DEVASTATOR TOUR '09: Bang, that's wild!

DEVASTATOR TOUR '09: Bang, that's wild!
By Louis Fowler

It's funny: since I've met Tom, Scott and Melissa, I've had about ten or so dreams with them in it. The one I had recently involved them inviting a bunch of low-level porn stars over to my house, but both Tom and Scott were too tired to hang out so they went to sleep. Disgusted by me and my unsightly, unattractive face and body, the porn stars went to sleep too. So, I just kinda sat there, reading a Spider-Man comic that didn't exist and waking up wishing that it did.

Baltimore's Tom Warner and Scott Huffines had been heroes of mine since high school, when Rod “Formerly HITCH, now BOOKGASM” Lott lent me copies of their public access TV show ATOMIC TV. To this day it's not only my favorite television show of all time, but it's anarchic, middle finger spirit is still an inspiration to me. While other people my age were writing their “Who is the biggest influence in your life?” essays for their college apps about their grandmas or Martin Luther King, there I was, writing about Rod Lott, Tom Warner, Scott Huffines and, well, a few lines about Rudy Ray Moore, as I had also recently discovered DOLEMITE and was obsessed.

When the Internet became more commonplace, I eventually manned-up and contacted Tom and Scott who gladfully submitted to an interview for my magazine DAMAGED. Additionally, I also interviewed Melissa Darwin, then known to me as ATOMIC TV starlet Chastity Darling, who I was inconsolably infatuated with. They were all such incredibly nice guys who, surprising to me, were fans of my stuff too. Since then, we've all stayed in touch via different social networking systems and the like, but never really actually ever met. Ever.

That all changed on the DEVASTATOR '09 tour, though.

Some people want to be a star in LA, or a hipster big-wig in New York. I have always felt that my place was in Baltimore. It's like an urbane Oklahoma City or Austin minus the irony. It's a city with a proud weight and attitude problem and, after living in Fort Collins, one of “America's Fittest Cities” and “America's Best Place to Live”, respectively, it was great to be “the slim one” and “the nice guy”. It's someplace that I want to live someday. I love Baltimore.

My plans had gotten all bugga-booed and the bus-ride to Baltimore was a nightmare, with a day to hangout there subtracted. I had hoped to spend the day with Tom and Scott—they always spoke of a “syphilis tree” that intrigued me—but, sadly, it wasn't meant to be.

After a gang-fight that ended with our bus-driver getting what-for upside the head, we pulled into Baltimore about 8:30 PM, and, after numerous time changes and finaglings, was happy to see the burly bear that is Scott Huffines waiting for me, happily enough, even though he was suffering from the flu, a minor respiratory illness and an infected tooth. As we headed into town to meet up with Tom and Melissa at the Golden West, Tom, at roughly 15-miles over the speed limit, gave me a hilarious BENNY HILL-style tour of the seamier side of Baltimore, including a quick glance at the alley where Divine ate dog-shit in PINK FLAMINGOS, as well as every single former location of his former business, Atomic Books.

I, starstruck, was too afraid to say too much of anything, lest I be thought of as a moron.

We arrived at the restaurant, the aforementioned Golden West, and there was my wispy blond angel Tom—he should be the official spokesmen for Scandinavians, even if he isn't one—and Melissa, who should be the spokesmen for delightful and pleasant humans, as she welcomed with a hug and a pirate-themed welcome gift filled with various Baltimore-related items, such as milk and cream based caramel candies, gooey cream-filled goodies from the good people at Mary Sue, a crab-shaped lollipop and, a decidedly non-edible Baltimore Orioles yo-yo. (I still haven't taken any of these out of their wrappers, wanting to preserve them for all time.)

We all filed into the nice, swanky “fusion” eatery, and I promptly ordered a legendary Natural Bohemian beer—one of the few beers I have actually been able to stomach, thus, I loved it—and, per Scott's order, a “Bacon Bullet Bourbon Shooter”, which is a tasty-ish cocktail made-up of Bullet bourbon, molasses and a stick of bacon. Five minutes into Baltimore and I have already spit in my concerned doctor's face from at least three different angles.

As we sat there, eating our meals—I ordered a burrito of some sort that tricked me into eating squash as a Mexican food, but was, don't get me wrong, very delicious, talking about SAG cards, masturbation euphemisms past ATOMIC TV reminisces, hipster doofuses and Baconnaise, which I have learned is my new, awesome albatross, to the point where J & D should hire me as a spokesman.

I, starstruck, was too afraid to say too much of anything, lest I be thought of as a moron.

The dinner was really way too short, with, after a few pics taken, Melissa had to go home and go bed, as she is a responsible “early riser”. I made sure to get some “huggy” pictures, because I am pretty sleazy at times. A tear welled in the corner of my eye as she left.

Even though Tom and Scott had work the next day, and were sickly on top of that, they soldiered on and took me to a local neighborhood corner swanky bar called Rocket to Venus, where I had a few more Natty Bo's that quickly rocketed to my penis, as I had to urinate, like, five times. That's a good beer! We sat on bar-stools, like dudes do, talking about chicks, Underdog Lady, chicks, hipster hats, chicks and how we are all getting old and, as soon as we get home from work, get into our pajamas, my pajamas being boxers and nothing else—this might have worried Tom, as I was “crashing” at his place tonight.

After standing around for a while, hobnobbing with the locals where I pretended to blend in by making fun of the Baltimore suburb of Dundalk. “HAHAHA, yeah, what losers! LOL...please be my friend...”

Scott, no longer able to force off the amorous advances of Mr. Sandman, called it a night. As his burly, bear-like visage disappeared into the night, a tear welled in the corner of my eye as he left.

This left me with Tom, at whose house, as I said earlier, I was “crashing” at. After letting Tom know, repeatedly, I might add, that I snore to the point of comedic loudness, he took me on a tour of his insanely awesome house, a house which, if my wife would let me have my way, would be decorated. Filled with years of cult movie memorabilia lost musical treasure, library-shelves filled with outré' lit and rows and rows of zines. He could have started his own zine museum (a mu-zine-um?). We chatted for a while about Tommy Keene, and then I finally passed out in his guest room, on a bed whose mattress must have been stuffed with kittens and angels; I sunk into it and sunk into dreamland.

I also used his facilities—thanks, squash burrito—and, on my way out, promptly apologized for turning his bathroom into a “Troma movie”. After 30 hours on a bus and a squash burrito, it wasn't pretty.

It was early in the morning when Tom awoke me to let me know he was leaving. He left me some towels and said our goodbyes. A tear welled in the corner of my eye as he left.

While I will always cherish the time I spent with this Atomic Trio, I can't help but note that it was the most bitter or bittersweet. All these years and I had so many questions, and places to relive that I had seen on video...I had always hoped that I would show up and we'd all get out video cameras and shoot a new episode of ATOMIC TV entitled “Louis Does Baltimore, But Baltimore Gets the Upper Hand and Does Louis Back”. It would end with a bar-fight at an outside art-instillation where I would be stabbed by a disgruntled vet. I would have also been in my underwear when it happened, in tribute to ATV superstar Chris Jensen.

There's always next time, right? Or, better yet, why don't you guys come down here to Fort Collins? You guys think hipsters are bad, wait until you get a whiff of the Rocky Mountain Hippies! And, I promise that even though I'll be starstruck, I won't be too afraid to say too much of anything, lest I be thought of as a moron.

(For Tom's take on the whole thing, check out his post here.)