show I handed out beer pong kits to the fans who told the best stories. It beat sitting alone on the bus, drinking to stay awake. Or did it? Jace had our food ready when the movie started rolling. As we ate, Jeff went to the fridge. He saw the red ribbon spool sitting on the counter.
“What the hell?” He picked it up. “Is this ribbon stalking me? I thought I threw it out.”
Tucker glanced up from his meal, “Why the fuck do you have red ribbon?”
“I asked our Canadian to pick up some tape to block off press seats. This is what he brought back?”
“Are you fucking serious?” Tucker shouted, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Red ribbon. What the fuck are you going to give them a present too?”
The bus filled with laughter as Jeff grabbed the end of the ribbon and sent the spool rolling down the aisle. It unraveled for twelve feet before coming to a stop. Jeff looked at it both amused and astonished. “Griffin, not only did you buy some faggy red ribbon, but there’s only twelve feet of it. What do you expect me to do with this?”
“Oh my god,” Tucker pounded a fist on the table.
I fought back a smile knowing I had to deadpan the next line with a hint of enthusiasm for maximum effectiveness. I put my burger down, and turned to Jeff, “That’s why I bought two of them.”
Tucker threw up his arms, Jeff shook his head, and I did my best Canadian moose caught in headlights impression. Jeff took the ribbon and looped it under Corman’s chin, tying a big bow on top of his shaved head. Corman smiled proudly before removing the ribbon and handing it to me as I walked by. I threw the tangled red mess into the trash, the perfect metaphor for my heart. Stupid jerks.
To my disappointment, I was given bus duty (or as I came to think of it “beer drinking duty”) for the post-show. When Jeff came back to the bus with the press who were waiting for interviews, I went into the theater to tear everything down and take it back to the bus. Tucker and Nils were still signing stuff for the fans. Ben was taking fan pictures while Charlie and I lugged sound equipment. We couldn’t help but notice Jace sitting in a front row theater seat bullshitting with Dave and Nils.
“Lazy fucker,” I grumbled to Charlie who returned an agreeable nod.
After picking up Jerry and taking him to the theater, I met the bus back at the hotel. A few random sluts had found their way on. It was becoming a common sight – usually a group of girls who were waiting for their one friend to finish fucking Tucker. Sometimes there were groupies looking to experience the “rock star” lifestyle, not quite aware there were no rockstars of any sort on board (unless you count air-guitar). Rarely there was a nice, normal girl who had somehow been swept up but that wasn’t the case this night.
I sat down beside a wide-faced brunette with a pronounced chin and thick eyebrows. She wasn’t unattractive, sort of cute in that Eugene Levy way. I struck up a conversation and within seconds it was apparent she was looking to fuck. Not specifically me, but really anyone within arm’s length. I made pleasant conversation but I couldn’t get over the overbearing smell of peanuts, or was it more like peanut butter? I didn’t even realize peanuts had a distinct smell, but there it was. I looked around for a source. Nothing there, only her. Had she been eating gross quantities of peanuts? Was it some strange manifestation of body odor? She put her hand on my thigh in response to a joke I made. It stayed there. I looked down at it imagining free airline snacks or feeding an elephant at the circus.
“I’ve got a big drive tomorrow,” I exaggerated a sigh, standing up. “I better pack it in.” I walked to the cooler and took out a beer for the hotel room. The bus door opened and Jeff stepped on. He was well into the booze. “Have you met Jeff Waldman?” I said back at the peanuts girl.
She smiled. Jeff took a fresh beer before falling down beside her and proceeding to insult her in his own charming, drunk way. At one point on tour, Nils had said the key to getting any girl you want is not to give a fuck whether you get her or not. In Jeff’s case, this worked time and again. Girls would weather a barrage of insults, only to emerge more intent than ever on sleeping with him. In every case, one factor was consistent: Jeff clearly did not give a fuck.
I went to the hotel room and watched adult swim until the beer was done. I brushed my teeth, turned off the tv, turned out the lights and set my phone for 7:30am. Dave wanted to leave extra early to give us plenty of time to prepare for the protesters. It was only a four hour drive to Raleigh. The possibility for five and a half hours sleep brought a smile to my face as I closed my eyes, drifting off to sleep wondering why peanuts?
