Jackie Treehorn Tour Updates from the Road!!
The rhythm section, naturally, cheated on their bet and hitch-hiked to Kaslo in the back of an old man's van leaving the rest of Jackie Treehorn to squeeze into a Buick with all of the gear. Magically, most of the band beer disappeared around the same time. Stay tuned for open auditions post-tour!
JTH Setting up in Kaslo
TOUR UPDATE:
After playing an intimate funk dance party in the Langham Theatre in Kaslo, Jackie Treehorn proceeded to punish Nick and Derek by sending them off to find a vehicle for the band to travel around in. They heard that someone in Kaslo was selling a Magic Bus. The Magic Bus turned out to be not only a Winnebago, but also a giant piece of crap. Since they are so dumb and young and effing adorable, they thought that said piece of crap was still magical and a bus. Updates are almost certain to follow. The Winnebago Brave will certainly prove to be something worth talking about.
The Actual Not So Magic "Magic" "Bus"
TOUR UPDATE:
The Bussebego faithfully (thankfully) made it to Inveremere where Jackie Treehorn was treated like royalty at Ray Ray's Beach Pub in Invermere. The crowd, while mildly enthusiastic, mostly stood in quiet awe and reverence while silently buying CDs and throbbing with ecstasy while remaining in their seats. Your Jackie Treehorn rocked their conservative, well-mannered minds, and nestled down into their motel beds for what they thought would be a very fluffy normal day with no big problems and no big deals or nothings no mores.
After a delicious breakie, the members of Jackie Treehorn piled into their respective vehicles and hit the road. That's when the *putt putt* *splutter splutter* began to happen. Nick was ranting and raving inside the RV, swearing to the heavens that a mystical daemon was sabotaging the RV by tearing out the fuel intake valve and making love to the exhaust pipe. The band, knowing that Nick was most likely high on the cold and sinus pills he kept stealing from Lorick, paid no heed.
When the back left tire exploded in foaming flames, the band continued to not believe Nick but begin to believe that something was seriously wrong with the "magic" "bus." They waited on the side of the road for the faithful mechanic from Canal Flats to arrive with his tools, his skills, and his sun-soaked body rippling with finely cut abdominals and carefree chest hair. Well, maybe just Ashley was waiting for that. And maybe all the dudes in the band had their fingers crossed as well. But when Dennis, the sensibly-aged, straight-shooting small-town superstar pulled in to fix the problem, all were grateful for what he brought to the table. Kerby and Ashley went to fetch replacement tires from Cranbrook while the rest of the band made daisy chains and talked about feelings. A few hours later, they were back on the road.
Dennis the Mechanic
*Putt Putt* *Splutter Splutter*. Suddenly the Brave wasn't making it up the hills any faster than 10k an hour. Kerby filled the beast with his sweet, sweet fluid (bottled water) and she ran a bit longer. *Putt Putt* *Splutter Splutter*. She was dead on the side of the road. What now? Nick was crying with frustration, declaring with every fibre of his mottled being that it was the daemon who was tearing open the engine and violently abusing the gas tank. The band decided to pay attention to Nick's rantings and ravings and just leave the Brave on the side of the road 10 minutes outside of the booming metropolis known as Yahk, BC. (Yahk-fist!).
The women-folk (Ashley, Chelsea, and Derek) drove the Buick down to the Yahk Convenience Store/BCL to make a variety of anxiety-based phone calls, while buying bananas, chippies, and secret beer. Chelsea performed a sacred Ukrainian Ritual known as Моє судно на повітряній подушці наповнене вуграми, flagellating herself with dipsticks and bags of Miss Vickies Sea Salt and Malt Vinegar Chips. In a burst of smoke and flame, both her Uncle Pat and Uncle Gord appeared bearing wrenches and grease-soaked coveralls. They left the Buick behind, choosing to travel instead on their magical Grease-Stallion whose hair was made of bailing wire and whose tears were sweet, sweet transmission fluid.
