The Rednecks Gay Rage Rampage. The Outhouse

Digging wayback into the Wayback Machines to my old ancient website from the 90s. This is a TRUE story that took place at The Outhouse, an all-ages punk Rock Club in Lawrence Kansas

I am re-posting this here verbatum, as is, no corrections….maybe Ill come back and fix it up, maybe not. But this is the way I typed it out back then. And if you do not like it, you can leave.

The Rednecks Gay Rage Rampage

The RedNecks Gay Rage Rampage
       Now back in the day, I was helping Jeff Fortier do all of his shows at the Outhouse….hell, I was doing almost ALL of his work for him. So we have this show one hot summer night…It’s the Melvins, Speedball 69, and a couple of other bands that I can’t recall.
      We were out at the Outhouse that afternoon loading in gear, setting up the PA system, and getting ready for the show. A couple of the bands had shown up already and where milling about throwing rocks and getting drunk…a few other people had also shown up to hang out. Josh and I were hauling in the gear. Fortier was roaming about looking for his comb.
      This new red ford pick ’em up truck kept driving up and down the road past the Outhouse. The truck would come down the road slowly, until it got in front of the Outhouse, then it would speed off down the road. Then it would come back, driving fast, and slow way down in front of the Outhouse, then take off again. Then 10 minutes later, it returns, pulls into the parking lot and sits for a minute, then backs out and speeds off.
      I point the truck out to Fortier and say “Hey, I don’t know what’s up with that guy, but he looks like trouble. I think it’s some drunk redneck. Maybe we should call the Sheriff and have him buzz the guy.”
      Jeff says “Naw, its just a farmer checkin’ shit out. Don’t worry about it. We don’t want the Sheriff out here.”
      “Well, OK, but I bet that guy comes back and starts some shit…I can feel it in me bones.” 
      Jeff didn’t think it was anything to worry about, but my spidey-sense was tingling, I KNEW something was going to happen.
      So we keep loading gear and tinkering with the Frankenstein monster of a PA system that we had. The truck keeps coming and going, slowing and speeding by, and generally acting weird. 
      I was standing in the parking lot, talking to Jeff about how much work I always did for him, and how little he always paid me for it, and how I had to split that with Josh. All of the sudden, the truck comes flying down the road. It goes into the ditch opposite of the driveway, flies out of the ditch, and into the cornfield across the road. We could see the truck cruising around in the corn across the road. Jeff and I look at each other.
      “Holy shit!” Jeff says.
      “Man…I knew it.” I say. Then the truck bursts through the corn, flies
across the ditch, and comes straight into the Outhouse parking lot. It pulls to a stop behind one of the band’s vans. A fat, 50 year old drunk red neck is behind the wheel. He isn’t wearing a shirt. He motions to me and Jeff to come over to him. 
      Jeff grabs my arm and says. “You come with me. Let’s see what he wants…”
      We walk carefully up to the truck. I am expecting a gun to come into play at this point. We stand back from the door, expecting the old ‘open the door and slam the punks to the ground’ technique. The man in the truck starts drunkenly slurring at us…He is either saying “Hey…can you help me, I need some help here…”..and: “I want you to beat me up” or “I want you to beat me off.” I’m not sure which. Jeff talks to the guy.
      “Yo yo yo, man, check it dude, yo, heres the bonus, yo. check it dude, we got a show, yo. and it doesn’t start till later man, yo dude. so maybe you should like go get a bonus nap and come back later dude  yo….”
      The drunk mumbles some shit, and asks for a blow job. At this point I notice that the man is not wearing any pants either…and due to the bloated belly, I can’t tell (thankfully) if he’s wearing any undies or not. 
      “Hey yo man, like check it dude.” Jeff says. “Yo, man like, maybe you need to go home and sleep it off yo, cause yo man, bonus, yo dude.”
      The man backs up and drives away.
      “Yo, see man? You just gotta talk to them dude, yo, see I gave him the bonus tip, and yo, man, like, yo…now he’s gone, so yo…its time for a bonus chill dude..yo?”
      “Naw man” I tell Jeff. “He’ll be back, that dude’s got an agenda, and he’s REALLY REAALLLY bonus wasted…I think he’ll be back.”
      Jeff tells me to chill, yo. I shrug my shoulders and get back to work. A little while later, our man is back. He drives by a couple of more times, then he pulls into the lot again and parks. He gets out of the truck.
       He is at least 300 pounds, has a HUGE (nearly empty) bottle of vodka, and yes indeed, he is wearing a pair of red womens bikini underwear. Oh man, I didn’t need to see that.
      The drunken exhibitionist staggers into the Outhouse and looks around, then he locks himself in the bathroom. He is in the bathroom for almost 30 minutes. I began to worry…more. Had he passed out in there? Was he doing something I’d rather not think about in there? 