“Why the fuck do you have a red ribbon?” Tucker asked Griffin with a belittling snarl.
“Well, gee Tucker, I thought you’d like it. Red is sooooo pretty. I wanted to get pink, but they said even I was too faggy for pink and that I needed something a little more manly so I didn’t burst into flames from my flaming gayness. I offered to suck them off like I do for you, but they weren’t down with it. You’ll still be my friend right?” Griffin asked shyly, his hands clasped together like a new mother admiring her baby’s first steps.
“Yeah, whatever. Just go get me a left handed 3 iron, some O’Doul’s and a signed photo of Bea Arthur that says “Dear Griffin, put it in me, love, Bea.” Tucker demanded. “And do it while you have your left pinky exactly 3/4 inch into your flaming gay cum-recepticle of a rectum. Then maybe you can hang out with me and Nils for a couple minutes while we hit on girls 16 years younger than us.”
Griffin could barely contain his elation. “Oh, gosh, Tucker, no problem! I’d do anything for you. God, this movie is going to be such a success! I know that, when it enjoys a long successful run in the theaters, all my demenaing labor will be justified,” Chris said, slowly inserting his pinky with a self-gratifying sigh.
“God, you’re a fucking gay worthless maple leaf,” said Tucker.
“Gayer than A.I.D.S,” added Nils, barely able to speak through his obesity-laden breathing.
“Oh, you guys don’t mean that, whatever, LOL!” Griffin said, actually stating all three letters.
—
See how hard this is, Griffin? This is nothing. This is all you are. Took me 4 minutes.
Griffin: That’s amazing. It just needs a few more adverbs. Why don’t you start your own website? I mean, you must have some free time between incessantly refreshing my website for new posts. I hadn’t even released my finger from the “Publish” button before you were commenting. And I thought you didn’t read these posts, anyway?
So what do you have planned for new years? Taking a time portal to the Bahama’s to get sucked off by ten-thousand bikini models in a hotel room built of marshmallows?
WHY PEANUTS!! WHY!! DON’T TEASE ME!!
Another great post, looking forward to reading more… but what exactly does a moose in the headlights look like?
Griffin: I don’t know why peanuts, man. I honestly don’t know. One of life’s many mysteries.
As for the moose, picture me looking equal parts surprised and confused. Oh, and with antlers. And covered in hair. And four legs (instead of three *wink*).
Readers, if intelligent discourse is more your speed (why are you here?), click Tremble’s name. His site is interesting as F’ing F.
I didn’t read it. I glanced at a couple lines to get the context of the scene and just started typing. The formula for your writing is all the same, it’s not like your writing is real deep and thought provoking, Chris.
Tucker + Canadian Fanboy + Shitty Movie Production + Getting Treated Like a Bitch Stories = griffinwrites.com
Happy New Year. And get your finger out of your ass, Jesus Christ…
Griffin: How do you know it’s not deep and thought provoking if you don’t read it? Busted.
Happy New Year!
Enjoyed all of the posts so far; however without coming off as a hater this post just flat out sucked. You can’t make diamonds out of coal, maybe save the stories for when something actually happens or you have something to say.
This was just forced trite. Also why is some gay dude stalking you in the comments section? I mean it isn’t even funny, it is just creepy and weird.
Griffin: A fair criticism. I look at the mundane tour days as a challenge to make them interesting to read. Obviously, I’m not quite succeeding at that. Not to worry, the next entry has a lot of things happening.
And the creepy weird guy, I have no idea. My best guess is he is seriously mentally ill. Bi-polar or something equivalent.
Really enjoying the tour diary, you need to update more frequently though!
Griffin: Will try. Nine days seems to be the average to write and edit a post. But when Christmas and other things like that get in the way, it only delays it longer. It’d be nice if I could get up to once a week.
Dude, I admit, I read a half of one a while ago, and I got all I needed to know out of it. I wanted to believe that I was getting cartoon heckled by someone with actual talent but, alas, MS Paint is actually your best work.
