We are as excited as possible about our upcoming LIVE event. That’s right. Big Ol’ Tire Fire live and in person. More info soon.
Trust us. It's stupid and wonderful.
We’re fucking everything in our path on our march to the sea from North Africa to South Austin, leaving a swath of broken hearts and heartsore pudenda.
Much love,
Miranda
AHHHHHHHH! It was a day just like this one, except it was April already, and warmer and it was raining.
An MMMMMMMMMM-Note
In the spring of 1969, I was training for a decathlon under Walt Rostow, along with Jack Lemmon and some others of LBJ’s staff. I was the horse we were betting on, the others were just to round out the team – for camaraderie and encouragement and what have you.
Me on the field of glory
The training schedule was grueling, but by late February, Lemmon and I had managed to put together the financing for a new XXX film loosely based on a book by James Leo Herlihy. Of course, by the time the picture came out, it starred Jon Voight and *Dennis Hoffman and was rated X. But, by then, we were sitting pretty on an island in the Caribbean with fifty $10, 000 bills and did not give a care. But that is another story. (*not a typo – Dustin gets credit for his look-alike cousin’s performances in most of his early films – yet another story.
Walsh; file photo
One particular afternoon training session at Rice Stadium had been going well until Brendon Walsh showed up to taunt us from the bleachers. Lemmon had finally gotten his forty under forty-five, so we were drinking beer and tossing the javelin. Walsh started yelling sissy this and pussy javelin that, and Lemmon, without saying a word, picked up a discus and chucks it at him. It didn’t hit him, but that was the farthest he’s ever thrown the discus, so the team was pretty excited and kinda forgot about Brendon, who was fetching the disc. He found it and hucked it back at us, falling way short and knocking over the Dr. Pepper cooler.
General Westmoreland literally flew at Brendon, who was already storming down the bleachers two at a time. A lightning bolt erupted into the sky when their bodies clashed on ninth row.
Westmoreland being a pain in the ass to rest of the world
Westmoreland was worn out from training all afternoon, so Brendon easily got the best of him. We were all sick of Wes’s shit and Cambodia by that time, so we were slow to break it up and we were all friends again within minutes, except Westmoreland, who went back to Austin on the bus that night.
The whole gang spent the night at Judy Garland’s house in West University, doing Whip-Its and DMT. Jeff Beck threw up.
We miss you already
Our newest and greatest movie is nearing completion.
Expect to cry at Hilah in her dirty clown suit. Don’t expect to like Mark, even though you won’t be able to help it. Jason and Craig aren’t even in it, so there’s a bump up in production value right there.
Okay, Jason and Craig ARE in it, but they don’t play themselves. There are CHARACTERS in this movie. Something new and sort of a step backwards for BOTF, cause characters is where we come from.
They still say stupid shit, don’t be mistaken. Some things don’t change.
Check out the trailer and show it to your stupid friends. They’ll like it and be glad that you shared it, unless they don’t really like you at all.
Nice friends you got there, dipshit.
Oh, and there’s a rabbit.
little heart,
Mark
Hangover Clouds Are Gathering
According to sources, due to a sudden change in the weather and a rash of super-hangovers, the remainder of SXSW has been cancelled.
A Whorepants
“It rained a fuckload last night, and we stayed up all night watching it and drinking this thing Jason’s girlfriend invented called a “whorepants”, which is like a Pixie Stix of straight booze. Plus it’s cold as shit, so we’re saying “fuck it”.”
Others have speculated that backyard show-goers would “Track a bunch of mud into the house”, and “I just can’t deal right now. We did – what? Two, three nights already? Can we please just go get tacos?”
Get the fuck out!
All bands are being asked to “Just go home.” Those in hotels have begun packing and checking out, while those “crashing” (sleeping on couches or floors) have characteristically vowed to “Wait and see.”
There is no way SXSW is going to change their minds about this later this afternoon after some migas and bloody marys.
Waiting it Out
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