Id say getting fucked up was paramount in the DBS scene but really it was getting fucked up at Rambler's house, in the summer.
This house in the rancho district had become a shrine to our aggressive self destruction. Week after week shit got brighter, More clear as we stepped into the collective madness that was the summer of chaos. There was an unsuspecting gentility to it all. We eased our way into it. Not to say we weren't a bunch of drug addled maniacs already but the community that developed in and around that house grew at a measurable pace. Several rituals were developed to pay tribute to the Burbank night sun.
Lawn Driving: The act of ingesting enough liquor to forget how to feel feelings*, Pilling into a Sedan , or the Bug, And tearing ass around Burbank using only sidewalks and front lawns as roads.
TV Dropping: The act of stealing Television sets from the high school and dropping them from the roof of the hospital parking garage.
Cabinet Grabs: The act of attending the party of a stranger, raiding their medicine cabinet for any drugs that could be abused for recreation, and throwing the rest on the roof.
Moon Party- The act of getting black out drunk, snorting Ambien, coaxing a Burbank girl into having sex with you and your friend, flooding the kitchen and blasting Motorhead while committing the devils three-sum.
Russian Face-Slap Competition- Once again, drinking to the point of numbness and engaging in a Slap for Slap volley with a close friend until one of the participants loses their footing or loses their shit and an actual fight transpires.
Through these corrosive prayers and rituals we unknowingly sought the Dharma of destruction.This harmoniums hell we all slid into hand in hand.
"Alright lets go back down," Monk said slapping his palms down on his knees. " I think we've been up here longer than we think."
"You wanna kill this?" I said to Rambler, gesturing toward half a line with an unlit cigarette.
His smile spread across a black and white painted face as he sucked it up.
"Don't light that shit in here," Rambler said as we jogged down the stairs.
"K." I said lighting the cigarette. He didn't notice. Neither did I.
The party had been going on for hours and as we sank into the crowd we could see the place had just reached capacity. Not that we were going to turn anyone away, but the whole town was here. All the tribes had shown up. Every single one.
You could see The DBS in a half circle completed by Deathy's gang of black haired misery clowns. The skate video guys all smiling dumb smiles at one another. Browns and his group shaded by a cloud of greens. We joined up with our group, C.O.N.S ( Chargers Of the Night Sun ) and started screaming 'Skulls' and smashing our heads together.
"Fuck were you guys?" Hollywood shouted with two 24 racks in his arms.
"WAAAAAA!!!" We all shouted and embraced him. The best way to get a warm welcome at a party is to show up late with a metric-fuck-ton of brew. "Oh i know where you guys were," He said, making the naughty boy face. "Wheres mine?!"
"Put the beer down faggot I want one!" Depot shouted directly into Hollywoods face. It could have seemed Depot didn't realize he had a cocktail in both hands but he knew exactly what he was doing.
Monk and myself headed to the backyard and found a place to sit. We were next to a few chicks who used to be ugly and cool but had become hot and lame.
"Bullshit, dumbstuff, lame, weak, not important" They could have said, but neither of us was listening.
"Hey up until now this party was fuckin perfect." I said yelling into Monk's ear.
"Ya dude, these chicks are fuckin dumb why did we sit here?" He laughed.
"Atleast-" I started but was interrupted by staples.
"We need more whiskey, hey were out of whiskey Deep says we need to get whiskey." He yelled. The girls shut up for a second. Just for a second. Fuckin Meryl.
"Ya ok, I'm game." Monk shouted back. The shouting was alot like trench commands in world war II films but way less important.
"Who's driving? Im not fuckin driving I'm all sortsa fucked up." I said producing 'No Way' hands.
"I rode my bike" Staples yelled.
"You drove me here dude, so..." Monk said.
"What about Hollywood?" I said standing and stuffing my smokes into a pocket.
"Walked" Staples said.
"Bullshit, whatever, well take my car but you're driving." I said poking Monk on the nose.
We pushed through the backyard crowd. Each and everyone of them the perfect level of smashed. The mixing of tribes was more beautiful than I had ever seen. Absolute harmony. Pacts and friendships being forged that would last years. Alliances that would form the drunken political landscape of DBS for years to come. It was like the G8 summit for assholes.
"Yo were going to get a bunch of whiskey give me money." I said to Hollywood as we passed through the kitchen.
"Fuck You." He said without even glancing over his shoulder.
'Whatever I'll make Staples pay' I thought and we pushed for the door.
"WAIT" We heard hollywood scream. We all spun around and the room went as quiet as it could. "LAWN DRIVE!"
"LAWN DRIVE!" Staples shouted!
"Fuck yes!" Monk added.
"TO THE KIA!!" I added and we were off.
We settled into the dingy upholstery of my 2006 Kia Spectra and cracked our road beers. Hollywood insisted on driving. My vote was for Monk as he was probably the best drunk driver in the group but there was no arguing with Hollywood when it came to who takes the wheel. He was aight, and the fact he had only been at the party for 20 minutes or so was all the reassurance I needed to hand over the keys.
"Ok we all got beers?" Staples asked.
