Hey it’s Bobby. I shouldn’t be the one writing this post, considering my past with Shane, but the old Christian Buddah Fuckwit Supreme has done it again and broken his leg. He fell off the stage last night at The Twisted Vine Wine bar in San Luis Obispo, which, and yes, I’m talking to you, Abraxas, was the first clearly Gay-themed wine bar I have ever seen. I can just see it now, a couple of gay (or who knows, maybe they were straight) entrepreneurs sitting around their Sherman Oaks pool trying to figure out what to do next. Maybe it went like this:

“What’s next, Jim?”
“We need something new and exciting. Weird but not too weird. Good for the gays but also a place that straight people would go. Because both gays and straights spend money.”
“Egads!” Jim jumps up from his chair, spilling Chablis on his banana hammocks. His shades fall into the deep end of the pool. “A wine bar . . . that’s gay!”
“Awesome idea! But we need to test it out. A sample market.”
“San Luis Obispo has some cheap rent these days. Let’s give it a go!”

With the end result looking like a cave. With vines. Made of plastic. The wine wasn’t cheap either. And no free stuff; not even Merlot (thanks again for the quality tour rider, Abraxas). Well at least tonight there was a stage, and a sound system, though it was clear we were most def not going to be able to rock out. But Shane still managed to get twisted up in his cord in the chorus of “Ultra-Apache,” the first song, and tumble offstage to the almost empty dance floor. He landed in the shape of a guy in a gravity-free chamber, except that there was plenty of gravity to be had. Poor Bastard! 

All of us rushed off the stage, though Darlo totally took his time. Shane’s howling in pain and his left leg was mangled to be sure. Kind of looked like this:

Boy did Shane’s dreads wilt over that one! I know, that’s a little mean. But we’ll soldier on. Shane’s going to sing from a chair, which sounds stupid and not exactly rock and roll, but what can you do? I mean Robert Fripp plays in a chair, right? Darlo’s trying to convince Shane to get some crutches and hop around onstage. I think that’s a bad idea, but it’s not like anyone listens to me!

Shane is right. We really need to talk to Abraxas, the booking agent. I mean, this is where we “played” last night:

I called up Abraxas and she was like, “Dude, I thought you wanted to open up new audiences to the Blood Orphans majesty. What gives?” If you detect some defensiveness there, well you wouldn’t be imagining it. I mean, WHAT the HELL was she thinking? We asked the proprietor — who looked at us like we were trash — if we could move some of those chairs in the first picture and at least try and play an acoustic set, but the two people in that picture scoffed and whined and sipped their Virgin Daquiris, so we got negged. There were like twenty fans there too, which is more than enough to play a show too, but then, just when I negotiated the back of the lounge for a stage, right next to the Golden Tee, Darlo mouthed off to some old lady and we got booted on our skinny asses. So now I have to babysit Darlo too? The night ended with a bunch of us back at Darlo’s doing some lines of, Jesus, some of the best blow I’ve had in forever. I mean, this shit was cut with God’s Breath. Anyway, we’re headed north tomorrow to the Twisted Vine in San Luis Obispo. Sounds interesting, but I better go call Abraxas and show her what for!

Hey everyone, it’s Shane. Praise Buddah! We played a strange show last night at the Sand Dune Lounge in Santa Monica. Thing is, I don’t know what Abraxas Dakota, our hippie-dippy booking agent, was thinking. Oh have you never seen a picture of Abraxas? Here she is:

She’s an old friend of Joey’s, of course, because all Joey’s old friends are fucking weird, and we were all assured that she really knew what she was doing. She is a computer programmer over at Lockheed, so how could we go wrong? Now I’m beginning to wonder. The Sand Dune Lounge, it turns out, is a golf pro shop for Sand Dune Links. Yes, they have a, uh, lounge, but it’s cleary never used for music. Looks more like a place old people congregate. The tables are nailed down, and the walls are clay-colored and they don’t have a liquor license. We couldn’t even bring in our own beer! Darlo was not pleased, so he shot-gunned three Buds and then disappeared for load-in. Thanks asshole! There was no stage, and no monitors, and we played to six guys in Kelly Green pants and polo shirts, sipping virgin Mai Tai’s and wondering why their Saturday night little old boy’s club was getting ruined. Fucker’s just wanted to play gin rummy and talk about their time aboard the HMS-whatever in World War II. Anyway, after the show Darlo called Abraxas and left her a screaming-loud message on her cell. Called her every name in the book. Hopefully tonight’s show will be better. But to end on a good note, one of the old WW2 vets did tell us “you boys sounded like you really cared about what you are doing!” Praise Buddah!

Oh man I can’t even begin to explain how great Jack’s was! There must have been like, SIXTY people there! I know that doesn’t sound like much, but thing is, no one wants to peak too soon, and the band still needs a little practice, so it was a mellow but satisfying beginning. Bobby only had to change his bandages once, and Shane actually managed to hit all the notes on “Dave’s Really a Girl!” After, we went to this cool party held by the sound-man’s sister. She was fucking dee-runk, but did the best Stevie Nicks imitation I’ve ever seen. Check her out:

I’ve never seen anyone sing “Gypsy” and “Gold Dust Woman” with such complete abandon. Bobby tried putting moves on her (hello! you have a Dutch girlfriend!) but she just laughed in his face and said, “Fix you hands, you freak, then come talk to me!” 

I LOVE BEING ON TOUR!!!!!! More Tomorrow!

Happy new year, Blood Orphans fans! It’s finally time to hit the road! First stop, Jack’s Basement in Santa Monica! It’s so cool that Jack’s is no longer a condemned space. Anyway I don’t think those rumors about rat infestation were true. Everyone always complains about rats: idiots!

The band has been working their asses off getting tight as a fly’s ass and man you wouldn’t believe how good they sound . . . well actually, I, uh, haven’t heard them play yet, because they won’t let me in for rehearsals, but when Darlo comes over after rehearsal (so attentive lately!) he raves about what a great bass player Bobby has become, sans eczema. Who’d of thought it? Bobby used to really suck at the bass. 

We hired a tour manager, because if there’s one thing I learned, it’s that Blood Orphans need a tour manager. His name’s Dudley Cunnybrook. And get this: he’s old Southern gentry! Also he knows how to cook squirrel and brews his own gin. I’ll have a picture of him up tomorrow. And he’s CUTE, too. Darlo’s not the only one that can freelance! Also we got a new van, which Darlo and Shane call The Rust Rocket . . . well it’s not that new, but it’s nice. A real fixer-upper. Whaddya think?

On the managerial front, a number of fine institutions/corporations have decided to sponsor us: 

Ricky Ticky Tavi’s: the best Indian takeout in Silverlake!
Jackie Oh-My-God!: a supercool new retro clothing store in Culver City
Sal(i)vation: An Oxnard strip club where all the girls dress up like nuns. Awesome!
Sucker’s Bet: My favorite check-cashing place in all of LA. They only charge four cents on the dollar!

Other sponsors are forthcoming, though a few got cold feet when they heard about our so-called racist past. Thanks to the Douchebag for that! Ah, who needs Gibson and Ludwig anyway when you’ve got the Rock Gods on your side. 

Can’t wait to report back on our totally awesome first gig! Rock Bottom Tour 09 BEGINZ!!!!!!!!

This is Bobby, and this is our blog. Starting January 9, you’ll be able to get daily updates on our shennanigans, fights, arrests, overdoses etc. from our blog. We’re all taking turns writing it, so you get a balanced view of our different takes on what I hope will be a good time. Though I have to say, my eczema’s already breaking out. Yikes!