And if you mean “busted” as in the nut you busted jacking off to the semi-nude schene in Fight Club, then I believe you. Fag.
Griffin: Happy New Year!
Would you two stop hitting on each other already and just screw?! Jesus Christ.
A slow moving entry but your descriptions get better and better. Oh and the length. I think this was the perfect length.
Griffin: Thanks, hopefully the next one is more interesting.
I agree w/ “Not Ballsack,” your descriptions get better and better and I loved the first paragraph…especially, “braced a hand on each wall, walking down the bus like I was inside a ship on rough waters.” I enjoy hearing whether a stop was eventful or not. Its all part of it so keep writing either way. Our Tour Manager had just as much fun as the crew did…sound like yours was pseudo professional. Did he ever let down his guard though? How did you all manage when your work was done and when the fun began and did Tucker have a say when it was appropriate or OK? Tell Ballsack the xoxoxo’s were for you and Johnny Doe only!!!
Griffin: Johnny and I will distribute your xo’s evenly among ourselves.
It’s always nice to hear that people like the less eventful stops. Writing is a funny, polarizing thing. Every decision I make seems to piss off one half of the readers and please the other half. All part of the grind, I guess.
Dave was extremely disciplined with keeping it professional. He said to me a few times that he had seen and done it all, but for a tour manager to make it in the business long-term at the elite level, (which he’s at) you have to resist all those crazy temptations. He tours with some huge bands, so there’s a lot at stake reputation-wise. Dave and our driver Jerry told me that word travels extremely fast in the business. A single fuck-up could blackball a person for life. Dave did eventually cut loose on one of the later stops, though. I’ll write about that.
Tucker was completely relaxed about our partying. He was living in the moment like the rest of us. We were responsible for getting our work done, and as long as the fun didn’t interfere with the job, we had free reign. There was one time later on when I let dicking around compromise my work. I’ll write about that too. And a couple of times where Tucker got irritated with others breaking some base rules. But all in all, we all drank as hard as we worked, and we worked really hard.
Again, not a lot happened in this post but it was still an easy entertaining read, which I guess is testament to your gradual improvement as a writer. I like the fact you post everything, mundane or otherwise, gives everything a good contrast and wider perspective.
Griffin: Thanks Tom. It’s probably a lot more entertaining for those that have read from the beginning. Others that jump right in are probably thinking, “god, I hate this guy. I need to pick up some bread on my way home. That Chipmunks Squeakuel looks hilarious!” Which, I mean, whatever, that movie looks like it sucks so those people can kiss my ass.
Sounds like Tucker was relaxed. I guess for me, my job on tour as a makeup artist was a bit more demanding in that I had to look good and fresh-faced the next morning (skin, makeup, etc.) I am within inches away from my principles’ faces doing their makeup, so disguising any partying or smell of alcohol was difficult. My nights of partying were far and few–only when there was a day break in between stops. The rest of the crew partied hard. Not sure how they functioned but they did. I had a great experience, made great money but wouldn’t do it again. Just enjoying your stuff now!
Griffin: You wouldn’t do it again? Are you still a makeup artist? or was that a one-off deal?
I’d do my tour again in a heartbeat. Even if it did almost kill me. I don’t know how people do it for a living. I guess they don’t drink their faces off every night. A couple of months was enough for me. But yeah, I can see how you’d need to be on your game. Breathing stale alcohol fumes in actors’ faces is a good way to get canned. Then again, you’re probably somewhat responsible. When it comes to resisting temptation, I’m about the worst there is. Plus there was the whole unlimited booze supply on the bus.
I’m a Marketing Associate for a beverage company but have always done make-up on the side. I went to college in NYC and learned this trade from the best! One of my clients gave me this lead for this tour. My boss allowed me a 5 week leave and I did it! It was incredible, don’t get me wrong, but living out of a suitcase, hotel to hotel got old by week 4. Maybe its different for guys. Also not sure if you left a girlfriend or relationship behind or if any of the crew did, but I did and it was hard on my then boyfriend–it ultimately ended due to time away and his insecurities. All good though and I learned a great deal about myself and life.
