I Wanna Dance to Michael Jackson the music video (and soon the 100% organic breakfast cereal)!

WE LOVE YOU, MJ!

The Aftermath: post ROLLER BOOGIE 5 ephoria and musings

And so, four days deep into the solo clean-up and salvage efforts, I write to you with hands covered in open sores (zip-line injury), a mild case of H1N1, and still perhaps 4 or 5 blue recycling bags away from a clean living space. Skates are still strewn about. I’ve found only 1 out of 10 people’s missing items. The most popular item thus far has been wigs, four in all. I’ve reserved first dibs on all ground scores, and the best find has been a pair of fake, dork-dork glasses. I’ve been rocking them off and on since Sunday. I’ve picked up a grand total of 17¢ in pocket change. The most popular ashtray, by far, is a drink container. There’s nothing more enjoyable than draining the sluice from a gnarled Colt 45 can and have a barrage of cigarette butts Niagara Falls-ing into a bucket of the foulest concoction that a team of wicked witches would never be able to produce in the most disciplined groupthink. But was all this worth it? Fuck, yes!!!!!

We had a party, and it was the greatest party that time has ever known. I could have went to this party everyday for a month straight, Groundhog Day-style, and still not even have come close to experiencing the whole (something-like-a) phenomenon that was, is, and forever shall be ROLLER BOOGIE 5. There’s eight-million stories to tell, I’m sure, and I’d like to hear every single one. Actions speak louder than words, of course, and pictures capture our actions, telling the story far more accurately than anyone’s words. So on that note, check-out these bad-boys:

Photos by Los:
http://www.facebook.com/photo.php?pid=42608734&id=14228324&fbid=755871869693#!/album.php?aid=2370648&id=14228324

and

photos by Ashley for yinzerparty.com:
http://yinzerparty.com/index.php?option=com_joomgallery&func=viewcategory&catid=75&Itemid=54

and this RB5 attendee (who shares the same name as the HG’s bass player) captures another dimension:
http://www.facebook.com/home.php#/album.php?page=1&aid=2119991&id=4807254

here is the official RB5 promo video (BAM!):
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gKHAJHXcvG0

My personal highlights: wow… so many… I feel like I’m accepting an Oscar or an MTV Music Award (in the 90’s, when it still mattered)… hey, sit back down Kanye… you’ll have yr turn to weigh in… we all will:

1. Naturally, I must talk about the Hood Gang’s set because we sure gave them something to talk about, right, Bonnie Raitt? There were some major firsts that would have made everyone from the Wright Bros, to the Spak Bros and from Andy Warhol to David Lee Roth proud. In this historical set the Hood Gang has defined yet another sub-sub-genre of music: DIY Arena Party Rock. Here’s some of the key aspects:
- Flying. In case you missed it, Drunk Monkey and I flew on zip-lines over the crowd of well over 200 awestruck onlookers to begin the Hood Gang’s set. Talk about home court advantage!
- Once we Houdinied (Harry not the proto-rap group) out of our harnesses, I hurriedly, with the help of my lovely assistant, Morgan, slipped into my gold-sprayed-skates to circle the stage while we performed the song, ‘Roller Boogie’ off of our 2007 release Everyone’s in the Hood Gang.
- A reoccurring problem we’ve had playing ROLLER BOOGIES is mid set power outages. It happened again at RB5. Only this time it took way longer to figure out how to turn it back on. We covered at first with a drum / percussion solo. But after five minutes… we started losing our momentum and patience. That is when Drunk Monkey took matters into his own hands. He made the entire audience crouch / sit down on the floor and chant, “We want power, we want power” and then “Hood Gang, Hood Gang”. Then the crowd inevidibly started up the good ol’ “Let’s Go Pens” chant. So Drunk Monkey gave the crowd exactly what the wanted. “Let’s go Pens, huh? Well, I got something your going to like.” He crawled under the stage and pulled out our HG20 gold-sprayed Stanley Cup and raised it high over his head. The crowd roared like they would have if - Sidney Crosby had gone top-shelf to win the finals in overtime and Santonio Holms caught the Super Bowl 43 winning touchdown pass at the very same moment. Drunk Monkey snatched a beer from someone-in-the-front row’s hand, poured it in the cup, drank, then passed it around the crowd. I few seconds later the power returned and the Hood Gang launched into their power-anthem, ‘The Greatest Party That Time Has Ever Known’.
- We capped off the set with a heartfelt rendition of ‘I Had the Time of My Life”... a tribute to the late, great Patrick Swayze and to every single person who’s ever attended a ROLLER BOOGIE, originally performed by Bill Medley and Jennifer Warnes on the soundtrack to Dirty Dancing.
2. From what I gathered, Totally Michael, Leif Kolt, and Muluca w/ DJ Dirty South Joe all killed it… but I missed the majority of all of their sets… Blasted responsibilities! Grrrr…

