How to sneak into parties and get free drinks.

I wrote this for the most recent issue of Transworld, not knowing it was supposed to just be a few bullet points.  In case the two of you who check this want to read it, here it is.

I definitely don’t want to bust any bubbles over here, but I’m going to start this thing with a sobering fact: skateboarding does not pay very well. I mean sure, your P-Rod’s and your Shecklers are probably putting away healthy “dividends” in something called a “savings” account, at the end of each month, are on “good terms” with their “accountants,” and even most likely pay their “taxes” on “time,” but for the rest of us, it’s days of chump change and the joy of working in an industry that represents what you love: skateboarding. Maybe another thing you love, as a result, is drinking. Or, as we call it in the biz, “going out.” Now I'm not sure if I am an "expert" on this subject, but I've sure as hell “snuck” into enough places and “drank” more than “enough” free booze to explain how this process works.

First off, the key to getting in is attitude.  You have to act like you belong there even if you've been banned for peeing on people's legs on the dance floor. (True Story) The key to creating this false sense of purpose is booze.  However, this could backfire on you.  If you're the type of person who starts slurring around his third Bartles and Jaymes, you might want to just skip the whole party altogether, because you're getting drunk tonight!  

Now as long as you've got your attitude and a buzz the only other thing you need to bring is stickers.  You may not need these but they sure do come in handy if there is a specific wristband you need to be inside the party.  For some reason, people tend to rip those things off and throw em' on the ground immediately after walking out of the door.  Now you can go pick one up, sticker it on and boom, you've already been in.  The security they hire at these parties are usually world-weary ex quarterbacks with better things to do than babysit some drunken skaters with delusions of Weezy-like grandeur, so as long as you appear to belong there, janky sticker job on your wristband or not, you’re good with them.

Say there is no wristbands though, and only a list to get in.  What do you do then?  This is where the buzz/confidence thing comes into play.  You have to march up to the person working the list and tell them your name.  Now, while they are looking for your name that is not on that list, you have to look at the list and find a name that is not crossed off/marked yet.  When they tell you that your name is not on there you just casually tell them "Oh really?  It's probably under…" and tell them the name you saw.  Now you're Daniel Castillo, going in to drink for free! (Sorry Daniel!)

If both of these don't work you're going to have to either sneak in unseen, which is fairly difficult, or just blend in with a big crowd of people that have got their golden ticket in there.  I made it into the Fantasy Factory once with Jake Brown and the Sk8 Mafia without them knowing I was even with them.  Being stealth is key!  I’m talking ninja skills and ill hand gestures.  My motto is: if you’re planning on doing you, posse up.  Roll in with a crew and ditch that dead weight before they even notice you.  But stay close, keep an eye on them, because this brings us to our easiest step: Bottle service at a stranger’s table.  Pour your drinks strong, drink them fast, and get then hell out of there!  This is a rarity though, and we'll leave bottle service and move on to more difficult steps.

So now.. you've made it in.  Hopefully it's an open bar because, if not, your broke ass is shit outta luck!  There's only a few options in this case and unless you buddy up to the team manager or whoever has the drink tickets, you're going to have to be a complete scumbag.  I, as a grown man, can no longer condone using these techniques, but I'll still let you know.  

First one is to simply watch for the biggest asshole you can find and tail him to the bar.  Stand near him listening and wait until he orders.  With luck, at this point he has a tab and doesn't pay cash.  If his tab's open listen to the name he uses and then go to a different bartender and order whatever you want on that guy.  Make sure you do this to a real prick though, you don't need karma coming back to you later that night.  (Also, you can do this if you know someones hotel room if you're at a tradeshow/hotel party)

This one is a little more complicated, and I've only seen it done once because that's how many times you can do it.  It's fairly simple but it requires having a now-defunct bank account and the card you used to access that account with.  Start a tab with that, buy everyone drinks in the place and bounce out with your card still there.  They'll try and run it but not be able to charge you because that account is closed.  Be careful though, most places that arn't complete shit-holes scan your cards right when you give it to them, but for some reason it works still.  