Griffin: If he couldn’t handle 5 weeks of you away, it probably wasn’t meant to be. Still, that’s cool that you jumped at the opportunity. Maybe if I did another tour, I could hire you as my make-up artist. Of course, I don’t wear make-up, but you could bronze my abs.
I’ll pitch in with the other commentators, that your writing is definitely improving. Not much happens but I found this post entertaining – had a few good laughs throughout it. I’m looking forward to the protestors – those idiots might as well have been wearing shirts that said “Professional Troll Bait.”
And then there’s Ballsack. Psychotic, coke-addled, emotionally awkward Ballsack. Good God, he even still goes by the screen name assigned to him by one of the old mods! I fucking love reading that lunatics comments.
I’m seriously thinking about writing a psychological profile of him. Best case scenario he An Heros.
Griffin: I wouldn’t even know where to start with a psychological profile. Actually, delusional would be a good place.
Well, you SHOULD enjoy reading them, Aurini, because they’re the best part of this whole fucking site.
You should try writing a psychological profile of Griffin because, best case scenario, he (uses) Aneros. I think that’s where “subtle dig” comes from….
Griffin: hahahaha that’s where “subtle dig” comes from. Classic. So funny.
Jesus Christ, Ballsack – 1 hour from my comment on a 3 day old post, and you’ve already noticed me making fun of you? What, do you have Griffin’s blog open in a tab on your browser (probably IE or Safari) that you regularly F5?
You are such incredible fail I sometimes have trouble believing it.
Griffin Writes: Come for the stories, stay for the whirlwind of drama and fail.
—
Griffin: I don’t know how he finds the time between all his “lawyering” and doing chores for mom. Everyday he dresses up in the same suit, and takes his empty briefcase into his “office” (an old cardboard box). Inside he takes on big cases (puts stuff in his butt).
No, not at all, I just got back from NYE weekend and was checking my mail, figured I’d swing by…Everyone should have a place to go to poke fun at retards. For me, Griffinwrites is that place, and Griffin is that retard. I’ve never hid from the fact that I come on here an inordinate amount of times and post an inordinate amount of shit. You think I’m nuts, I think it’s hilarious, life goes on.
You got back awful quick after my comment, what’s your fucking excuse?
Griffin: You’re not nuts ballsack. Just obsessed with me. You probably tape a picture of my face over your mom’s face while you fuck her.
I agree with Aurini. It was funny and entertaining but uneventful. But the fact it was enjoyable is a testament to your writing ability. You also seem to have a knack for writing killer endings. The peanut thing was hysterical.
Griffin: Thanks Josh. It’s great to hear you liked it. Ending a post is always a toss up between leaving a cliffhanger for the next post, or wrapping it up. I choose the latter to option to try and make the entries somewhat stand alone for those that don’t care to read them all.
Me – a clever play on “an heroes” to Aneros and an awesome quip on “subtle dig”. (Thanks, btw, I know I’m hilarious).
You – dur, you fuck your mom.
As if it isn’t already glaringly obvious how much better I am than you, you continue to bolster the argument through your own failure. Thanks, buddy.
Why do you fuck your mom, though? Don’t get me wrong, Griff, it’s important to know where you came from, but I don’t think that’s what they’re talking aboot. Fuckin’ pervert…
Griffin: You – coming on my website to explain how clever you are because nobody got your lame-ass joke.
Me – having to explain to you that fucking one’s mother is not “normal”, and neither is looking at my face while you do it.
I agree with the previous comment that not a lot happened, but that did not at all detract from my enjoyment. The writing in this was very very good. The introduction was strong especially. The way that you represent the intersection between frustration, duty, and exhaustion was impressive. Solid stuff, and a good read. Thanks.
PS- I wrote this several times in attempt to not sound patronizing, but I failed. Dont take this at all as though I am speaking from a position of a good writer or critic. I simply enjoyed it, and tried to explain why.