3. However, I was able to catch Ninja-fuckin’-sonik / Sonik-fuckin’Ninja. They destroyed! I love these guys! The whole crowd packed into the back and Ninjasonik performed their original concoction of tight-pants-wearin’-ass punk-rap. It was great to get to hang out with them again and especially to see them play. They also performed live remixes of songs from some of my other favorite d.i.y underground high energy bands such as The Death Set and Team Robespierre and a cover of my all-time favorite punk song ‘Attitude’ by Bad Brains. Needless to say, I lost my shit, danced my gold lamé covered ass off, and crowd surfed.
4. Somehow the VIP turned into a rave complete with house music and lazers.

Those are my major moments that are jumping to the forefront of my recollection. What are yrs? I can’t wait to run into as many of the 360+ guests as possible and hear the crazy shit yinz all did and saw. Feel free to post yr RB5 post game on my wall or email me at hoodgang@gmail.com.

There are still plenty of official, limited edition, hand numbered, ROLLER BOOGIE 5 / HG shirts available in a variety of American Apparel sizes.
http://i192.photobucket.com/albums/z47/hoodgang7/rb5shirtshanging.jpg
Contact me if you want to grab a piece of party history or they’ll be available (while they last) at upcoming Hood Gang shows.

So everyone’s asking, “Sneaky, is this really the last ROLLER BOOGIE?” I’m afraid so, homies… at least at my spot. It seems as though we’ve outgrown our britches. It’s too big (that’s what she said). There’s so many of us, BOOGIERS. Which is fucking awesome… but given the amount of people and high-energy performances, dancing, skating, zip-line flying, it was just too hot and too hard to breathe. Don’t get me wrong I love sweaty parties but we might have some causalities on our hands (namely, Sneaky Mike) if we were to push it any further at my current location. That being said I might be convinced to pull a Brett Favre if the right, bigger, venue came along… I suppose you’ll just have to stay tuned. Same party time, same party channel… the newly syndicated Hood Gang show. And we’re all part of the show, you know?

Remember;
Everyone’s in the Hood Gang
You are special
And I love you all very, very much.

Peace, love, and greatest partying
Forever,
$n€åK¥

HOOD GANG HALLOWEEN x MADNESS ON EVALINE

Pre-game band name: Pride of Cougar
Evaline St. pt.1 – Right Party-Place, Right Party- Time… and the Ultimate Cross Promotion plan.
On with the show, Hood Gang summons the GREAT PUMPKIN
Back to Evaline, party til the break of daylight savings time / Writing Party Songs

Where to begin is pretty obvious. It’s just that we packed so much partying into one night that it’s tough to reprocess all of this party-data in anything resembling a logical manner.

It all started at Los’s Dojo where a number of Pittsburgh Party Council meetings have been held. But this night it was a place of pasta consumption, bachelor-style, as an essential foundation in the stomachs’ of newly formed band, Pride of Cougar.
“What do they call a group of cougars?”
“You know who’d know?”
“Who?”
“Google.”
And yes my friends, Google did know. Google always knows. It was at that moment the legendary group was formed, the all time #1 Cougar Tribute Band. No not Mellencamp, you dummy. I’m talking about the by-far leading band for the women 35-50 yrs of age demographic. Pride of Cougar wins Grammys every night all around Cougartown and you better damn-well believe that’s right.
It’s Halloween, remember? I remember Halloween all right. Let’s not forget. On a rare Saturday night with an additional bonus hr of turn-back-yr-clock-style extended party time. Sneaky came strapped with two costumes for the evening’s festivities as did Drunk Monk but we’ll get to that in a minute.