Beers are raised.
"Wait wait, two things." I said pulling a Misfits jewel case from the center console. "You need to focus." I said dumping Yesca on the Crimson Ghost. We all took a hit. "Put this in." I said producing Static Age from the American Psycho Jewel.
The sound of the plastic-rubber pedal hitting the floor, the thin shaking of the shit Korean engine under the hood, The sound of Danzig wrecking already trashed speakers, the smell of wet grass, the taste of Bud Light, It was time.
We only made it a block and a half away before Hollywood decided it as time to hit the turf.
We slammed over the first curb, nearly jumped the sidewalk, and landed on a perfect lawn. No fences for three houses. What a dream.
"Watch it fucker!" Staples shouted as we fast approached a low brick wall.
Hollywood swerved onto the sidewalk, past a tree, off the curb into the street, then back up onto the sidewalk via some poor bastards driveway. Now we were ridding the sidewalk at top speed.
"Hold it steady dawg." I said from the backseat. there was a tight corridor ahead of us. massive oak trees on the right and a white picket fence on the left that seemed to go on forever.
We all held our breath as we entered the trench.
'Fuck'
'Shit'
'Oh man'
'Got this'
We were halfway through when the driver side mirror hit the fence. Every post. It sounded like machine gun fire and we all lost it. Why this inspired cheers I'm not sure but we were screaming at the top of our lungs as if the Sportsball team had won the UltraBowl.
After a few more lawns we ended up back at the party, having completely forgotten to buy the whiskey.
High fives and bro grabs were exchanged and we headed in.
Somehow there were more people. When we left, everyone we knew was there, plus a few faces that had no names yet but weren't unfamiliar. the vibe still remained intact but things were changing. Monk and myself headed to the pool where nearly everyone was cheering on someone to do something.
"Jump pussy!" Some fat dude shouted as he dropped his beer in the pool.
It was Drake, Hanging out of the Ramblers window in his skivvies ready to jump. He took the leap. Something about the way he pushed off sent his head backward, shattering the glass above the opening he had pushed himself through. He hit the water with a slap.
Beneath the poolside cheers, Monk and I could hear tense words being spoken. They were getting louder and by the time we spotted them, Browns took one across the jaw.
"Fuck that!" I said.
"Nope" Monk said and we headed toward the ensuing brawl.
It was a tall AF skinny Black dude, A huge Mexican dude, and a tiny White guy, And they were TEARING shit up. somehow amongst the rage Monk and I were able to decide we should try to split everyone up. I grabbed the White guy by the collar and pulled him back. Monk grabbed the Mexican's arm.
"Stop this shit dude, not worth it. Seriously just fuckin book it right now." I said to the little White guy. His answer was one of the hardest left hooks I've ever received and shit cracked off again.
The fight grew, and I'm not sure how seeing as the culprits were only three in number. I was swinging and grappling in as close to the right direction as I could. This haymaker style brawl is sure to ignite several proxy scuffles, but everyone was so close, i was surprised to see it take so long for everyone to unite against these 'unknowns' But eventually the violence became more accurately directed.
The brawl swelled and undulated like a hairy t-shirt clad hot tub full of sweat and pushed the culprits into the kitchen. My head was buried in the tussle most of the time but every once in a while I could sense a bottle or piece of furniture moving through the space above us. There were streaks of blood forming on the walls. ' All this shit from three dudes? jesus' I thought as an elbow sent my bottom jaw upward to ring my bell.
Once the three assholes who started this thing were shoved outside into the street, I came across the Rambler.
"Dude this shit is a burn." He said. "I think I have to call the cops dude. My house is getting thrashed."
"Ya, honestly, its probably the best solution." Monk added, now by my side.
" Do it." I said peering passed a dozen domes. The Assholes were in the street 'Fronting' if you will.
The police showed up just as the Assholes took off. Monk and I were outside to greet them. We had ushered everyone else inside. We were always the guys who dealt with the cops. I don't know how it started but we had gotten good at it.
"Go inside." Buff hispanic cop 1 said pointing toward a sliding glass door resembling a people-tank.
"I can explain how ev-" I started.
"Inside" Buff cop repeated. I listened. With a belly full of booze and a boot ankle full of drugs I wasn't about to argue. Anyways, we fuckin called em, may as well listen.
I went inside and checked my ankle. Nothing.
'Good no drugs I'm safe.'
'Wait a godamn second, wheres my shit?!'
In our drunken paranoid stupor, Monk and I had hidden our cache of felonies behind a pot on the back porch. Totally forgot. Now I was faced with a situation: Remain un-felonious and leave the drugs for now or grab that shit before it gets jacked cause fuck that, I spent good money on that shit. So I went looking.
Wasn't there.
'Fuck me'
Aaron handled the cops, everyone but C.O.N.S left, I spent 30 or so minutes sifting through trash and found the drugs.
We did them all and talked about the next party that would never happen.
It was a perfect end to the summer of chaos. It sucked, we felt like shit, owed the cops a bunch of money, all had busted knuckles, and loved every second of it.