Griffin: Not patronizing at all. It’s a great confidence boost to hear stuff like this. I’m glad you picked up on the frustration, duty and exhaustion part. That’s something that is a persistent burden once it really begins to catch up to me.
If you’re reading this and bored, click Van Burren’s name to read about the proper way to kick off a New Year.
Great read. Yeah, not a lot happened but your writing made it pretty entertaining. Looking forward to the next one.
Griffin: Thank you, and the next one is on its way.
Hey shit for brains, why don’t you take this cold air back to America’s Hat where it belongs, eh? It’s starting to cramp my style. I know you Mounties like this stuff, since the cold and ice makes it harder for moose and caribou to run after they hear your pants unzip….Sick fucks.
Seriously, take your metric system, the $350 net you’ll make off IHTSBIH dvd sales, and all the leftover Expos jerseys and get the fuck OOT!
Griffin: When you buy the Beer in Hell DVD let me know what you think. Hopefully you’ll have time to watch it after you finishing reading The Big Book of Every Lame Contrived Canadian Joke Ever.
Well, I can stop with the Canadian jokes and just go back to joking about how un-fucking-talented you are…it’s your call.
Like this one: “What’s the difference between griffinwrites.com and a toilet bowl full of shit?”
“One is the successful result of hard work…the other is griffinwrites.com”
Griffin: Pretty elaborate comedic repertoire there. Do you make joke a or joke b?
At least I’ve got variety, like the time I fucked your mother and then you unknowingly followed right after me. hahahaha sucka.
Hey, it’s not my fault you’re retarded. And canadian. And gay.
What are you doing messing with a toilet bowl full of shit, anyway? Fuckin freak….what is it with canadian writers, anway? Always fucking their moms…
The sooner you admit that I own your punk ass, the sooner I’ll leave you alone. All those sycophants from the other board that rub their nose in your ass? Yeah, they’re fucking sheep..they hopped onto you when you were a mod on Tucker’s board. No more, no less. The power of the ban button, manifested in sheeple looking for self identity and validation on the board.
Have you ever stopped and thought about the fact that, despite you and all the bandwagonning fags that join your tribe against me with your lame comments and JV cartoons, I still maintain my identity and go my own way? It’s the most ironic thing of it all that they don’t even realize. They rail on me along with you, but not a single motherfucker would be willing to stay the course I have in the face of all the ridicule I get. Fuckin’ ridiculous. Fuckin’ dimestore pussies, every motherfucker.
Admit it, Griffin, you followed for one reason only..the ever diminishing effect of the TMMB. And now, the only thing you have is my comments that bring people back here. You know it. I know it.
Admit it, and you’ll never see me again.
Griffin: I admit it.
OH, WHAT DID YOU CHANGE YOUR COMMENT ON MY JOKE FOR, FAG??? You finally get it? Don’t want people to see that lame shit you just had up there a minute ago?
HAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAAA
Put it back up there, bitch, if you have the balls. Fuckin’ jerkoff. No balls. You need your punk ass slapped, that’s all there is too it.
God, fuckin’ lame sauce, Griffin. Fuckin low rent, junior varsity hack.
Griffin: Fuuuuuck. Well that didn’t last long. Wishful thinking on my part. Calm down over there, pal. Are you refreshing my page or what? I wrote a joke, and thought of an even MORE hilarious one. I think I had my first one for all of 15 seconds. Creepy.
My very first psycho stalker.
Yeah, I’m sitting on my couch tonight, it’s too fucking cold to do anything. This Orange Bowl is kinda like your website..not that good and really not that interesting. So what else is there to do? You’re too big of a bitch to be on the idiot board, so this is as close to pm’ing and quoting you as I get.
Now get off your mom, I think she’s having trouble breathing.
Hey even though I am not a big fan of Tucker, I still like this blog.
It gives an honest look at the peculiar tour so keep it up Griffin, I enjoy and look forward to your posts.
Griffin: Thanks man. I hope you keep reading.
Hey, Ballsack,
I apologize for interupting your riveting conversation with Griffin earlier, but I have a favour to ask;
Could you please ask your mother to stop sending me jpgs of you and her at the nudist trailer park? I don’t have a printer to print them off, and even if I did I have no interest in jacking off on them.
