Bloodhound Gang in-the-news

Bloodhound Gang: Hooray For Boobies Indeed!

January 29, 2001J. Manfringinson Magazine

Being on tour with the Bloodhound Gang is exactly like being in an X-rated circus. Even at the end of the tour supporting the successful Hooray For Boobies record, released last year but still selling quite well, they still keep the onstage antics and backstage mayhem at full speed. Typical highlights include all of the appropriate scenes: pubic hair on fire, onstage urination, naked fans, violent brawls on beer-soaked basement floors, copious ingesting of cat tranquilizers, verbal humiliation of epic proportions, and lead singer Jimmy Pop's mom.

I had a chance to join the band on tour for a weekend of debauchery and said mayhem and barely survived. I did, however, get my wee wee wet. Here is my tale:

Portland, Oregon:

The bus sat quietly empty because the satellite dish was not working and the band cannot sit still without the constant flow of the bad television shows that serve as the inspiration for their pop culture-influenced lyrics. A quick search finds bassist Evil Jared with a handful of backstage passes to hand out to properly qualified fans for the aftershow party.

I am handed an all-access laminate complete with a full listing of the legal age of sexual consent in all 50 states and every country the band tours in. Next to "Netherlands," the number is 12. For the next hour or so, I had three questions to ask as I walked up and down the line formed outside the venue:

How old are you?

Do you have a boyfriend?

Do you have a curfew?

A crowd of teenage boys begged Jared for passes, but all he obliged them with was the sick gender role reversal prize of autographs on their chests. A crowd of protesters converged to beg our support in their campaign against the "misogyny" and "racism" of the Bloodhound Gang's lyrics. Despite handing Jared a flyer with his own photograph on it, they fail to recognize that he is a member of the band.

Back on the bus, Jimmy Pop was reviewing the final cut for the band's upcoming home video of footage from the One Fierce Beer Coaster world tour. This absolutely outrageous and hilarious preview bested even their unrelated X-rated bootleg video I acquired last year featuring only sexual encounters with and between fans and the band. Highlights include:

  1. Jimmy Pop lighting his pubic hair on fire.
  2. The exposed penises of many members of the band and crew.
  3. Naked groupies engaging in numerous acts of public sexual performance.
  4. Hilarious verbal abuse between the band and the crew.
  5. Brutal beating of pint-sized (by medical condition) former drummer Mikey.
  6. Many other examples of gut-bustingly funny debauchery.

The pre-show festivities included a fistfight between Jared and myself which ended in the six-foot-something martial arts expert making me lick the dirty backstage carpet and whimper "Uncle." It was not my most auspicious moment as a journalist.

Forced to watch the show from the ghetto seats in the balcony, I saw that the old Bloodhound Gang onstage standards of live mouse swallowing, actual darts being thrown into people's backs and electric cattle prods being used to shock band members were gone. But I had the joy of witnessing a host of new crowd-pleasing antics played out between hits from all three of the Gang's major label releases:

1. Finding an audience member willing to drink an entire case of Dr. Pepper without puking. He did not accomplish this task, and his failure was a very public (and entertaining!) event towards the end of the show.

2. Jared climbing through the crowd clad only in an American flag diaper screaming about the travesty of George W. Bush as the leader of our country.

Once the show ended, we fought our way backstage to make the smallest of small talk with the fans picked out to join the party. It was then that things began to get weird with the communal ingestion of the cat tranquilizer Ketamine, also known as "Special K."

Jimmy Pop: Hi mom.

Jimmy Pop's Mom: Hi Jim. What are you doing?

JP: I'm in a hot tub in Las Vegas and I just took cat tranquilizer.

JP's Mom: Jim! That's for cats!

(True Story: The only other time Jimmy Pop had tried this was during a mutual visit to Las Vegas. After we parted ways that night, he retired to his suite at New York New York, jumped into the hot tub, and called his mom.)

Jimmy Pop: Hi mom.

Jimmy Pop's Mom: Hi Jim. What are you doing?

Jimmy Pop: I'm in a hot tub in Las Vegas and I just took cat tranquilizer.

Jimmy Pop's Mom: Jim! That's for cats!

That night in Portland, we tried to call his mom again, but she was unimpressed at being woken up on the East Coast at 3am and declined to converse. So the party moved to the bus and memories of the evening became quite hazy.