After spending a few hours under the Brave, and a few new parts installed, the truly magical Uncles instructed our underfed, overtired horndogs to fill up the tank in Creston before carrying on and all would be well. Confused, nervous, and slightly aroused, the band had only one focus: MAKE IT TO NELSON FOR THE GIG.
With this kind of enthusiasm and confusion, disaster was about to strike. Believing in a fit of delirium that the Brave would make it to the ferry in time, the band carried on, much like wayward sons. I suppose they thought that there would be peace when they were done. But there was no peace to be found - just the "peace" of crap that was the "Magic" "Bus". "Fired". Realizing they'd never make it in time, the band turned around to return to Creston to fill up and drive the Crowsnest. On the way, up a hill, she died. She really, really, really died. Again.
With epic swarms of mosquitoes flurrying around them like rapturous storms of annoyance, they panicked. Derek played sensual reggae music while everyone gave themselves self-hugs, not knowing what to do. Chelsea both ate and then vomited out her felting supplies. Kman scratched himself profusely while attempting to contact the alternate rock-dimension from which he was birthed. Lorick, somehow, continued doing a rhythmic dance while yelling, "I'm ready for the gig. Where's the gig?" And Kerby constructed a new instrument out of tall grass and rocks to soothe his ADD. Ashley just posed seductively on the hood of the Buick and tried to get people to take pictures, refusing to accept the brevity of the situation. And the situation was harsh breve. Would they really miss the epic Nelson gig? Would they really be stuck on the side of the road, with no way to make their sweet musical dreams come true?
In a flash of sparkles and rainbow fireworks, the Uncles appeared once more, brilliant and glowing with an ethereal light that twinkled with splendour. Soothing the crying horndogs with tender massages and joy-encrusted words, they whisked the exhausted band members away on their magical Grease-Stallion carrying only their hopes, dreams, and minimal gear with them.
The Buick, feeling self-conscious and underappreciated, also gave a few members a ride. Unfortunately, on the way to Nelson, the magical Grease-Stallion met its arch enemy, Idiot Deer. Idiot Deer was hanging out by the side of the highway, contemplating the best time to cross the highway. "This is it," he thought, hoofing the asphalt with assured confidence. It leapt boldly across the lanes, screaming, "I'm alive, bitches!" And was promptly SMASHED by the Grease-Stallion. Idiot Deer couldn't believe his luck - his most shiny and hated enemy had crushed his right leg just when he had finally worked his stuff out. Y'know, he had talked things out with the wife, reconciled with his estranged father, found a new career eating specific kinds of leaves, etc. etc. Refusing to accept fate, Idiot Deer loped bloodily into the forest, never to be seen again. Grease-Stallion, being kind of a douche, felt nothing. The Buick had missed the entire spectacle, too focused on its own sense of failure.
Looking at the aftermath of Idiot Deer with Uncle Pat
Weary, dirty, hungry, and delirious from the rollercoaster ride of emotions, Jackie Treehorn rolled into Nelson 14 hours after they left Invermere. While the super-epic Almanak played on, they loaded their feeble gear into the Royal on Baker and began to eat and drink profusely.
Twenty minutes later, they were loading themselves onto the stage. Ten minutes after that, they rocked the most epic and sleep-deprived set of their entire lives. Phrases such as "Am I awake?" and "Uh... UHHHHHHH.... UH. Uh. UHHHHHH" were a few of the phrases that were amplified into the microphones into the ears of the slightly confused Nelson crowd.
It's hard to say what happened after that. Some say the Uncles appeared and winked knowingly at you before disappearing again in an explosion of fire and tiny faeries. Some say that the Brave developed consciousness and began screaming, "I shouldn't be! Why do I exist? Kill me!"
And some say that the band rocked on like honey badgers and partied until 4 in the morning. It's really hard to say. I mean, what is art, anyway?
And that concludes the most stressful, FUBAR'd, mechanically failed day in Jackie Treehorn history. Well, I guess it can't get any worse. Right? RIGHT?
PS: The Uncles, while definitely being magical and sparkly, are not gay. They each married into Chelsea's enormous clam-filled family and ended up getting dragged into this entire mess with very masculine, heterosexual smiles on their faces.
