|Violent J's Weekly Freekly — 2003, May, 27th — Story Book Bed Time Tales|
Now for the rest of my Weekly Freekly, I figure I’d just tell you guys all a fresh ass story. You can decide weather or not it’s true. You be the judge. Read carefully though because it's some pretty good shit. I woke up mad early one morning towards the end of the tour, and wrote this shit and was laughing so hard and loud that it woke everybody else up on the bus. I thought it was some funny shit. Is it real? You decide.
Picture this... There is a brand new reality TV show on FOX. The show is called “ROAD TRIPPIN’”. The show is so new that their first episode hasn’t even aired yet. Here’s how it works. They take four random celebrities and put them all in a car together and have them drive across the entire US from New York to LA. It’s almost like a contest between the celebrities of who can last the whole road trip without dropping off or being kicked off. Because if the celebs make it all the way to LA, then Fox Networks donates $500,000 to that celebrity’s favorite charity. That’s a half a million yall. Several hidden cameras and microphones are installed throughout the vehicle for the millions of home viewers to enjoy watching. The viewers can see how the celebrities all truthfully get along with each other and what they are really like as people.
Each celebrity only gets $100 bucks for the whole journey. So they each have to make that $100 stretch for themselves, they all have to chip in on gas and food. If you run out of money then your disqualified and you get booted from the trip.
For their first big episode the celebrities have all been selected and it went like this... The four celebrities are the one and only King of Pop, Michael Jackson, Hollywood Hulk Hogan, rapper Eminem, and yup, you guessed it everybody, yours truly Violent J of Insane Clown Posse. Now, I know I ain’t much of a celebrity, but this is my story, so I am now, bitch. Show Time.
In Manhattan, the shows producers and network people went over everything with us a million times, gave us each our 100 bucks, and they had a big send off party from the TV studios and all that. I was just ready to bounce and hit the road.
We finally left outta FOX studios in Manhattan and began our journey out west. Right away I felt that I should kind of take lead as the guy in charge, because there’s no way any of these three idiots are going to tell me what to do. So I figured I’d drive first and start layin' some ground rules.
“All right super stars, that shit's out. There ain’t no fuckin' managers, no fuckin' bodyguards, no assistants or none of that shit out here. It’s just us. Michael Jackson and Eminem, you fags ride in the back seat cause me and Hogan are to damn big to be riding in the back seat of a 2-door Ford Tempo. (That’s right, can you believe it? All that money FOX gots and they had us all four, pinched off in a gray, 2-door '93 Ford Tempo. I was like “Well daaaamn.") I figured Michael Jackson could just sit back there Yoga style or something and bitch ass Eminem should be fine back there because he’s got midget legs. I don’t know if anybody else has ever noticed it before but his arms are longer than his legs if you really look at him. I mean I noticed it, right away. Not really but so what.
Man, Michael Jackson was scared half to death, think about it. He ain’t got his security, his managers, he don’t know what the fuck's going on. Plus he ain’t never been in no 2-door Ford Tempo before. Everybody in the car could whip his ass if they wanted to. He’s the weakest link. He just climbed right in the back and didn’t say anything, just like I told him to.
Hulk Hogan insisted that he has to sit up front and ride shot gun the whole way because he’s so tall, and big and plus he informed us that he’s got bad knees. I agreed with that and we were on the way. Before we even crossed over to Jersey we started to have problems though. Hogan took his wrestling boots off and it blew the whole car up with sour funk. It smelled like an old ass cheese & bacon omelet with onions. We couldn’t believe it. Michael Jackson just straight up started crying. Eminem started bitchin' at Hogan but I quickly turned around and slapped him. Then he was suddenly crying too. I got pissed... “Now look you guys, we have to all get along with each other in order to get through this shit for the charities and all. Mike and Em, you two fags need to quit crying like baby bitches. We ain’t even left Jersey yet. Now everybody just crack the windows and let Hulk’s feet air out and we’ll be fine”.
