Category Archives: APESH!T

Badass Film Tour 2 – Day 25: Philly

December 4, 2010

BOB 10:14 AM
Is it 10:14?  I don’t know.  Really, it’s February of 2012, but nobody cares about that.  Back in early December of 2010, I recall that I woke up at some stranger’s house in Baltimore and then I sashayed through the cold sunlight to find the car.  Hey look, I just noticed that we have right here a video and photo that might explain in images and sound what I just wrote with words.  I’m not even gonna watch it and see.  So, find out for yourself, if you want.

After that adventure, I embarked on another and drove across the city to retrieve Chad from his #1 fan’s house.   Fan/gal lived in the nether regions of Baltimore and when Chad finally emerged from her compound, he was beset with soon-to-be flotsam and jetsam in the form of various parting gifts and memorabilia with which Chad will surely put to good use fondly reminiscing of his luxurious one night stay in this fair city.  Of this, I am certain.

Then we drove.  At some point, we made the following videos:


Hey, Jim James called us.  He’s sweet on us for sure.

BOB 6:66 PM
An old film pal of mine hooked us up with a screening locale in Philly.  I met Doug Sackman when he worked for Troma several years back.  He’s got a pilot for a show called Strip for Pain.  Look it up if you don’t believe me.

I’m sure he makes great non-porn movies, so don’t act like I’m trying to pigeon hole the fucker.  But I’m also not aiming to bury the lead.  Doug makes movies with hard core fucking in them.  Specifically, he makes these fucky movies with Joanna Angel and a wet, money-shot of gore.  That’s right, he’s a purveyor of fine zombie porn, complete with tons of blood and guts and fucking and sucking.  Hell, he even made an Exorcist homage porn with puking and pounding and puking on top of piles of fucking.  Savor that flavor, America!

Anyway, he set up tonight’s screening.

We scored two great write-ups.  We didn’t land a huge crowd, but the folks who did show up feigned interest real good.

Here’s a hunk of media hype courtesy of the Philadelphia Weekly:

Bob Ray’s Down & Dirty Austin Film Tour
Screenings of acclaimed documentary films are generally more exciting when both director and subject are on the run from the law. Drugs, competitive rodent breeding, bone-crushing violence and gross-out cartoons are standard during Bob Ray’s Down & Dirty Austin Film Tour. First there’s Total Badass, which follows Austin denizen Chad Holt as he deals with a felony probation, selling weed, family drama and the difficulties of raising guinea pigs with his girlfriend. Holt and director Bob Ray will be present for a Q&A. The second feature, Hell on Wheels, also directed by Ray, follows the rebirth of roller derby, the gentlest of sports. There’ll also be animated episodes of the filthy CrashToons between features. Hopefully the evening will end without the stars getting arrested. -Alli Katz

Read more:

We also got some press from the Philly daily newspaper.  It was good.  It’s probably online somewhere.