Sincerely,
Ironman
Griffin: She sends you those too, huh? The worst part is Ballsack will send me the same images, but he will title them “check out this hot stripper I’m totally going to fuck!”
I think he got some bad, or maybe even laced, coke or something.
Flyin’ high behind the eight ball. Oh the burden.
Griffin: Who knows what they’re selling Sack. No doubt his dealer realizes he’s a dimwit and sells him Tide.
Aw, look Chris, you got some boyfriends that want to stick their weiners in you. It’s just like the old board…sad pathetic little fags jumping on the wagon with the web site guy.
Aurini, way to think of something original. Fail.
Now, listen, I know you all are planning on a big Rusty Trombone fest later with your dads, but could one of you write somethin thats actually funny before you do that? Please, the mundane existence of this insipid website depends on it.
Griffin: Best way to ask for original jokes? A rusty trombone reference, of course.
It’s amazing that Ballsack is so delusional that he thinks he is some kind of infamous internet badass. You’re whole shtick is annoying as fuck, not to mention incredibly pathetic.
“You’re too big of a bitch to be on the idiot board, so this is as close to pm’ing and quoting you as I get.”
Do you realize how creepy that sounds? You are e-stalking someone you don’t even fucking know. If my life was anything like yours I would shoot myself in the face. Feel free to do that, by the way. (Cue Ballsack replying how he is too busy banging perfect 10′s to consider it.)
Griffin: Couldn’t have said it better myself.
Ouch, these comments are getting harsh! Griffin, Unless you want me to start divulging more of my love-life, and Johnny Doe, may start divulging his preference in sexual positions, I suggest you post something new soon. Come to think of it, where is Johnny Doe?
Griffin: Wait, so you’re using sex-discussion as a disincentive for me posting? Honey, me thinks you have it backwards.
The main reason I come here is to hear about Jennifer’s sex life.
Griffin: Same.
Bullshit, you fags come here to try and stick it in Griffin. You wouldn’t know what to do with Jennifer. Problem is that Griffin is too busy jacking off to the idea of playing Brad Pitt’s abs like a xylephone with his balls.
And, I just noticed, he’s gone back to the cartoon schtick on TIB…even more proof that he simply cannot be anything without me.
Jenn, if you need anything, let me know.
Griffin: That’s a pretty elaborate description of a homosexual act. It’s like you’ve thought of these things before.
wtf you talking about TIB?
Ballsack,
Griffin, myself, Jennifer, and Goose are not the only people who are disgusted/fascinated/amused at seeing how much fail can be wrapped up in one person.
Your monomaniacal focus on Griffin as the cause of everything wrong with your life might be deluding you into false assumptions.
Griffin:
Fun fact, coke also leads to delusions and a hyper-inflated ego to hide latent insecurities.
The main reason I come here is to hear about Jennifer’s sex life.
Cue a Ballsack response saying how this proves his point that nobody actually comes here for Griffin’s stories.
Have you ever stopped and thought about the fact that, despite you and all the bandwagonning fags that join your tribe against me with your lame comments and JV cartoons, I still maintain my identity and go my own way? It’s the most ironic thing of it all that they don’t even realize.
Of course we realize that you’re still the same coked out idiot with a hilariously non-existent sense of self-awareness–that’s kinda sorta exactly your problem and why we still make fun of you. Not that that should be obvious or anything.
Griffin: Everybody knows the best way to remedy not being able to live up to (a mostly absent) daddy’s expectations is to go on the internet, rip a few lines of blow, and tell people how much they like you.
Just like if you want others to think you’re heterosexual, you call everyone else a faggot.
This whole lack of self awareness thing…I mean, did you all watch the same Dr. Phil episode? Or is, YET AGAIN, something that Griffin once brought up and you fucking vapid idiots jumped on it to continue the argument? I’m guessing the latter, though, with the level of faggotry on this site I wouldn’t put it past you fucks to watch Oprah it the middle of the day while douching your asses.