So there you go.  If things go right you'll wake up in the morning without remembering how you got to wherever you are.  Good luck!!

Enjoy Every Sandwich

What's up players?? Boy, it sure has been a while since I threw a knowledge bone your way but your old pal Boosh's been caught in an avalanche of shit.  I finally found my way out and crawled my ass back into society, only I think I might've left a nice sized portion of my brain back there on the mountain.  

If you have read the posts before this you'll know I'm back in the single world.  Normally, this should be where I'm telling you about how I had to get a revolving door installed to accommodate the amount of sweet ass that's been coming in and out of my place, but I seem to have lost my "touch".  Not that I ever had "it", but whatever I did have seems to be up in an attic somewhere, ready for the dust to be blown off it.  Because until that happens, dust's the only thing that's getting blown off in this place.

In case you don't understand what I'm talking about, here's a little example.  I was out a while back, having a drink with some friends when a semi-attractive girl came up to me and started talking to me.  She started talking about what she does which, as it turns out, was a hairstylist.  She told me that I should come over sometime and she would make my hair "look good."  Instead of taking this sweet gift from the poon god upstairs, I took this as an opportunity to defend my hair by insulting her, then telling her I don't need her damn help with my hair, this is how I like it.  After I walked away from her I realized what the hell I had just done.  Looks like ol Boosh had turned to self sabotage.  

Anyways, I got to thinking about that and realized that if I don't get my shit together I'm going to turn into Bill Murray in Rushmore, when he's smoking two cigarettes at once, drinking a shooter out of a coke can.  

I remember, a few years back, when I nearly died.  I had gotten drunk with a friend and decided we should drive out to a mansion in Palm Springs someone was staying at.  After arriving, forgetting to put on the parking brake, and chasing down my car, I proceeded to pass out in the backyard.  I awoke an uncertain time later to find i had a spider bite on my leg the size of a grapefruit.  I did what seemed like the only thing a dying man could do: make a sandwich.  Now, this wasn't any ordinary sandwich.  It was a death row, last meal type of situation.  I pulled out all the stops.  After finding every type of meat, cheese and condiment in the house, the sandwich stood almost a foot tall.  And I'll be damned if after I finished the whole thing the spider bite went away, and I lived to see another day.  

I guess the point of this whole thing is that it's about time to grab this life by the sandwich and take a big ol bite.  Who cares if there's cream cheese on it, I gotta wolf that thing down my gullet and get out there.  This might partly be because my internets down, and loading porn while they're other people around isn't doing too much good for the ol self esteem.  That and I think I'm getting carpel tunnel in my wrist from sitting around in this god foresaken jack shack doing fuck all, all day.  We'll see what happens.  Looks like ol Boosh hasn't had his last sandwich yet.

Going through tissues like Wilt Chamberlin through ass

What's up players?? Been a while since I sent the knowledge train out your way, but lifes been given it to me in all holes and it's hard to type with that sort of thing going on.

Well, the dream's over.  I told you that I got dumped last time, and boy was I right.  She wasted no time in moving on, but I'm just gonna keep that one wrapped up until I can write about it without wanting to smash something.  I'm a little bit lonely these days, but lucky for me I moved into a studio in downtown LA, so I've got the rats and cockroaches to keep me company.

Now, I've been through some stuff in my life where it seemed like I was down and out, but boy does this time sure take the cake.  I know what you're thinking "Boosh, you got a sweet bachelor pad now, aren't you plowing through ass like you were William 'The Refrigerator' Perry goin through linebackers?"  Well, the short answer to that is no, I'm not.  The only thing I'm bustin through is fucking toilet paper when I get back from stealing internet from somewhere, and letting some porn load up on the computer.

This sweet pad I got isn't really turning into the love shack I imagined.  It's more of a masterbatorium.  I don't want to give you the idea that I'm just sitting here tuggin my hog like I'm trying to pull the thing off my body, because I'm also drinking, crying and listening to music.  Boy, is it a sweet existence.