First, let’s head over to that always banging, 17 yr running, featured in Spin magazine, party in Friendship, on Evaline Street. You know, the one with the push-cart rollercoaster in the yard and the circus tent and the theme this yr is Space Odyssey 2001. Perfect! Frickin’ perfect! And I believe Meeting of Important People, or someone to that effect is playing as are über-homies, and some of the banginest, most fist-pump inducing DJs period, Keebs and Cutups (dressed as the Balloon Boy and Bob from Twin Peaks). And it’s only 9:30 and I hear they have 40 kegs donated by Penn Brewery. And the Hood Gang isn’t supposed to hit @ Belvedere’s until 11:00, at the earliest. Let’s roll! Pride of Cougar, ho!

And oh boy did we get there at the right time. The party was just starting to fill up. We walked right in and there were no lines for beer. The costumes were pretty rad, across the board. I wanted to try to recognize as many peeps as possible and do or say anything that might somehow persuade them to leave a $20 party with unlimited, free beer and roll with the Pride of Cougs to the Hood Gang Halloween Special. And then it hit me like a monster truck. Yes that’s it, I’d need a monster truck and a giant fishing net. There was an alley behind the party. I’d park the fucker right back there behind the row of porta-johns, no one would notice a thing until VROOOM! SKIRT! I’d throw it into first gear and spring my… um… promotion campaign. I’d drag like 50-60 people right out of Evaline, straight down Liberty Ave. all the way down the hill to Belvie’s. That’s sure one way to fill that room.

No body ended up coming with the P-Cougs and even I couldn’t scrounge up a Big Foot with such short notice. On the way out we marveled at the line to get in, which by now had stretched for two neighborhood blocks. There wasn’t that much room left inside the party. I pitied all those poor party people. They had pre-gamed slightly too long and were paying the price. And I’ll be damned if there wasn’t five, six, of those folk dressed like Waldo. Where’s Waldo? Who cares. The Pride was fashionably on time for the next soiree, I Hear Dead People.

The theme was dead rock stars.
“Sneaky, who are you supposed to be?”
“I’m Sneaky in the future. Let’s face it, in about 100yrs even I’m going to die.”
Drunk Monkey was dressed as Pee Wee, naturally. The Good Ol’ PW was more than just a time-honored, go-to costume for him. Drunk Monk’s Pee Wee Herman is currently stronger than Paul Rubens’.
Belvedere’s was kind of bumpin’. Especially considering that there were probably just under one million people crammed or trying to get into Evaline at that point. There were some pretty decent costumes here too: lots of Mario and Luigis, a great number of Waldos and a healthy smattering of Lady Gagas. DJ rar. Kelly was dressed as Kurt Cobain, his wife Natty Boh Peep was Courtney Love. The members of the Commonwealth Family were channeling the styles of John Lennon, Hendrix, and Easy-Mutherfuckin’-E. Pittsburgh was really feeling this special Saturday night Halloween, a night celebrating the artists we have loved and lost. And the ones who are still with us, for that matter; planning crazy events, providing amazing music, and in this case, pulling mad party-stunts.

The Hood Gang, fresh off of becoming the first band to D.I.Y-fly, earlier that month @ RB5, felt compelled to follow up strong. We decided to do so, by summoning THE GREAT PUMPKIN from the Peanuts Halloween. We had Charlie Brown on bass, Snoopy on percussion, Woodstock on guitar, Pig-pen’s cat on drums, and Drunk Monk changed from Pee Wee to Linus, right down to the blanky. Sneaky was the GREAT PUMPKIN and he finally showed up this time, because the party people of Pittsburgh now, truly believe in him. Yes Linus, the GREAT PUMPKIN is real.
The set was on fire! ODB meets Jim Morrison (what would be the first drug taken?) meets Stunt Rock (look it up, ever heard of youtube…come-on!). I’ll say it again, it’s really really difficult to encapsulate the Hood Gang live. How can you truly capture a moment? Pictures? Blogging? Surveillance cameras? We’re trying all of the above, but even at stop frames every one-hundredth a second we still can’t recreate the feeling of actually being here.
The Pride of Cougar x Hood Gang crossover party-experiment was a complete success. Isn’t that right Sad Panda posing in front of hypnotic-eyed GREAT PUMPKIN?
Well, there were some monetary losses but it’s true that there’s nothing at all gained without a venture. One cannot put a price on GREATEST PARTYING. Plus, we did have to act fast to get back to Evaline even if it meant leaving our equipment unattended. After all, the night was still young according to our about-to-be-turned back clocks. And don’t forget, the Pride of Cougar still had a tremendous lust for partying on their jowls and Evaline party stamps on the back of their paws.