Is it that hard to accept the notion that I like harrassing this Quick-stop bathroom wall author just for the god damn fuck of it? Or am I crazy? Who really knows….
Think about it: If this is how I am on here, then there’s absolutely NO POSSIBLE WAY that my life wouldn’t be one extreme or the other. There’s NO WAY I ccould be Johnny 9 to 5 with two kids, a wife, church on Sunday and a minivan. Does that really make sense? If I had kids, they’d be taken away (or mentally fucked up).
I could be a fag living at home, sitting on the computer, jacking off with plants and having my mom make spaghetti for me…..OR….I could be a complete fucking animal that kicks courtroom ass, does mind-bending drugs, fucks amazing women and makes it rain for everybody. You’ll never know the answer….I do. That’s good enough for me.
How’s that for self awareness?
Griffin: I do mind-bending drugs, fuck amazing women, and make it rain for everybody.
Come on people, that sounds like somebody telling the truth on the internet to me.
This whole lack of self awareness thing…I mean, did you all watch the same Dr. Phil episode? Or is, YET AGAIN, something that Griffin once brought up and you fucking vapid idiots jumped on it to continue the argument? I’m guessing the latter, though, with the level of faggotry on this site I wouldn’t put it past you fucks to watch Oprah it the middle of the day while douching your asses.
What in the flying fuck are you talking about? I mean, I know you’re just trying to generally insult us like always, but your comments usually at least “somewhat” resemble a coherent thought. Not here though!
Is it that hard to accept the notion that I like harrassing this Quick-stop bathroom wall author just for the god damn fuck of it? Or am I crazy? Who really knows….
Think about it: If this is how I am on here, then there’s absolutely NO POSSIBLE WAY that my life wouldn’t be one extreme or the other. There’s NO WAY I ccould be Johnny 9 to 5 with two kids, a wife, church on Sunday and a minivan. Does that really make sense? If I had kids, they’d be taken away (or mentally fucked up).
I could be a fag living at home, sitting on the computer, jacking off with plants and having my mom make spaghetti for me…..OR….I could be a complete fucking animal that kicks courtroom ass, does mind-bending drugs, fucks amazing women and makes it rain for everybody. You’ll never know the answer….I do. That’s good enough for me.
How’s that for self awareness?
If you are as self-aware as you claim to be, surely you can understand why the “homosexual mother/plant-sodomite” version seems the most plausible to us?
Griffin: Agreed. After all, he did post pictures of all those acts. Who does that?
You fools believe whatever you want. And that includes the belief that this website will materialize into something that actually matters. I don’t feel bad for Griffin, because he’s a tool. I feel bad for the people who try and read/follow his writing. All 7 of them.
Think about it, people. The movie didn’t even fucking make it a month in the theater. This website is about being a fucking film-school assistant level gopher on said movie that bombed more than Hezbullah bombed Northern Israel. Is the math that hard?
Griffin: You mean I’m not getting a Pulitzer?
Pulitzer? Fuck, bitch, you couldn’t get a red ribbon in the Tuscaloosa County Fair 4-H essay contest. Little Billy Bo Dean’s “Me n My Pig” is more interesting, coherent writing than your bullshit. And that kid eats axle grease….
Griffin: Well that’s mean.
Little Billy Bo Dean’s “Me n My Pig” is more interesting, coherent writing than your bullshit. And that kid eats axle grease…
1. I thought you didn’t read his writing? Oh, that’s right, you skimmed through half of one of the posts. Thus you can’t make such a presumptuous judgment about the quality of his writing, and most importantly, undermine the integrity of said Tuscaloosa County Fair 4-H essay contest. (and why do I get the sneaking suspicion that this “Little Billy Bo Dean” and his essay is really just a repressed childhood memory of yours that accidentally slipped out?)
2. I love the irony and, once again, lack of self-awareness that you flamboyantly display by accusing someone of having incoherent writing. If irony were made of sodomizable plants, let’s just say you might actually have something else to keep you busy, however briefly.
Is Ruggles your dad, Griffin?