The highlight of my time here happened today, after I cleaned the books out of my trashcan.  I had just enjoyed some nice illegally downloaded pornography when I got up and remembered I had to dispose of the evidence.  As I was walking to the bathroom I let loose a Wilt Chamberlin inspired skyhook.  The balled up toiled paper sailed through the air, dancing in the winds of bus exhaust that flows through the windows, only to land squarely on top of the empty beer bottles in the trashcan.  

It's almost two months into 2011 and that's the highlight of my year.  I really got to get my shit together.  I live on the 12th floor now and if things keep going how they are you're gonna find me embedded into the sidewalk sooner then later.  I gotta get my internet fixed.  This imagination ain't what it used to be.

Flowing like the Nile

What's up players? Hope things have been goin good for you guys, because the only things flownin nicely over here have been coming out of my ass.  

As you could probably tell by the last couple posts, things could be going better for your ol' friend Boosh.  As a matter of fact, I didn't think it could be going any worse.  Boy did I underestimate the bad luck power 2011 is bringing.

If you read the drivel below this, you most likely know I busted my knee again.  Now, when I tore my shit up I had to wait 4 days to go the doctor.  In the mean-time, my dad brought me over some black market pain killers, provided by one of his friends who'd gotten quite a few back surgeries.  It was a smorgasbord of pills in a bag.  His friend wrote me a note which described the pills inside.  Round white was somas and the regular pill shape was vicodin. The dark horse were some basketball shaped orange pills with S1 on them, which he described as "low strength morphine."

I ended up letting most of the pills sit there, until it was just the "morphine" left.  About two weeks after I originally hurt that bastard of a knee I tweaked it again.  I figured I'd take about 4 of those low grade painkillers and just pass out, so that's what I did.  What I woke up in the morning to was something out of a horror film.

Now, I'm no stranger to sitting on the toilet.  Nobody is.  But what I'm a stranger to is sitting on the toilet 15 times a day, which is what happened when I woke up.  I looked up the pills online and, turns out, I had taken an elephant size dose of laxatives, bred to treat extreme constipation.  It was hell on earth.  I left the house for two days after that armed with an industrial sized roll of TP, should the moment strike when I least expected.  

Turns out, it did.  I was lucky enough to avoid a street dooks, but I did make the mistake of going out to a friend's party that night.  It was at a bar filled with skateboarders which, as you know, don't really take kindly to following the hiegeine norm.  After 3 trips to the bathroom, and waiting for the only toilet to clear out, I decided two things.  Never take a pill without properly checking up on it and never going outside after you've OD'd on laxatives.  I sure hope February holds some different luck because, as of now, I am 100% shit out of luck.  Figuratively and literally. 

Lohhhd, if you're listening.... Hellllppppp!!!!

What's up Players?  Well, it finally happened.  Seems like that A-Bomb I was talking about last time wasn't one full of knowledge.  Turns out it was full of shit, because since it blew up I've been forehead deep.  The levees have finally broke, and they buried me in the mess.  2011 sure as hell ain't been the year of Boosh. 

For starters my woman finally came to her senses and gave me the boot.  She's been threatening it for a while but I guess something I did fried a microchip inside her, because I was outta there faster then you could say "Boosh leave."  Now this was pre-arranged to be one of those "trial separation" deal, but two days later she called the whole mess off.  I got thrown off of that ride real quick like.  Now, normally you'd think that I could bounce back real quick from that, which I did sort of.  The thing I bounced off of though was my knee, and landed in the hospital. 

Turns out I completely tore my ACL and meniscus.  Now, when Bill Murrays girlfriend left him in Stripes, Harold Ramis told him "Hey, you still got your health!"  Well, I don't.  I gotta get surgery.  The only thing that's gonna come out of that one is some killer pain meds.  But that will only last a few days before I get sick of them.  So not only will I be single and depressed, but I'll be bedridden as well.  So basically, I'm gonna be assed out.  