There were some girls and some cameras. Until the photos came back from the lab, I was unaware I had been caught on film with my tongue stuffed down the throat of more than one excited fan. I was able to determine that this was definitely a more auspicious moment in my journalism career.

After a long conversation about almost nothing of memorable substance with guitarist Lupus, I lost recollection of what had happened until I woke up hours later in a small cocoon. I felt as though I was in a small but comfortable dark coffin. This coffin was vibrating and rocking gently. The Special K confused me for almost an hour as I struggled to determine what kind of tiny tube I had been placed in by what sort of aliens. I finally realized I was in a bunk on the tour bus headed to Seattle in a violent snowstorm.

Seattle, Washington:

Jimmy Pop and drummer Willie were already awake at noon discussing band business, but were happy to report the previous evening's events. For the first time in his life, Jimmy Pop had been able to sincerely utter the phrase "Go towards the light. Move towards the light!" as he and tour manager Regis physically lifted me into the top bunk while I was in a Ketamine-induced haze. He seemed as amused by my stupidity as his own kindness towards a physically impaired busmate. It was not my most auspicious moment as a journalist.

The short walk to Seattle's Paramount West hotel in the falling snow was a nice change from the 80-degree Los Angeles weather that never includes walking anywhere. The joy of my subsequent nap and bath was matched only by waving goodbye to the stash of Ketamine left behind as I set out to join the band again that evening.

(When) the photos came back from the lab, I was unaware I had been caught on film with my tongue stuffed down the throat of more than one excited fan. I was able to determine that this was definitely a more auspicious moment in my journalism career.

As to be expected, the no-alcohol policy of the all-ages club was roundly ignored by those with proper credentials and an adept skill at avoiding the authorities. (That would be me.) After watching the Al Gore concession speech on the bus with Jimmy Pop at his insistence, I scouted the room and found a particularly attractive fan to flirt with and provide an aftershow pass to. I had no idea at the time that she would determine the outcome of my night.

The low point of that evening came after the excellent set of the opening band, A. I had spotted a cute fan in the front row to provide the last of my passes to. As I approached her, I suddenly got that sickening feeling that one feels when they realize they are far too savvy about such things to be engaging in the sick and sad process of "band pimp."

Me: Uh…hey. Uh…How old ARE you anyhow?

Her: (quite perkily) Thirteen!

Me: Oh. Bye.

Again, the band put on a superior performance of great music and stupid antics. As usual, this show included:

1. A fan challenged to come up on stage and urinate in his pants for all to see. (As he successfully wet his jeans, I wondered if he thought this public act would attract a date. I immediately decided to the contrary.)

2. The entire band performing a parody dance of their friends N' Sync while dressed in pig masks. (In a rare show of subtlety, I will refrain from telling the story I know about the BHG, a couple of members of N' Sync, and some naked BHG fans.)

3. Myself on stage being told by Jimmy Pop that he would not make out with me, as he did with another male fan moments later.

After the show, everyone retired to the dirty cement-floored basement reminiscent of so many of those high school parties. Regis and I smuggled in beer from the tour bus as the guys from A presented the Bloodhound Gang with "Happy" Christmas gifts appropriate to the good-natured English lads they are. I recognized some of the many fan faces that were gathered on this last U.S. date of the tour, but was already feeling fuzzy from the many "orange juices" I had told the bouncers I was consuming throughout the show.

I'm not sure how it all started, but I expect that a burst of testosterone upon recognizing the one girl I had found interest in earlier led me to a confrontation for her attention with Evil Jared. I only recall an extended brawl very much similar to the film Fight Club on the wet cement floor in front of sixty some-odd fans. I held my own for quite some time, but as always was beaten into submission by the well-trained (and oft-armed) bassist.

My next memory was of him taking this girl's hand and heading off to the tour bus while I sulked in the wounds that would make me barely able to walk for the next seven days. My evening was only saved by a sympathetic fan that immediately invited me out to a local bar to soothe my wounds.

After waking up in my hotel the next morning to quickly visit the Houston art gallery, I ordered breakfast for Breanne (the sympathetic fan) and myself while tossing out the champagne bottle delivered from room service the night before. Maybe not my most auspicious moment as a journalist, but as always, an amazing time on tour with the Bloodhound Gang!