I don’t think you all on here quite understand the background between us. You all think I stumbled upon this website and just want to cut it down. That’s not the case. This Fag-nadian and I have been going back and forth for, oh, a couple years now. I’m balls deep in this feud, there’s no turning back.
Griffin is balls deep in his uncle. While his mom videotapes it. Fucked up people, them northerners….
It’s not so much that I am defending or patronizing Griffin, but that I am ridiculing you for the fun of it, Mr. Sack the Third.
Yes, I know the background behind you two, which incidentally only gives me more reason to take Griffin’s side. Why do you think that you were one of the most ubiquitously ridiculed users (out of tens of thousands I might add) in the history of the RMMB? And if my memory serves me correctly, you brought it all upon yourself (i.e. a certain story involving you, a hairbrush, and your passed-out friend’s rectum).
Griffin: Ahhh, the truth. Turning astronaut lawyers into basement dwelling cokeheads.
I could be a fag living at home, sitting on the computer, jacking off with plants and having my mom make spaghetti for me…..OR….I could be a complete fucking animal that kicks courtroom ass, does mind-bending drugs, fucks amazing women and makes it rain for everybody. You’ll never know the answer….I do. That’s good enough for me.
Hahaha!
That is AWESOME!
It’s like some horrid Cloud Starchaser mental tangent…
Holy fuck, I almost wish I had whatever he was(is) on.
“Everyone’s a fool but ME!”
Classic.
Griffin: Would it make you more amazed to know that he did all of the above while back flipping to Mars? Because he did.
What’s going on in so-so writing land today? Oh, I see….”back flipping to Mars”…wow, Nabokov, that’s some real funny, creative shit.
Annnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnd, cue the sycophants…..
Griffin: Annnnnd cue Ballsack’s a fuckface.
To be honest, Ballsack did add a certain entertainment value to the comments on the site… Now it’s just annoying and boring reading him say the same thing over and over again. Example: “you’re gay” “you’re fucking someone’s mom,” or “you’d be nothing without me.” He is officially worthless and should consider finding a hobby other than stalking a blog… what a sad existence. However aside from all of that – he insulted the Orange Bowl and that’s just unforgivable. Iowa played a great game.
Hope the next post is coming soon!
Griffin: You’re right. I used to be interested to see what Ballsack has to say. Now I see the email notification that I have a new comment, see his name, and think “ugh”.
Hey Griff and company,
Jenn, that comment was for you! I don’t divulge that stuff just for anyone.
I was disheartened not to get a ‘you wanna go get something to eat’ response from ya. . .=(
j/k, gotta get back to work now. Kind of l8te, but happy new year everyone. 2010 will be the best for all of us.
Griffin: Don’t worry Jenn hasn’t given me a “you wanna go get something to eat” response yet, either.
Chris “Gutterball” Griffin. I OWN our ass bitch! Rematch?
Griffin: Well Qeen “cocksucker cramp” bee, all I have to say is 199. OWNED.
I think it’s hilarious that Ballsack gives Griffin so much shit.
I find Griffin’s write-up’s to be pretty entertaining. But I still think he’s a douchebag.
It’s hard to change your opinion when they were such cheerleaders of Tucker Max. And the Tucker Max collapse was beyond hilarity. These just aren’t the type of people society wants to succeed. Their not likeable at all.
People usually don’t like people that talk in terms of their inevitable success or the “die is cast” type statements.
In conclusion, I find the writing to be entertaining, but think you and the whole Tucker Max crew are douchebags.
Griffin: Hey, everybody is entitled to their opinion. I wont lie, when I started on the tour I thought this thing was going to take off. Not because I wanted to cheerlead Tucker, but because I thought the movie would be well received and I was impressed with how far he’d come.
One fleeting moment of luck does not trump my overall greatness. Eat it.
Griffin: That must have been one long ass fleeting moment for it to last an entire game of getting your ass handed to you.
Griff/JDoe: I haven’t answered you both because you are both so utterly charming, witty and hot, I wouldn’t know who to choose from!! And I do have this old-fashioned rule where I only sleep with one guy at a time, the heck w/ food, lol!
Griffin: Yeah, who wants to sleep with food anyway?