So i flew into LA once, i had a couple days off. What do? Sure, head on down to San Diego to meet up with some friends and watch some other friends perform. Good times, let the drinking commence... OH SHIT. Not a good sign... Chopper Dave is here... this wont end well. This guy will haunt me to the end of my days... or at least until the end of his. Either way, i already knew shit was going to get gnarly and would very likely end in an arrest of some sort. Well, im trying not to pay attention to the obvious fact that shit WILL get crazy, i start going on the beers. Usually a safe route for me, i never know with mix drinks or shots... that shit can get easily retarded with me. But at least going on the beers its a consistent and quantifiable amount of alcohol and a level of inebriation that's easy enough to maintain.
I remeber managing to get through most of the night unscathed... with the exception of a consensual dog pile, a broken table, and some guy who looked (and acted) exactly like Bernie Lomax. No harm, no foul... so we pile up into the rover and head on back to the hotel to pick up some bags from the hotel, and run on over to another club to watch Chris Lake play. I didnt even realize how drunk i was, at least until 3 of us were sitting precariously on a couch in the lobby singing “just a friend” by Bizmarkie. Since most on-the-spot sobriety tests can be conducted simply by observing what stupid song the person is singing, you could easily have gathered that we were pretty wasted. Someone did something and im not sure what, but i vividly remeber falling backwards at a high velocity along with 2 others. Next thing i know, is me and Scrillex falling off this couch and railing our heads off an oak table. I still can't belive that it didnt knock me right out... of course the initial pain was immediately drown out by the laughter of others. Groovy. Im still alive. So, i guess the only thing i can talk about all night to anyone is “how hard i hit my head” ... so went and saw chris lake over at Voyeur, i humped his leg, and left. Its time to go back to the hotel in LA.
I at least remember getting into the hotel, getting into my room, and hitting that bed harder than ever before. Peace at last, time to recover from this, because its going to hurt like hell in the morning...
Oh, this isn't over. 4 am. Im fast asleep. And of course, we cant have that... so theres pounding on my door. Fierce “fuck you” pounding... i slowly crawl out of bed and kinda stumble at it... im pretty sober at this point. Just groggy from a mild concussion and a bit dazed from nearly entering the best sleep i would have had in a long time. So, i crank open the door a tad... and there are 2 police officers standing there looking rather unimpressed... i stood there for a second flying into my memory of the nights events and trying to collect any kind of “what the fuck was i thinking” moments.... but came up with nothing, so i was genuinely confused on the nature of this little visit.
“sir could you please come with us?” says the one officer... well... i already knew i didn't have a choice, and i actually was pretty curious... so, i oblidged. Im sitting in the elevator on the way down just trying to figure it all out, i already know the first thing to ask is “what seems to be the problem officer” but i figured that was way to fucking cliche, and i'd rather just get right into it and see whats up. So they usher me out of the lobby and into the front foyer / car park into what looked like a fucking murder scene to me... at least 12 cops and a couple of cruisers. I was actually REALLY concerned at this point... so im starting to freak out a little. Then they asked me if i knew a “Paul Macrae” ... of course i did, he's my tour manager. They werent really fucking around with some long exciting story, but just came out and said “yup, we saw him walking around sunset blvd, naked, no id... and he said he's staying here with you?” im usually pretty courteous and helpful towards the police for obvious reasons, but i really had nothing else to say other than “what.... the... fuck?”
I just cant believe this shit, but i looked over at the car, and there's a naked Paul sitting in the back of the cruiser looking quite sad. Some words were exchanged between myself and the officer.... mainly me asking “what the ff....?” but the most i got from anyone was ... “look, we just found him walking around naked on sunset....” For reasons i will never understand... they just let him out of the car, and told me to take him up to his room and put his ass to bed... really. It was that simple. So, paul walks up to me and just says “lets just get out of the public” gets in the elevator, and goes into his room. I was so amused and bewildered by this whole fucking scenario i couldnt even muster up a “what the fuck dude???” so i just went into my room and passed out.
To this day, neither myself, nor Paul knows exactly what happened. I blame Dave.