I busted back into a still very crowded Evaline with speed and agility, instinctually navigating between KISS, Blackula, the cast of Spaceballs, dead just about anyone, and plenty of sexy what-have-yous. I was guessing who people were Sherlock Holmes-style, left and right, snap-snap-snap. I was on fire. People like it when you recognize their costumes.

There were lines for beer now, but it wasn’t oppressive. And they must have had 40 kegs to still be pumping out drafts. It was 2AM at that point, and in Pittsburgh beer becomes so rare. Oh shit, we forgot to grab a sixer, it’s 2:01, the bartender has turned into a fascist. You gather up yr after hrs crew and poll resources. Someone has most of a bottle of Vladimir that’s been in their trunk for a couple of weeks, gross. Some weird dude yr friend knows says he has a few brews in his fridge back at his creepy apartment in the Mexican War Streets. Yeah you can find straight up booze without that much effort but it’d be so brutal to try to pile on liquor on top of all the other ungodly amounts of alcohol you’ve been consuming for the past 4 hrs. You’re in the mood for a nice beer or two while yr chilling with yr homies or perhaps going back to that cute girl, you’ve been spitting game to all night’s place. But beer is never there for you. You can score just about any drug depending on yr bag. Hell, with a little luck, I’d probably be able to find you a monster truck at that time of night. But not beer, never beer.

I was pinballing around the party, from the tent to the porch to the kitchen bottleneck, crowd surfing across the jammed dance floor. Up the stairs for no particular reason, trying to take as much in as possible. Rested for a while in the quintessential, black-light-lit, pot smoking room on the third floor. There was a blunt going around, of course, a phatty green leaf the size and general shape of a Chihuahua leg. Teen Wolf passed me the blunt. He was the OG, Michael J. Fox, Teen Wolf 1. I had a tremendous feeling of dejá vu. I became certain (and still am) that I was up in that very room at that very party smoking pot with Teen Wolf the year prior. I told Teen Wolf my revelation.
“No man, it wasn’t me. I just moved here a month ago.”

But I could have sworn. Another crazy coincidence? Had I stumbled into a neighboring multiverse? Had all of this partying given rise to the possibility of a temporal paradox? Have I finally begun to lose my mind? Was I just drunk? I decided to split an adderall with the young wolf. Why not? He seemed friendly enough.

I realized that it had been well over an hr since I saw the rest of the Cougs. I got separated from them as soon as we rolled back in. The crowd was thick. I looked for my friends spanning the boundaries of the party and back again. But I couldn’t find them. Where were my friends? I started repeating this phrase in my head as I searched. I got to the point where it turned Spanish. ¿Donde Estån Mís Amigos? ¿Donde Estån Mís Ameee-gos? And then it hit me. Aqui! Aqui! Aqui! Aqui! My friends are right here. Every single person is in it together, we humans, are capable of such amazing beauty. ¿Donde Estån Mís Amigos? Aqui, right here. Aqui presenté. That is how I wrote a song with the entire Evaline party. And it was the most amazing experience I had thus far in my song writing life. I love you all very, very much!

I finally caught up to the rest of the Pride. They were raging as hard as ever with Keebs, Ashley from Yinzerparty.com, Sully, some quasi-random babes, and Leroy who was dressed as the Hamburglar. Just then, believe it or not, a second Hamburglar entered into our real estate. Everyone froze. Someone grabbed the needle off of the record. The Hamburglars had a little, “am I looking into a mirror” moment, classic cartoon cliché-style. Someone in the peanut gallery started chanting, “fight, fight!”

“No.” I said. “We’re all friends here… I know how to settle this.” Apparently I had another song left in me.
Hamburglar Dance-off, Hamburglar Dance-off,
Hamburglar, Hamburglar, Hamburglar Dance-off.
A gnarly 4 to the floor kick drum comes in and the chorus repeats.
And the Hamburglars in question began to showdown. Damn, their moves were funky!
Hamburglar Dance-off, Hamburglar Dance-off,
Hamburglar, Hamburglar, Hamburglar Dance-off.
Take it to the bridge.
Where’s Waldo? Where’s Waldo? Where’s Waldo? Where’s Waldo?
Waldos were everywhere! That night it was impossible to go anywhere or to look in any direction without seeing at least one Waldo. In fact, there were a few loafing in my stoop when I went home and I even saw one scurry underneath my refrigerator when I turned on my kitchen light. What was up with that? When the dust settled our horse had triumphed and the Cougies celebrated with high-fives and their one-millionth round of brewskis. Pride of Cougar had scored their first number one hit!


