This dispatch begins with a story having nothing to do with BJW(lest you think all we do is talk about ourselves). April 24^th,1999 is a day that shall live in infamy, for it is the day that our dear friend and patron Mike "Gutterboy" Haynes lived up to every word of praise spewed upon him in his Profile In Courage. He did what would have seemed impossible only months earlier, and put on a show at the 66 Bowl featuring psychobilly superstar Hasil "Haze" Adkins and our dear friends the Poison Okies. Mike had sent out overtures to all the business contacts listed on the Sleazefest ’94 album, and the only response he got was from Haze. Manson was privileged to be able to help out by mixing sound, and witnessed history along with 150 or so other souls as Haze did his solo set on a specially constructed stage out on the lanes, delivering crowd pleasers such as "She Said" and "Boo The Cat" along with more reflective, bluesy numbers that were much more John Lee Hooker than go cat go. Mike and Haze have a close telephone relationship, and Mike is planning to go spend several months in the hills living with Haze so that he can learn to drink like a man.

Winghead’s last two outings were fun, yet marked by chaos extreme even by our standards. The first was to Chapel Hill, for 2 gigs on one Sunday(May 2^nd, to be exact). The early show was a wedding gig for our dear friends Tony and Carol, who somehow could not imagine solemnifying their life commitment without having two bald guys singing about truck stop sex worked into the ceremonies. Their country spread a few miles out from Chapel Hill was the site of a lovely pastoral spring wedding, and the site of Carol in her wedding dress with Dex singing "Apple Blossom Time" over the stereo moved Dustin so deeply that he had to retire to the van for a few minutes to masturbate.

Vows taken, rings exchanged, and faces sucked, it was time for the real business: A North Carolina pig pickin’. A whole hog had been split and been spread belly-side down on the grill, frequently doused with vinegar-pepper sauce, and when the teeth could be pulled out with your fingers and the worms quit squirming the meat was pulled off the bones with tongs, the band being given first shot at the cracklin’s. While Manson is a tried-and-true Texas/Okie BBQ fanatic, he was delighted to dive into this regional delight. He brought along a smoked jalapeno bologna, and the guests in attendance sang its praises(though being a jalapeno-laden treat, the true praises would not be sung until the next morning). After dining, the band played songs for the lovers, as friends and neighbors quickly departed. The parents of both bride and groom were and are wonderful people, and Tony’s Dakota biker mom and dad were on the verge of adopting Dustin until they found out about the Apple Blossom whack-off thing.

After the wedding, it was off to Local 506 for the BYOB Release Party. We expected a very tame evening, being Sunday and all, but the Chapel Hill karma kept flowing and BJW had a respectable and enthusiastic turnout. We sold stuff, we played "Free Bird" for the first time, and just had a hell of a good time. Then it was load up and get back to OKC to get Vegas to work by Tuesday morning.

Then, as I promised earlier, things began to get weird. Early Monday evening, the boys stopped for a Code Yellow in Arkansas and Manson took the opportunity to call his beloved in OKC. Stacey told John about the tornadoes that had just leveled sizeable chunks of Moore and Midwest City, and that it was all moving east-in Winghead’s travelling path. The boys rolled into the night with their eyes more closely on the horizon than usual.

The lightning began showing up on the horizon as the boys crossed into Oklahoma, and they pulled into the first Love’s station on 1-40 OK to find out how things were shaping up. Truckers informed BJW that I-40 into OKC was shut down, and the news casts all in the truck stop had their eyes on said that the devastation was massive and that casualties were high. While tornadoes in spring in Oklahoma are common, deaths are rare-most people seem to find shelter in time, being used to dodging severe weather. The reports put a gloom in the air, and the band debated the merits of finding a room for the night. The job thing had Vegas wanting to push on, and Steve "Get Me There Yesterday" Jones was also anxious to push off, as the reports showed tornadoes spawning over Tulsa, too. Swallowing his apprehensions, Manson drove until they reached the leading edge of the storm, pulling off at the Eufala-Checota exit to see how bad things would get.

