The LOUDMOUTHS go boozin' and brawlin'
across the country and come home in one piece... sort of.
Dulcinea Loudmouth dredges up
some beer-soaked memories

Hey Rockers, we’re back in black, with another 4-week national tour under our studded LOUDMOUTH belt!!! We killed twenty dates from S.F. to N.Y. and everywhere in between. You know, since we got back people keep asking us: “So how was it? Did you have fun? Did you make any money?” Well, I’m here to spit out the unadulterated truth. Yeah, it was a torrid tale of rock n’ roll carousing, exhaustion, and hard ups and downs. Yeah, yeah, we had fun! No, we didn’t make any money! Yeah, yeah, yeah we’d do-it again! (In Europe or Japan, ha!)

We played some killer shows. We played the dregs. And in between our dates we took in as much Americana as we could stomach which was often difficult when road nausea, claustrophobia, and a good old fashioned hangover times ten were at odds with our rock n’ roll good time. Headbanger neck, bruises, party butt and a creeky, sore body from sleeplessness, late nights and drinkin’ to the point of destruction had us all crooning for a full body massage or maybe even a lousy hot tub. Not to mention that the lack of a regular screw had us all criminally horny for which I can only hope that some of our drunken sex talk ranging from masturbation to pedophilia and debates regarding doin’ a 69 and boys tasting their own cum in the back of our trusty Budget rental van can somehow remain there. At shows, we hussled LOUDMOUTH merchandise, tried mostly unsuccessfully to limit our drink intake, and moved our band equipment back and forth more times than I care to remember.

Check out our ugly Budget rental van
(we decided Torch wouldn't make it). May be an eyesore, but we could cruise 90mph with the AC blasting, even going uphill!

Well, we may have felt like the skids half the time, but we did manage to rock n' roll through the countryside like some kind of juvenile pack on a rock n’ roll mission blasting our AC/DC, ADOLESCENTS, DEAD MOON, PLEASURE FUCKERS, BLACK FLAG, ROSE TATTOO, etc... like a soundtrack to our own little b-movie. In between our rock schedule, we stopped at skate spots for Pete to unleash the Ox within and for Beth and I to hone in on our rusty roller derby skills. We braked for truck stops to collect beer drinking tapes, EARL PITTS comedies, decals, alligator claws, and fireworks. We halted for the Salvation Army and any thrift store that would tickle our obsessed weirdo-trinket-kitsch fancy. We devoured at Waffle House, Denny’s, Burger King, Taco Bell, and countless other roadside grease-laden diners, sometimes using their facilities to pop a Tagamet, take a quick “whore bath”, paint the face, and “stud” up before the next show.

But see it wasn’t all bad... after all, we had no 9 to 5’s to worry about. There was never a shortage of beer (we got a little Budweisered out from our continual cooler stocking) and it was a veritable breeding ground for our obnoxious, hell-for-leather, LOUDMOUTH alter egos to unbolt with the anonymity of a fresh new town to paint red. Now, to the best of my fragmented recollection this is how the thing went down. On the wrong foot, we stagnated with a poor attended show in Salt Lake City. We played at the Stonewall Center ­ a gay establishment. Apparently it was the only venue in town to rent out to the local punk rockers. We played with the the energetic, ever- friendly, Greg Lowery-should-sign kind of group, called THE ZILLIONAIRES, who put us up in an emtpty apartment they had just been evicted from.

Pete the Ox shreds it up at one of the skateparks across America.

On the good foot, we rocked our asses off in Kansas City, with teenage torchsters, THE BREAKUPS who after the show mooned over teenage pussy in the parking lot. We also cavorted with boozy friends made from the Confederacy of Scum shows held a month earlier, and then ended the evening being wooed with homemade enchiladas suizas and brew from our record company boss man, KFK. Thanks Keith you rule! Next, we hit Des Moine, Iowa and fell into the hands of Spank (fanzine) who fed us homemade chili and let us crash all over their punk rock pad We flip -flopped all over their Safari Club’s professional rock stage, and ogled the very first marquee to have “THE LOUDMOUTHS” emblazoned on it.

Up in Green Bay we diluted our brains in Pabst and Point in the sidekick bar of the Concert Cafe and roused a sing-a-long to one of the best jukes in the country. We shared the stage with spastic punksters, THE NOBODYS, THE BEAUTYS, URBN DK, etc. and broke into a LOUDMOUTH jamboree cheese head style. Thanks to Paul #2 for setting us up for the night and making us some breakfast as well, what a host! He also showed us his amazing Pabst collection, a room full of Pabst stuff. The next day wa a big Packers game, and driving around a deserted town, stocking up on groceries and gas, we saw Packer obessession at it’s fullest -- the game was broadcast every-deserted-where we went. Those cheeseheads sure do LOVE their football team!

[rock on to the next page]

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