Boner’s Terrible Weekend

Hair looks bitchin today, thought ya'll should know.

Hair looks bitchin today, thought ya’ll should know.


We haven’t posted anything fun in some time, so I thought it might be nice to tell a funny story (funny to this guy anyway)…you know like your creepy, bourbon-soaked grandfather used to do while he had you on his lap the day offer Christmas. I told this story to Marilyn last night and it might have been one of the biggest laughs I’ve ever got out of her, so to duplicate that same gratification I’m going to tell it to her again tonight…but in the meantime you can read it here…

Boner’s Terrible Weekend

In  my late teens/very early 20’s, after my band called it quits I used to aid at a recording studio that used to record mostly smaller local hip hop and punk/metal groups. On the larger end of our appetite, we used to work with bigger bands who were demo’ing their new albums, think No Doubt, Citizen Fish (Subhumans), Aceyalone, Thrice, Avenged Sevenfold, Cypruss Hill, etc. We also had a deal with Volcom’s (the legendary SoCal surf/skate/snow brand that even your Nana has heard of) subsidiary record label, Stone Entertainment. We recorded a lot shit for Volcom surf videos too, think bands like Pennywise, Pepper, CKY and stuff like that. We kept pretty busy, did a lot of drugs and generally helped make decent-to-good-but-not-great records for bands.

Every tattoo parlor has a shop bitch. We all know this. Our recording studio wasn’t much different in that this guy named Boner used to hang around a lot, get drunk, bump into things and not really help out in any quantifiable way except for comic relief and making beer runs. Don’t get me wrong, we loved the guy, but he was mainly the house entertainment. Let me give you a little background on Boner: Dude was in his late 20’s and lived at home with his parents. He wasn’t retarded, he was just very simple. Nothing wrong with that. He had a girlfriend, a job hauling stuff around in his old Toyota pickup truck and his best friend/drinking buddy was his dog who he’d had for at least 10 years at that point.

I’m hanging out at the studio with my boss, the owner, not doing much when he receives a phone call from the lead singer of a band that we had recorded, the band that brought Boner with them initially as their roadie and apparently proceeded to “run to the store really quick to get some smokes” and never came back. On a side note, I guess you could say they stuck us with their Boner. Back to the lecture at hand…

Dude calls us and proceeds to tell us about the morning that Boner just had. He wakes up early for work, gets out of bed, goes to pet his best friend and realizes that his dog is dead. Boom, no warning. This crushes Boner, which is what I’m going to say when I point toward Marilyn’s vagina later tonight to help her get the hint that her Neanderthal husband wants sex. But the dude needs his job, so he gets himself together and heads into the office anyway. Upon arriving at work, his boss proceeds to call him into his office and fires him. So Boner does what any man in this situation would do; he drives his truck headfirst into a tree on his way home. Front end is totaled. Luckily the tree was next to his house, so he can stumble home and get piss-drunk by himself. While he’s drinking away his morning his GF calls him, and I shit you not, proceeds to dump him over the phone.

Now, for those not keeping score:

  1. Best friend dies
  2. Gets fired from his job
  3. Crashes his truck
  4. Gets dumped by his girlfriend

Life, 4 – Boner, 0

Shortly after this phone call ends the door of the studio swings open and from within the massive amount of sunlight that drenched our dimly lit cave stumbles in Boner. Apparently he took a bus to the studio to tell us that he had purchased a separate bus ticket to Vegas, so that he could go drink himself to death like Nic Cage in that one movie where acts all super Nic Cagey. Thing is, he wasn’t crying or anything, he was just really belligerent and shit-faced, so we figured that Vegas probably really was the best place for someone in that condition, it sure as shit wasn’t a studio full of expensive equipment just waiting for that drunken lummox to fuck up somehow*. So we sent him on his way. This was on a Friday.

*I realize the hypocrisy in saying that a big drunken lummox shouldn’t have hung around at the studio, because I used to weigh nearly 230 lbs back then, my boss was at around 250, we were hammered pretty much 24/7 and had carried ourselves with the grace of the old WWF tag team, The Bushwhackers.

Fast forward to Sunday afternoon. Again, Boss Man and I are lounging at the studio when the same wave of light came through the door, with Boner following it. I like to refer to the state he was in at that point as Fuck Drunk. Drool, scrapes on exposed limbs, dirty clothing, etc. Dude drank half the booze in Vegas and still managed to get himself back to the bus station to catch his ride. In a way you might think that impressive. While trying to explain to us that he was actually dead, and was a ghost or some other unintelligible babble he not-so-gradually passed out on us. Being the good friends we were we decided that for sure we should write all over his face with the thick studio sharpie. Cocks and balls…swastikas (purely for shock value purposes), 666, all that shit.

About an hour later we get a call from one of the guys over at the Volcom office that they were having a BBQ and that we should head over and kick it. Thinking this was a good idea we woke Boner up and asked if he wanted to go. He said, “Fuck yeah, I’m ready to get this shit ON!” Well…true…but what he didn’t know was that we had drawn cocks and all kinds of other horrible shit all over his face in REALLY THICK BLACK SHARPIE. Into the SUV we piled where he proceeded to pass out again in the back seat.

We arrive. What happened next may have been the funniest 10 minutes of my entire 34 years on this planet. We walk in and EVERYBODY immediately loses their shit when they see Boner, which could be a euphy for a gay person preparing himself for anal intercourse. Hmmmm… Anyway, he shrugs it off, but then one-by-one people at the party start asking him things about the 3rd Reich, Cocks, Satanism, you name it. The confusion and frustration that began to escalate on his face was nothing short of amazing. Boner literally had no clue why all this weird behavior was happeneing…..UNTIL… was time to piss.


At which time we were well ready for the fallout, and quietly dipped out of there, left him at the BBQ and headed back to the studio laughing our evil motherfucking asses off.

And that, friends, is Boner’s terrible weekend.

-Mike Apathy