Invariably throughout ones life you will cross paths with individuals who’s very being could not have been scripted any better than if they had been created lock and stock by the most creative script writers the world has to offer. I have been fortunate enough to intersect with said persons on a regular basis in the course of my life. One such character was Stuart Richardson the Third. It seemed that from childhood Stuart was destined to be of the colorful variety. Perhaps, had he been allowed to keep his birth name which happened to be the decidedly bland Todd he may have been a less interesting character. However, as fate would have it he would have an entirely different destiny. It would happen that in his fifth year just as young Todd Richardson was begin to cultivate a stronger sense of self just as any child would do that death would intervene. Upon the death of Todd’s grandfather Stuart Richardson the First his parents, caught in the rapture of a sudden fit of irreparable sentimentality thought it best to carry on the family name. Rather than waiting until they brought forth a second son, (which they managed to do a few years later in Kyle Richardson) they chose to erase young Todd’s identity and begin anew.

“Your grandfather has died. Secondly you shall hence for be known as Stuart Richardson the Third.”

Granted this is some fairy heavy shit to lay on a five year old, however in the grand scheme of things I am sure that this event had no more damage on Stuarts psyche than any number of parental debacles which we all must endure as humans as a matter of course.

I met Stu in high school. It was at this point in his life when he began to sew the seeds of an interesting and sometimes entertaining internal dichotomy. It would seem that Stu was beginning to have a hard time marrying his fascination of lower class culture and his inarguable upper class up bringing. Perhaps this is why Stu was drawn to me. I could often glimpse a deep and unexplainable longing in his eyes whenever he came to my house and was presented without fail at least one dilapidated car in the driveway which did not run and which no one had the desire to make do so. I would listen as he spoke wistfully about someday renting a house with a car sitting on blocks in a dead and oil soaked front lawn, of filthy shirtless children running about unchecked and being looked down at by the neighbors. However, regardless of his deep infatuation with white trash ethos he still held strong allegiance to his parents who had reworked his identity for him so many years ago. He focused his attention to fine art of mechanichry of which his father hardily encouraged him. I’m sure assuming that it would be something that an adult Stuart would do with his time off from his well paid and secure state job which would offer him vast amounts of expendable income. Unfortunately for Stuart the Second this preoccupation would soon grow to be an obsession and a steadfast part of young Stuies identity.

When Stu wasn’t working on his cars we were going to see punk shows, drinking and smoking ungodly amounts of marijuana. In hindsight I find it incredible that were not arrested on a more regular basis. Even when Stuart wasn’t getting himself into situations which were unequivocally illegal he was finding his way into incidents which were amazing and often downright bizarre. Fortunately for my catalog of life experiences from which to write about I was there on more than a few occasions either watching mouth agape or actively participating.

More often than not while we were in high school the situations Stu found himself in were pertaining to the procurement of women and the hard fought battle to attain intercourse. There was not much within the bounds of minimal good taste that Stu wasn’t willing to do to get laid. Perhaps it the way in which he persistently requested a “Suckjob” or the frequency with which he pushed drinks on his victims in hopes to lubricate the path to intercourse which often left the young lady becoming “too drunk to fuck”. Regardless it would seem that he didn’t start getting enough of what he desperately desired until he stopped trying so desperately to make it happen.

One occasion which I found then to be endlessly amusing took place the night of a high school dance. Stu had managed to secure himself a date as had I so we chose to go together. His excitement was quite simply uncontainable and it radiated around him. Truth be told was quite happy for him and it seemed that his consistent badgering of the farer sex had paid off in a date with a lovely young lady. As we prepared ourselves for the evening I was at some points quite certain that Stu would burst with anticipation. He vigorously applied copious quantities of deodorant from armpit to elbow as he endlessly and nervously rambled on in regards to this young lady’s unequaled beauty and unmistakable desire “to fuck”. Once Stu had dressed himself in the finest threads a thrift store would allow he straightened his bow tie, slammed a couple of beers to sooth his jangled nerves and announced that he was quite ready to pick up his charge for the evening.

It was decided that we would pick up his date first. As I drove us to the girls house Stu continued to make the case that THIS girl was the ONE. Frequently turning to me with a devilish grin to tell me that, “she’s gonna get it!” Frankly I was starting to believe it. We stopped on the street in front her house. Stu grabbed the rear view mirror with a complete lack of grace and pushed around his grease soaked hair. I lit a cigarette and Stu was out the door. He was half way up the walkway before I could even begin to offer some advice on the way to go about greeting his date. After my first cigarette I got out of the car and lit another logically assuming he was inside meeting the girl’s horrified parents. I shivered as I imagined the terror I would undoubtedly feel if I were a father and some young greasy punk reeking of cheap booze and cheaper cigarettes came to take my little girl away from me with the obvious intention of relentlessly violating her.

Just as I began to shake my waking nightmare Stu came walking back down the walkway, alone. It looked as if he had been hit by a truck. In a matter of a few moments his entire demeanor had taken a three-sixty. The girls father, I rationalized had doubtlessly forbidden her to go any where with this primate. I felt a huge wave of sorrow for Stuart and of relief for the young girl which had unknowingly dodged the flesh bullet. As he walked toward me Stu held up a piece of paper. Flabbergasted he looked me in the eye and said, “She killed herself!”

I grabbed the paper from his hands and proceeded to read the poor young girls last words.

“Just my fucking luck” Stu said as he lit a smoke and leaned against the car, “I find one that wants to fuck and she goes and fucking kills herself.”

I looked up from the note and gave him the look I reserve for guys that ask me if I’d like to have sex with a baby.

“What!?”