It was super-late, four maybe five o’clock in the AM. It was impossible to be sure because different people’s cellular providers had differing TBTC policies. I think I tried to organize an impromptu bring babes back to my place plan. I probably pulled out the heavy artillery and offered a rollerskating after-after party with a side dish of flying. No dice. Instead it turned into another episode of The Untold Moments of Dudes Hanging Out. And there is nothing at all wrong with that.

EPILOGUE:

The next day I was monumentally hung-over and in a general malaise. I felt like an extra in Michael Jackson’s Thriller as I attempted to figure out how to work the produce section of The Giant Eagle Market District. The fluorescent lights were painful, the bananas wouldn’t ever be ripe. A girl walked by and smiled at me. ‘Oh yeah?’ I thought. Then I caught something strange out of the corner of my eye. What my peripherals detected hadn’t fully registered. I double and then triple taked. Holy shit! It was Teen Wolf, still in costume, the day after Halloween in a grocery store. Actually the costume was different. It was still a werewolf costume but it was a little more casual. Perhaps he was the Jason Bateman Teen Wolf now.

“Hey man, thanks for that adderall last night.”

I managed a “dude.” Was I dreaming? I often dream of parties and actual parties are often weirder than my dreams. Both are usually difficult to remember in the morning.

“You totally freaked me out right now!” I told Teen Wolf (who I’ve now come to find out calls himself “The Colonel” when he’s not wolfing it up).

“Thank you.”



(For more pics check out the full FB album):
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2370645&id=14228324&page=2#!/album.php?aid=2370645&id=14228324

The Colt 45, French Horn Rebellion of Septembris 6th of the Stanky Year of Our Lord, Two-Thousand and Nine

(Sneaky wrote the bones of this blog entry just hrs after the party)

My homies, French Horn Rebellion needed a Pittsburgh stop on their tour with Brazilian electro darlings, Database. Rob and David of FHR reached out to my other homie, Vince (of Down and Derby fame) for a Sunday show.

Anyway

Yr friendly neighborhood, super-heroes pulled together at pretty much the last minute. All of these yrs, swimming thru the ether… our art late-blooming, has led to tonight. This show was my favorite show ever. It felt right. What else can I say?
This:

There are a lot of amazing musicians out there. So many incredible song writers, writing great songs. But there’s something more. There has to be.

So I say, why not surround myself with amazing musicians… write some great songs and…

I know this is a blog, but the only way I can describe it is to perform, hopefully a show somewhere the caliber of what took place tonight. The sun is not yet up. The party is over. There’s a light rain falling on a cool Native American Summer dawn. All of my friends and my lovely new acquaintances have been seen safely to there vehicles. And the feeling is still fresh in my, whatever the scientists are calling it now-a-days, mind. It was better than drugs. Better than sex, even… and trust me I’ve had some amazing sex in my day…

We worked hard to gather a room of amazing people…everyone… in that room in that moment are special, and I think a lot more of us are capable of producing and enjoying such moments in time. This is the something more. And I honestly swear that we couldn’t have done it alone. For the other seventy or so other beautiful human beings that shared this experience with me… I thank you. We did it! All of our hard work has paid off.

Let’s remember this night. Take a picture, it’ll last longer…but for how long? Long enough.

One more thing… during our triumphant encore that included a cover of “Purple Rain”… I held in all of our energy for a little too long. It was exceedingly beautiful and I became overwhelmed. Standing there on a kick drum, in the center of the best of company, singing Prince’s words like a well-known sermon… I cried out of joy. Could you tell?

The Heist: July 1st,2009, Howler’s Coyote Café

In my eyes, a very solid line-up: from Bloomington, Indiana Prizzy Prizzy Please and on IHEARTCOMIX records, Totally Michael. Reppin’ the ‘burgh hard, as always was Lord Grunge from Grand Buffet and yr favorite party protagonists, the Hood Gang. A sick show on a Wednesday for Pittsburgh or by any city’s standards.