      Jeff and I were discussing what to do about it. I was ready to kick the door in to check on the guy…just then the door opens and out he waddles….and yes indeed, he had a woody poking out of his red bikini. He staggered around a bit more, then got back into his truck muttering some shit, and giving Jeff a look that I can only describe as…Loving.
      He starts his truck and backs up a little bit. I was turning to Jeff to
again suggest that maybe the sheriff should take this guy off the road…when…WHAM! He puts the truck in gear and rams the bands van in front of him. A couple of guys leap out of the van yelling “What the fuck!!??” The drunk backs up again and rams the van again. The people milling about look up startled, and start yelling at the guy.
      “Yo yo yo yo yo! Bonus Yo, man YO!” Jeff yells. The truck begins driving in donuts around the parking lot…He picks out Jeff and drives straight for him….Jeff starts running double bonus fast, yo. I look at the driver as he goes by…that look of love had turned to a look of rage and death. The man  had blood in his eyes. He was tossing gravel, speeding around, chasing Jeff, and a whole herd of people. Dust filled the air.
      I ran inside the outhouse and watched from the window…this man was intent on running everyone down. I yelled out “Hey! Run inside, everyone get in here!” And they did…people started running into the building. Then I heard a crash, and saw a couple of bodies fly in through the door, horizontal to the ground, diving. At first I thought that they had been hit, and had been thrown into the building. Then the wall came in, as well as the truck. The truck landed in a pile of cinder blocks in the middle of the room. The people, had luckily rolled out of the way and taken cover.
      The truck sat, high-centered on the rubble. People started getting up and advancing on the truck. The man at the wheel looked terrified, and in a
blind rage. Pieces of the cinder block wall were hurled at him, and his truck…he put it in reverse and peeled backward, finally gaining traction and backing through the hole he had made.
      I ran into the bathroom…a young man, with his pants around his knees came hopping out, trying to pull them up, wide eyed in surprise.
      “Wha…what he fuck?” He stammered as he hopped out…I guess he had been on the throne, doing a bit of excremeditation…some foot and a half on the other side of the wall from where the truck came through. I pushed past him, I wanted to get to the phone in the closet in the bathroom. The closet door was locked, and half due to Adrenalin, and half due to crappy craftsmanship, I yanked on the door, and the whole damned thing came off its hinges…as I pushed the door away, I looked on the floor in front of the toilet…there on the floor lay a fresh steaming turd…no doubt helped along its journey by the truck flying through the wall.
      I grabbed the phone and dialed 911. Outside, people where hurling rocks and bricks at the truck, which was circling the lot. A voice answered the phone.  
     “Emergency dispatch, how may I help you?” The womens voice said…and my god, it DID sound scratchy and staticky…
      “Uh, yeah, hi…I’m out here at the Outhouse, and uh…we have a problem.” 
      “Sir? Is this an emergency?” The voice said.
      “Yeah…theres this drunk guy in a truck, he’s wearing a red bikini, and
he’s trying to run everyone over.
      “Is this the Outhouse on 15th street?” The voice said.
      “Yeah, four miles east on 15th…this guy’s drunk and drove through  the building…I think he wants to kill us.”
      “The Outhouse?  A man is trying to kill you with red bikini’s?” She
asked…”Sir, is there an actual emergency there?”
      “Well yes, I mean no, the man is wearing a red bikini.”
      “Sir, this is an emergency line…if this isn’t an emergency then you will
have to get off the line.” The voice said, as though she thought I was merely reporting a grave fashion faux-pas, involving a red bikini.
      “NO! Some guy is trying to KILL US! He drove his truck through the building, and now he’s chasing people around the parking lot trying to run them over…this guy is wasted, you better send a Sheriff out here quick!”
      I try to convince the 911 lady that yes, we have a problem, and people are in danger. Luckily, people had indeed run into the parking lot to play toreador with the truck…therefore insuring that someone was indeed in danger. 
      “Sir, can you describe the vehicle?” She asks me..
      “Yeah…but just send someone out here…” I say
      “Sir, just describe the truck.” She says…as if she wouldn’t send help unless I could pass this little test.
      “Well…it’s a truck, a pick up. Its a new Ford pickup…its red, and it has blue cinder blocks in it….And there is a fat drunk redneck wearing womens underwear driving it…and he’s trying to kill everyone.” I tell her.  Outside, the bull-fight continues. I can hear the guy yelling “You bunch of queers are trying to ruin me! You bunch of fags are trying to do me
in!…I’m gonna kill all of you fags!” I had stretched the phone line out so that I could sort of see whats going on. The guy is circling the lot screaming and trying to run over people…people are running and screaming, plumes of dust fill the air…pandemonium.