You won't see be seine Boosh trollin for ladies out there on the streets, because I can't walk.  And you aren't going to see him doing that same thing on the internet, because I don't even want to.  All in all, I can say things have been better.  I gotta get some wheels, man.  Maybe a sweet 80 something honda.  Or maybe thats shooting too high.  I should probably just get myself a wheelchair so I can roll my ass into some on-coming traffic.  I'll keep you guys updated.

Hey, you guys hiring?? Im serious!!

What's up players?!? It's been a while since I dropped the A-Bomb of knowledge all up on ya, but holy shit, the clouds have opened and let loose a shit storm on my life.

If you read the last thing I wrote on here then you know I finished another semester of school.  In my life, I've done a fair amount of things that I'm not too proud of, but I have to say that this semester is up there on my list.  You can only fuck off for so long before the big dog comes and bites you right on the ass.  The only good thing I've got goin for me school wise is that they don't have my correct address.  Someone's gonna get some unsatisfactory grades, but it sure as hell ain't gonna be me.

Speaking of not knowing my grades, my fuckin internets been cut off.  Either the son of a bitch next door moved, or he finally figured out I was scamming his shit, because I'm out.  No more email, no more Facebook, and definitely no more tuggin' hog mid-day when there's nothing else to do.

I hope anyone who's reading this remembers the day before the internet existed.  I sure as hell do.  It was a time of soul and dumpster searching.  Mostly for self restraint and discarded porno mags, in that order.  You know how hard it is to get one out without the internet?  It can be done if you have Cinemax, but I'm running on basic cable and HBO right now.  There's a show called "Pornicopia" but between edited shots, there's always a dude poppin up blabbing about what life is like in the porno industry.  Man, could I care less.  Do people actually watch the show to hear some guys insight on banging a dozen broads a week?  I sure hope not. 

Needless to say, I've gotta pull some shit together before I really start sailin' down shit creek.  I've been looking for a job but most of these places want you to start working before 10 in the morning.  What do I look like, some sort of machine?  There's a line to cross, and that line is firmly set at 11:50 AM.  But if you're reading this and are looking some someone, give the ol' Boosh a holler.  I've had a lot of things going for me in my day, but as of now "pride" ain't one of them.  So hit me with whatever you got, because  I've got about a week and a half left before my ass gets das boot back to Long beach.

That's it, I'm retired.

Whats up players? It's been a few days since i hollered at ya, but I've been bedridden at the house. Seeing your life flash before your eyes does that to a man.  Things ain't always easy over here.

So anyways, I thought I was gonna die for about a day and a half.  It looked like ol boosh caught his final buzz and was going up to the big bar in the sky.  Turns out I wasn't dying, I was just really really hungover.  

You see, I went out to score some drinkin' money at LA Daves.  When I was walking out of there I saw none other then Bob and Matt in the parking lot.  Turns out they'd been drinking since noon and already had a sweet buzz goin.  Now boosh does a lot of things, but turning down a party ain't one of them.  So we decided to walk on down to Trader Joes and arm ourselves with a couple of sixers.  Since, as you already know, I am a man of classier tastes, I got a couple extra bottles of wine just to even the playing field.  

Turns out, drinking a cheap sixer and couple bottles of two dollar wine doesn't much agree with the body.  I spent the next two days contemplating suicide in between naps.  Once I woke up the only thing I had on my agenda was puking my fucking brains out.  Only then did I realize I had 6 hours to write a paper about Los Angeles before I flunked out of a community college english class.

Needless to say the paper I wrote probably isn't gonna be winning any Pulitzers.  I'm just glad I still remembered how to press send on my email before midnight, because the deadline was 12:01.

All in all, I think that a lesson was learned through all of this.  Sometimes the mind is willing, but the body is weak.  That, and if you see some of your friends drunk at two in the afternoon, it might not be the best decision to go hang out with them after.  

But hey, I'm a man of spontaneity.  You can only dangle that carrot in front of the horse for so long before he goes after it.  I guess that carrot just turned out to be a life changing hangover this time.  I wonder what those guys are doing tomorrow...