Howler’s has become one of the better local venues with a new stage, a revamped sound system, a bands-keep-the-door policy, and a ceiling covered with autographed t-shirts.

The hook for this show, what Sneaky was telling everyone, in the sweaty summer bars in the East End all June, was that he would bungee-jump off of the Bloomfield Bridge during the climax-freakout of “Go All Night.” No precautions were taken for this stunt except of course the Penguins winning the Stanley Cup a few weeks early, instilling the assured confidence in the power of a real Pittsburgher. The whole steel city was invincible still, like the few frenzied moments when Mario grabs the bouncing star. Sneaky envisioned a spectacular dive off of the center of the bridge all captured on mini-DV by roving camera-man, Los. Bungee or no-bungee Sneaky intended to bridge-dive into sure YOUTUBE glory.

The Hood Gang went on to rock the faces off of a roomful of friends and well-wishers. An ever amorphous musical entity, the Hood Gang brought yet another twist on their line-up to the bar; an 18 yr old, in fact. A music phenom, Jeremy Malvin on keys/guitar/aux percussion, who had just graduated from the same arts high school,CAPA, that several other members of the band had graduated from nearly a decade ago. Small fucking world… Pittsburgh.

With the crowd in a tribalistic fury, the finale of “Go All Night” began… “1,2, ONE-TWO-THREE-FOUR!” And Sneaky took off in a flash, surprising the film crew. He was through the bar and out the front door with a Stanly Cup in one hand and a jingle bell wand in the other. Howler’s is about a block and a half away from the bridge. By the time Sneaky Mike made it through the first intersection he saw that no cameras had followed him and lost some steam. He settled for jumping onto the railing of the patio of the Bloomfield Bridge Tavern, which was having a fairly populated Drum and Bass night. His arms raised in a V, he screamed like he had in the streets of the South Side when the Steelers won their sixth Super Bowl. The small crowd of bar-ravers were pleased, and cheered along with Sneaky, one even saluted him with a “Roller Boogie” shout-out.

After the show, the lads from Indiana went back to Sneaky’s to party with some of the Hood Gang. The party lasted well into morning, and in the revelry, a new post-reality show was created entitled “Untold Moments of Dudes Hanging Out”. Production on the pilot will begin in early 2010, and the concept is being heavily pitched to both Showtime and HBO.

In the morning, Sneaky, was horrified to discover that he’d been ripped-off. His famous gold American Apperal tights, destined to someday adorn the walls of a very lucky Hard Rock Café, were gone. Sneaky flipped out and strip-searched all the guys from Indiana as well as every inch of their van. The priceless heirloom never turned up. There were vague signs of a break-in but perhaps that was a diversion, a cover-up, in a larger conspiracy. Many wild rumors and theories flew around and still are for that matter. One has the saucy, middle aged female bar owner of Howler’s, fleefing away from the scene huffing the pants. They were never autographed (actually that’s not exactly true, Sneaky had autographed his own crotch at the merch table at a show earlier that summer) and don’t appear to be hanging from the ceiling of Howler’s. Maybe the pants were retained for her personal collection or it may all have something to do with some sisterhood of the traveling pants-type shit.

HGinWV6.27.09

Yr favorite party legends rocked out three sets at The Irish Pub in Weirton, West Virgnia. The audience was awed by the Hood Gang's patented high-flying partycore antics. Prior to the show Sneaky, Drunk Monkey, and Los tail-gated with the Stanley Cup in the bar parking lot, sampled the culinary delights of the local Subway, found a haunted house straight from one of Sneaky's nightmares, and got called a "hippy" by an unseen assailant. Justin Brown and Chris upon arrival immediately challenged each other to a disgusting shots contest which left JB puking in the bathroom minutes prior to the 1st set. After an exhausting 3 set, 30 song, beer soaked ballyhoo the HG scrambled to find a strip club at 3am to no avail. Instead they rode an ATV, Sneaky had to be talked out of climbing the bar's roof, got paid $400, crushed the rest of the case of High Life's, revisited the spooky house on the top of the dead end hill. Chris got hopelessly lost. And on the way home to Pittsburgh Los made Drunk Monk pull over on the highway for an emergency piss right on the side of the off ramp.