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The Bozo Porno Circus Diaries: The Van Eats Shit, and I Almost Eat Rooster Balls

If you never saw a Bozo Porno Circus show then you just plain missed out. The Tone Zone Records band was a freak-out and a half, stuffed to the wall with loud noises and pretty girls getting sparks shot off their metal-covered crotches by belt sanders. Recently, lead guitarist Chris "The" Lane (aka Crispy and for a brief hilarious time Nikki Wykkid) uncovered a treasure trove of tour diaries and photos, so all this week we're heading down a well of Houston-flavored debauchery from the glory days of our goth scene.

The Bozo Porno Circus Diaries: The Van Eats Shit, and I Almost Eat Rooster Balls

When I joined Bozo Porno Circus, they had a very special Tour Vehicle, which had been bought by a friend and benefactor of the band. It was an old airport shuttle bus -- pretty huge, with seats lining the inside perimeter, but with the center free of seating or anything else. It was spacious, but not built for comfort over a long haul, like a school bus.

Still, it afforded us the ability to haul around our large entourage, as well as the considerable amount of gear and luggage that was necessary to take with us. When I joined Bozo, I didn't question the van, didn't wonder where it had come from. The van was just part of the strange landscape I accepted as part of the whole Bozo experience.

Because of its size, that van was not a lot of fun to drive, and although there was a decent amount of space to stretch out on the center of its floor to sleep, that floor got pretty hot from the road's heat, and it would quickly become uncomfortable.

REWIND:

The Bozo Porno Circus Diaries: Thursday, April 24, 2002

The second tour that I went on took us through the South. We experienced a catastrophic van breakdown somewhere in rural Tennessee. The van overheated, and then died on the side of the highway. Fortunately for us, it had chosen to die near a gas station with a convenience store, and also a small cafe with an auto shop attached to it.

Everyone got out of the van, and tried to access the situation. Several of us walked to the convenience store to get drinks when it became obvious that we wouldn't be leaving anytime soon. As this meant a short walk along the highway, and since most of us looked pretty weird by rural Tennessee standards, a couple of trucks slowed down and yelled insults at us.

At least they didn't stop. We were probably the strangest thing to stop there pretty much ever.

At the time, I had my first cell phone. This was just before they became really common, and it was crude, and the plan was very expensive. That phone got used a lot during this emergency, and when I returned home from the tour, my bill was through the roof.

 

The Bozo Porno Circus Diaries: The Van Eats Shit, and I Almost Eat Rooster Balls

I thought that the death of the van might effectively meant that the tour was over, especially when the verdict came back from the roadside repair shop that we had thrown a rod. Fixing it was not doable, and while options were being discussed I walked over to the cafe, hoping to find a quiet place to sit and think. I sat at the counter, hoping that being a tall dreadlocked guy wouldn't meet with any major hassle, and to my surprise the waitress was surprisingly friendly. I bought a hamburger, because I'm one of those people that feels weird sitting in a cafe or restaurant and not ordering food.

I noticed that the sign showing the menu items was all standard Southern food - chicken fried steaks and the like. Everything was inexpensive too, except for one item; something mysteriously named "Rooster Fries."

Rooster fries were a surprisingly expensive $13 a pound. So when the waitress came back with my drink, I asked her what they were.

"Wanna try one, hon?"

"Sure, maybe," I began, but she'd disappeared to the kitchen before I could finish.

She soon returned with one of those little red plastic baskets that french fries come in. It was full of what looked like tiny chicken nuggets. She pushed the basket towards me with a strange smile.

As I hesitantly reached towards the basket, a trucker that was at the other end of the counter shouted, "You like to eat balls, huh!?"

"Balls?" I responded.

"Sure hon, they're rooster testicles." the waitress replied.

"Oh." And my hand retreated from the basket, as if under its own power.

I paid for the food, and left the cafe, I'm sure to the enjoyment of the waitress and her regulars. I had no idea that roosters actually had anything resembling testicles, and I definitely didn't want to eat one. Not a very friendly thing to do. I wouldn't want anyone to do that to mine.

The van drama had been settled. We were abandoning the vehicle, and getting a rental to finish our shows. We even got to stay in a motel that night, somewhat of a rarity for us.

I still kind of miss that van, though.

Tune in tomorrow for more of the Bozo Porno Circus diaries.

Jef With One F is a recovering rock star taking it one day at a time. You can read about his adventures in The Bible Spelled Backwards or connect with him on Facebook.

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