According to the note it seemed as if the girl just could not go on any longer. It appeared sincere enough but just as I began to ponder the odd concept of leaving a suicide note to your homecoming date I got to the part where she informed Stu that unfortunately, she was not going to be able to attend the dance with him as she was planning to be deceased.

Stu spent the rest of the evening drinking massive quantities of Natural Ice and regaling anyone who would listen with his tale of woe.

Unsurprisingly we later found that the young lady who had ended her life so early was not only very much alive but apparently quite well adjusted. Well, just maladjusted enough to break off a date by feigning suicide.

I’ve already told this story to quite a few times but now that I have the intraweb on my side I’ll never have to tell it again.

“Look it up on my blog…Jerk.”

The Background: In October The Helpermonkeys went on our first full scale tour. 30 some odd shows in thirty some odd days. Needless to say it was fucking amazing. It just so happened that my birthday fell somewhere in the middle of our tour and because I have awesome friends my roommate offered to book us a hotel whenever we wanted as a birthday present. This is fucking invaluable when you’ve been crashing in “stanky-ass” punk houses for a few days.

The Story: So it was our first day back in the states from Canada. We played in St. Cloud Minnesota. It was a great show and the kids were helpful, amazing, and grateful for the bands they were getting in their fairly small town. We met Ben and his wife who had put together an amazing co-op style venue which was not only a place for kids to see shows but also a safe place to hang out, play video games and even go thrift shopping. Aside from being a great host and soundguy Ben had told us he could hook us up with some pot. It had been a few days since our last smoke so this was greatly appreciated. By the end of the night it was apparent that we wouldn’t be able to find a place to crash so I put in a call to my roommate.
“Hey dude, this is Jaz we cant find a place to crash tonight so it would be awesome if you could book that hotel room for us.”
“Sure dude, let me call you back.”
A few minutes later.
“Hey dude, all the rooms were booked at the Motel Sicks So I had to book you a room at the Best Western. They were pretty well booked up too so the room might be kinda crappy.”
“Hey man, a bed and a shower is more than we’ve had in few days so whatever it is we’ll be happy.”
Instinctively we cruise over to the crappy looking Best Western down the street where we find out we have no room booked in our name.
“Oookay I guess we’ll try that fancy looking one down by the club.”
We pull into the parking lot of the “fancy” Best Western and that’s when we realize that this is the hotel where that godawful excuse for a band “A Simple Plan” is stayin for three days till they play their huge arena show. The huge tour bus is parked right in front and even more nauseating than that is the Scion they’ve got parked next to the bus which is totally plastered with there faces and pictures of the newest and most technologically advanced Nokia cell phones on the market. If that’s not what punk rock is all about I don’t know what is.
I head into the office to claim our room and come to find out that we did NOT have a crappy room at all. That sneaky son-of-a-bitch had booked us a 2 story, 4 bed suite. Now, had that been the coolest thing that happened all night we would have been fucking stoked…..But, it only got better from there. We grabbed our bags and went to our room. Craig and Jeff hit the showers and Mac and I thought it best to hit the bar and have some drinks….Like gentlemen. On the way down to the bar Mac turns to me and makes a brilliant point.
“Ya know, I bet they don’t get alot of ‘rockers’ in this hotel. Just watch, they’re gonna think we’re A Simple Plan.”
HHhhmmmm
The bar is pretty much dead. A few glassy eyed traveling execs but certainly no “rockers”. Mac and I sit down and order two whiskeys. The bartender was disarmingly friendly. Usually, our “look” doesn’t exactly garner that kind of service in a “normal” bar. What in definitely doesnt do is get us free drinks but this night it did. A few moments after buying our first round of shots our friendly bartender brings out another round and places the bottle between the two of us. At this point Mac and I looked at eachother knowing full well what was going on. So we sat there a while smoking, drinking and reveling in our new found “star status”. Were working our way toward a nice healthy buzz when the bartender comes back over with two giant beers.
“Hey guys I just ‘accidentally’ poured these, you want em?”
You learn real quick to NEVER say no to anything free on tour. So we accepted the offer from our gracious if not slightly confused host. As we chatted with the bartender Mac, ever so subtly dropped the hint that he might be hungy.
“Well the kitchen’s closed, but Ill see what I can do for you guys.”
This is TOO fucking good.
About this time Jeff made his way down to the bar and was made aware of the con we had somewhat unwittingly stumbled into. Expecting some peanuts and pretzels we knew without a doubt what and who he thought we were when the food came out. A stunning spread (considering the kitchen was closed). A bread bowl with spinach dip, vegetables, a huge plate of nachos, oh and pretzels. More food than we had eaten in the last 3 days. Ben, his wife and a few of there friends showed up and were briefed on the situation.
“Help yourself to some dip.”
I then realized we could ride this fucking gravy-train all night if we played our cards right. I borrowed Jeff’s cell phone and stepped out of the bar for a moment. We couldn’t keep this all for ourselves. I needed to contact the two bands we were on tour with and get them down there ASAP. In the few moments I was out Mac blew our cover.
It went something like this…

Bartender: So, does it cost alot to drive that big tour bus around?

Mac: Uhh, actually….. That’s not us. Were in that little van over there.

The bartender surveys the veritable buffet he had laid before us, the empty pint glasses, the bottle of whiskey and walks away. Mere moment later he steps back over to us and curtly informs us that its last call and he needed to get out of there. The gravy train had been derailed. However, making our way back to our fucking suite drunk and full I couldn’t complain…..Much.

Upon returning to our room Mac was schooled in the fine art of lying.

“Actually… I have no idea how much it costs to keep that bus on the road. Our tour manager handles all that.”

Ive been rubbing filthy things all over it for too long now. Its taking its toll. Dipping it in experimental drugs, marijuana, alchohol, ungodly amounts of caffeine and cigarettes cant forget the cigarettes. Cheap ones that burn.