The rain, only moderate seemed to be subsiding. The woman behind the counter at the truck stop seemed to think nothing major was in the air. Armed with this knowledge, Dustin took the wheel and drove the van into the mouth of Hell.

The sky opened up with the most blinding rain and frequent and close lightning strikes the boys had ever seen. A semi with a lit cross blazing from its grill almost ran the boys off the road, making all in the van hate Jesus even more than they had before. They groped for an overpass to stop under, to no avail. Inching through the tempest, they finally reached the Okemah exit, a Total station sign beckoning like salvation. Upon entering the station, the woman working the store informed Manson that a tornado was on the ground, headed directly for the store, and that he had the option of taking shelter in the shower cubicles or leaving the store. Rousting his bandmates from the van, Manson ran back inside and tried to reach his wife by telephone. Being two or so in the morning, she did not answer, so he left a brief message and hung up. On his way into the showers he heard the payphone ring, then stop. From inside the showers, he heard it ring again, and over the protests of the store manager, answered the phone and spoke to his wife, who could see from the miracles of TV weather with Doppler radar that Johnny was in fairly deep meteorological shit. Shooed back into the showers, Manson rejoined his mates and they joked as they waited for the sound of the freight train. Time passed, the sound did not come. After 40 minutes or so, some local meth moguls came beating on the locked store doors, telling the manager that they had seen the tornado and that it had passed between Okemah and Henryetta. The severities now past, the boys finished the last leg of the now 25-hour drive, the bomb-blast like scenes of destruction as I-40 went through Midwest City giving the boys an eerie reminder of just how lucky they were.

Four days later, it was time to load up the van again and head to Tulsa for the Edge’s Birthday Bash. A star-sprinkled affair, big-time wimp rockers Collective Soul topped a list of "soundtrack featuring" acts most of whom I’d not had the pleasure, being a KOMA listener. BJW was originally slated to play second on the 10-or-so band bill, following Tulsa cohorts Epperly. On the Wednesday before the show, the radio guys called and asked us it we would mind very much playing last, since Collective Soul(prima donnas) wanted to play next to last and Local H(big weenies), who were scheduled to play last, were throwing a fit because they knew everyone was going to leave after Collective Soul(not as nice as they look). Billy Joe Winghead(balls of steel)accepted the challenge; hell, for all the fuss, you’d think they were arguing about who was going to follow Hanson.

BJW showed up around four in the PM, in time to get those big-time laminated backstage passes and to drink all that free bottled water and Coke. We had three lovely teenaged girls in tow(daughters of a Manson coworker), who sat there and looked fashionably bored but swore they had a good time. Anyway, we’re sippin’ our free bottled water and settin’ up our gear and visitin’ with all our friends from the radio station and listenin’ to Collective Soul suck when the music stops and we hear some rustlin’ and Fuck You! sayin’ and Collective Soul comes stormin’ off stage and ol’ singer boy had a knot on his temple as big as a Susan B. Seems someone in the audience had to be cool and threw an object that was later determined to be a Zippo lighter at the singer’s dome. We were then told, as the crowd chanted, "BULLSHIT! BULLSHIT!", that if Collective Soul opted not to finish their show, that we would not be allowed to play, since the crowd would "eat us alive", in the words of an event coordinator. BJW let it be known that they wanted to play and knew how to duck. After 30 minutes of hangin’ around(during which time many people decided to find their cars), BJW was finally allowed to start.

Manson had made another bologna, Smitty had brought a chainsaw, and no one wanted to see either go to waste. As the band kicked off with Link Wray’s "Rumble", Smitty fired up the saw and carved the sausage, our lovely assistant James heaving slices into the remaining crowd of around a thousand. Much to our surprise, not one piece of bologna got thrown back at us. We did the fast ones, we did "Free Bird", we pissed off one old beardo with "And Then He Kissed Me". Forty-five minutes, then thank you Tokyo.

After the smoke cleared and the presses rolled, Manson was struck by this closing thought: If you’re the headline attraction, you should play last. If you don’t, then whatever comes flying at your head is karma. We’ll follow you any time. Just don’t ever ask us to follow The Supersuckers.