Michael Jackson put on one of his surgical mask and laid down in the back and rested his head on Eminem's lap. The King of Flop kind of bonded with Em. I’m guessing because out of everybody else in the car Eminem resembles a little boy the most. I thought it was actually kind of cute watching Eminemy (as he calls him) and Michael snuggled up like that. Hogan’s feet did stink though, I can’t lie. And his toenails were mad thick and yellow, old man wrestler style. I couldn’t help but notice them because they were beamin' at me from the floor. But what stunk worse than his feet was them protein shake farts that he cut during the night and not to mention all that Ben Gay shit that he rubs on his bad knees every two hours. Shit made my eyes water.
Luckily I had plenty of tree with me, and that easily smoked out most of the fowl odors. By the way, I shared my stash with nobody else but Hogan. Michael Jackson had brought his own pain pill supply so he was straight anyway. When Hogan was awake, he’s hit the blunt a few times and we’d talk a lil', bit but Eminem and Michael Jackson just whispered shit to each other all night. Who knows what they were talking about underneath that blanket?
All damn night it was so well lit up inside the car, that it made it harder for me to see the road. We didn’t have any dome lights on or anything, but Michael Jackson’s damn florescent white skin tone created a strong nightlightish kind of glow throughout the whole car. I’d never seen anything like it. No wonder they always have him so well lit up during all of his interviews on TV because in the dark, he fuckin’ glows like a neon sign. I kept thinking Eminem who was sitting behind me, had a lap top computer on his lap or something, but no. It was just Michael Jackson’s bright ass face.
By the next morning we had reached Ohio, and I was still driving, awake and baked. Hogan kept switching the station over to classic rock. You know shit like Deep Purple and Lynerd Skynerd. That was starting to piss me off. I kept switching it over but every pop station we heard was playin' Eminem all the time, and he kept yellin' from the back seat “THAT’S ME! LISTEN! ME! ME!”
“Fuck you,” I would reply and switch it off. Michael Jackson had brought some CD’s of his own collection. I was happy at first because I like Michael Jackson’s music and always have. I can't lie. But when I looked through his CD case, I should have already guessed it. Damn. It was all stuff like Barney Sings, The Chipmunks Sing Christmas, and Peter Pan instrumental CD’s. Nothing good. The only CD he had that I even thought about maybe playing was Jazzy Jeff and The Fresh Prince’s “Parents Just Don’t Understand”. Michael’s CD book straight up sucked though. I flipped threw it and then tossed it back at him like, “were good”.
I had no choice but to look through Eminem’s CD book. I was desperate for something to bump. I was shocked. It was all ICP STUFF! He had every record we ever put out. Old stuff, new stuff. He even, somehow, had the Hells Pit album already and we ain’t even started recording it yet! I couldn't believe it. The only two CD’s he had in his case that wasn’t ICP was a Pure Moods CD and Milli Vanilli’s 2nd album (the one where they really do try and sing on). Damn. I knew I should have brought my own shit.
We all were getting hungry. We decided to finally pull off at a truck stop and grab something to eat. Everybody was cool with that but Michael. He was too afraid he’d get mobbed inside. Michael wanted to stay in the car and told us to just bring him back a bowl of warm milk for lunch. Me and Hogan were like “What the fuck? Warm milk?” Eminem was like, “Uuuuuummmm sounds tasty”. I had to quickly shoot Michael’s special super star request right the fuck down. “That ain’t the haps Mike, it's every man for himself”. Hogan was like “Yeah brother! If you wanna eat, than you gotta come in too, DUDE!” Hearing and seeing Hulk Hogan bark at him like that scared Michael Jackson half to death. Michael was in and already had us a table by the time Hogan finished his sentence.