      “Can I have your name sir?” The 911 lady asks.
      “Yeah, I’m Bob Cutler…I’m at the Outhouse, you better get someone out here quick.”
      “And this is at the Outhouse?” She asks.
      “And what is the exact address there?” She asks.
      I didn’t know…I had never really thought about the address of the place. “Its four miles east of Mass street on 15th…its just past the pavement…this guy is crazy, you better get someone out here.” I plead with her…she doesn’t seem to really care.
      Just then Josh runs in and tells me that the guy has a gun, and is waving it around. I turn back to the phone. “Uh…I guess he has a gun, and is waving it around.” I tell Ms 911.
      “A gun?…Sir, what kind of a gun is it?” She asks. I can’t believe it…
      “I don’t know, and I’m not going to find out, he has a gun, and he’s crazy, and he’s wearing womens underwear.” I tell her, I am yelling at this point in frustration that the 911 lady doesn’t seem to be taking this very seriously, and is stalling on actually dispatching a deputy to the scene of the crime in progress.
      “Look, just send someone out here, someone’s going to get hurt or
killed…could you just send someone?” I ask her again.
      “Sir, could you describe the gun?” She asks.
      “No, I’m inside, he’s outside, and I like it that way.” I say.
      “And he’s wearing womens underwear?…is it underwear? Or a bikini? Can you describe the truck?” She asks again.
      I send Josh out to get the license plate number…he returns quickly with it scribbled on a piece of paper. I recite the info to the dispatcher, who again asks for a description.
      “Look! How many drunk naked men are driving new red pickups around the county at 5 in the afternoon!?” I yell at her.
     I look back out the door, and see that the truck is leaving the parking lot and heading west on 15th street, towards town.
      “He just left the lot, he’s heading towards town, he’s drunk and crazy and you better catch him before he gets to town.” I report to Ms. 911.
      “Oh…OH!” She says..”Well, I better get someone out there!” She finally agrees.
      “Yes, that would be a good idea…only maybe send them up 15th street so they can intercept him.” I tell her…I give her my name again and hang up.
      A few minutes later a Sheriff’s car pulls into the lot, the Deputy gets out and looks around. 20 people run up to him and begin telling him what had just happened, asking questions and giving details. The Deputy raises his hands and quiets everyone down and begins asking me and Jeff what had REALLY happened. We told him. He talked on his radio. His radio talks back…a few minutes go by then his radio reports to him again.
      Other Sheriff’s Deputies had chased the truck through some back roads and had run him into a ditch, capturing him. But they needed a positive ID.
      How many drunk, naked, 50 year old, 300 pound rednecks driving new red trucks around the country were there? What more of a description did they need. About an hour later, a flatbed truck brought the truck into the lot. Yup, that’s the truck, you can tell by the blue cinder blocks that match that new hole on the wall in the back of the truck. That and the damage to the front of the truck, and the big empty vodka bottle in the seat.
      Then the Sheriff said that they where going to bring the guy to us for a positive ID. Jeff Fortier tells him that “Yo man, if you bring him here I am going to spit in his face!” So the Sheriff has another car drive slowly up and down the road, while we look through binoculars at him to identify him. Yup, fat, 50, naked, red bikini shorts…that’s him, no doubt.
      So we all filled out reports and gave our personal info and they took the guy, and his truck away.
      They charged him with somewhere around 9 felonies, and a bucketful of misdemeanors…Aggravated attempted vehicular homicide, destruction of property, 20 counts of assault, vehicular assault, driving while intoxicated, public drunkenness, vandalism, making a terroristic threat, and on and on.
      The Melvins showed up as the last of the cops where leaving, and the show went on.
      Tune in next time for the weird and exciting courtroom drama when our hero, the drunk redneck goes to court!
      I think what happened was obvious…The guy got really drunk in the middle of the day, and got in touch with his…shall we say “Non-heterosexual” side? He had probably heard that “Queers and faggots hang out at the Outhouse” and went there looking for some action. I think that Jeff Fortier struck his fancy…but maybe I’m just jealous…And once he had been re-buffed in his overtures towards Jeff, he took out his gay-rage on everyone. Some people just can’t handle rejection. That’s my story, and I’m sticking to it.Bob Fucking Cutler
excavated from the wayback archives

By Chrome Tuna

I'm Chrometuna, my name causes fear panic and extreme xenophobia among morons, especially morons at The Topeka Capital Journal newspaper or anything Sherman Smith is involved with. I don;t know whay, I never did a goddamned thing but tell the truth...then again, the truth is what pisses people off the most.

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