We all went in. Hulk Hogan was quick to walk right in, wearing the yellow and red, and all that. Hogan loves being Hogan. He even fronts like his knees don’t hurt in public. We all sat right down with Michael and ordered. Hogan got the “Big Hungry Trucker Man’s” meal. Two double cheeseburgers, a NY strip steak, a bowl of vitamins and a glass of raw egg yolk. Eminem ordered half a tuna fish sandwich and then snuck off to go call Kim. Me, Michael and Hulk were all sitting there and only a few people came up for autographs. Nobody wanted to meet me or Michael; they all just wanted to meet the Hulkster. Nobody knew who the hell I was or even noticed me and I guess everybody must have just assumed Michael was just some tall ass, freaky lookin’ transvestite. I know that’s what I would have assumed.
About half way through the meal, Eminem came back from his phone call and he was crying again. He told everybody that he had just found out that his wife Kim has been cheatin' on him again. This time with another rapper... then he pointed right at me and yelled “YOU!!!” Eminem was pissed off, but he wasn’t lying. I had been getting brains from her from time to time. He knew he couldn’t kick my ass though, not even if this was his made up story, so all he could do was cry about it. I didn’t even deny it at all when he brought it up. “Yeah,” I explained, “I let the fat pig top me off a few times bro, I'll admit it.”
Then The Hulkster all the sudden had to be the good guy in front of his three Hulkamaniac fans standing there and stick his big red whisky nose into our business. “Hey brother! What are you doing messing around with his woman anyway DUDE? What are you brother, some kind of HOME WRECKER?” he yelled... Just when I thought he was down with me too. We'd been smokin' all night. Now he all the sudden wants to jump sides with Slim Anus.
“No,” I shot back, “I ain’t no fuckin' home wrecker, I’m a knee wrecker, and I’ll kick one of them weak ass knees in the wrong way if you don’t mine your own damn business,” I quickly replied. Then Hogan jumped up outta his chair, (well, he wobbled up actually). “You talkin' to me brother!!?! Whacha gonna do when Hulkamania runs wild on you?” he asked. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. This man was dead serious too. I jumped right back up in his face. “We can settle this like gangstas, bring it byatch! Come on lets do this,” I put my dukes up. I couldn’t believe I was actually about to get it on with the fuckin’ Hulkster. But just then, Michael Jackson jumped up, right in between us, and started singin’ and breaking up the fight just like in the damn “Beat It” video. I couldn’t believe it was happening. He was singin', “It doesn’t matter whose wrong or right, just beat it! Beat it” It was unreal. I just turned around, walked out and waited in the car. I couldn’t believe what I just seen.
When they all got back to the car, they told me that they’re all willing to just let bygones be bygones and continue on the trip, you know, for the sake of the charities and all. But they also were quick to mention that I owed them all some loot for my share of the lunch bill and gas. Damn. That’s when I knew it was all about to get ugly. You see, I had forgot to mention earlier that I already spent my $100 bucks... back before we even left Manhattan. What you think I been smokin’ on all night? I bought five $20 sacs of tree off some dude on 22nd right before we left.
That was it. According to the show's rules, I had disqualified myself. I had to stand there and watch Michael Jackson, Eminem and that traitor Hulk Hogan drive off headed for California. Actually, Hogan was driving and Eminem and Michael were both still riding in the back together. I don’t know which of the three, if anybody made it all the way to LA, because the show keeps it all top secret until they air it all on Fox. I’m not even supposed to talk about it until my part has aired according to some contract that I signed, but who reads those things. The farthest I made it to was Cleveland, three hours from my hometown of Detroit. I just called up my homie Shaggy to come scoop me up, and that was that.
Even if you don’t believe my story, like lets say, Fox never does air the show for whatever reason, and lets say I never have any way of proving my story, who cares? It happened in my own Cracked Mind when I just wrote it and it also just happened in your cracked minds when you read it. So Na.
That’s it yall. I really ain’t got much else to say right now. I'm out. I'm just down with the clown yall. Forever and always.