CHAD  7:02 PM
I’ll go ahead and tell you the funniest thing to happen in Philadelphia right here and now. I have this buddy from out there who I know from when he lived here in Austin for several years, but now he’s back out in Philly. When I say “now” he’s back out in Philly, I mean he also lived there over a year ago when I was in town and supposed to be keeping this tour journal. I’m sure plenty of other wonderful things happened in Philadelphia when we were there, but this is the one I remember for sure. I’m going to go ahead and leave old boy nameless, since this isn’t the most flattering story about him, but here’s how it went down. He lives a little bit out of the city with a serious girlfriend, so the plan was that they were going to roll into town, pick up one of his drinking buddies, and head into Fishtown where we were right in time for the movie screening. We’d talked on the phone that day and everything was running smoothly. I got a phone call from him about an hour before the film, but it was a pocket dial. I listened along for a little bit, and could tell that he was in the car with his girl and the friend, driving around the city getting all fucked up before the show. I’d never met the girlfriend or the drinking buddy, mind you, these were just voices in the car, so I’m piecing this all together like some sort of high tech sleuth while I listen along. Eventually I got bored, hung up, and ate a bowl of chef-boyardee that I bought from a vending machine in the breakroom of the little artfag complex we were in there while a dog ate one of Bob’s toenails. (Wasn’t it here that the dog ate your toenail, Bob?) About 30 minutes later, I get another pocket dial from my buddy and I notice things are really starting to reach a fever pitch over on the other end. I could just tell from the sounds and the volume levels and speech patterns and shit, these people were really wasted, and I started to seriously doubt that they were going to make it by showtime. Sure enough, the movie is soon about halfway over with no sign of these folks, but I did get a few more phone calls. By about the fifth one, I pick up and all I hear is the woman screaming, “….dumb son of a bitch! You wrecked my fucking car!” I could tell by the Doppler Effect that everyone was outside the vehicle, running from the scene. The girlfriend was cussing out my buddy, who was all panicked and the friend was just goading him along, telling him to run. Next call I get, they’ve obviously reached shelter somewhere, and my friend is literally in tears, whimpering, taking about, “You never take my side. Why is it always my fault? I just want to go and see…” and homegirl just cuts him off,   “I know, I know! You just want to go and see Chad Fucking Holt and his fucking movie because he’s SO fucking important!” I just want to say that, even though I’d never met this girl before, it pleased me to no end to know what a profound effect I had obviously had on her life and relationship with this man just by proxy. You want to know the best part? Obviously they never show up, and the next day I get a text from him, and all it says is, “Sorry man. Girlfriend got all drunk.”


CHAD 3:15 A.M
No, but really, Philadelphia was fun. Doug Sackman really put together a cool deal there for us and took care of us. I got to see my old Rank and Revue buddy Isaac Friese, but John Warner was conspicuously absent.  Bob and I partied into the night with Sackman, Friese, this girl Sarah, and a guy named Hector from El Paso. Sarah had teats like a milk sow, this much I know for sure. We could have all nested at her bosom without a runt in the litter.



BOB 3:16 AM
What Chad said.  Thanks, Doug.  Thanks Sarah.  Hector, you were there also.

Badass Film Tour 2 – Day 24: NYC to Baltimore

NOTE: This journal entry was written about twelve months after shit happened.  Would it have been better if we’d written this shit as shit went down?  Maybe.  But we didn’t, so quit beating yourself up about it.  And really, your expectations are unrealistic.  Nevertheless, enjoy as we fake like we wrote this shit way back when.

December 24, 2010

8:00 AM – BOB
I’m not proud of it, but I wake up to an 8AM phone call.  I’m still drunk from the night before.  My mouth tastes like toilet bowl cleaner.  There’s fair chance of a good and/or other reason for that.  The toilet is smack dab in the kitchen.  I regressively sat/leaned/slouched up until 6 am drinking beer and whiskey, smoking weed and watching The Wild and Wonderful Whites of West Virginia.

Thankfully (?) the phone rings me awake at 8 in the A-fucking-M.  I’ll be on the air in 10 minutes.  On the air in Baltimore for a radio interview, that is. They’ll call back.  We’re screening down in Charm City in about a dozen hours.  Also, I gotta move the car or we’ll get towed.  Currently, we’re parked on the street in Manhattan’s Lower East Side.  This is also where I woke up.  Always a good sign.

8:25 and no luck on a new parking spot.  The radio station calls back and I’m still driving around trying to ditch the car.   At some point during the circling, the interview happens.  I’m not sure what I said, but I remember repeatedly proclaiming “Boston sucks” and then took that gem and proceeded to plead for a couch to crash on while in Baltimore tonight.  I’m certain that I just charmed Baltimore’s pants off.  We’ll see how that turns out.

11:17 AM – CHAD
We got up in New York and drove down to Baltimore for our show there. I don’t know what to tell you about the drive, except that Bob and I took a wrong turn at one point, and ended up at the Newark Airport. When I say we wound up at the Newark Airport, I mean we were literally stuck in a line with all the cars trying to pick-up and drop-off folks at the main terminal there for a little bit. I’d say we were way off course.

BOB 6:47 PM
We seem to be in Baltimore.  I think we drove here.  Either way, we get to The Patterson and it has a Marquee large enough to honor our presence.  Flattered as I am, I fear this joint is a huge 1200 seat events center.  I hate those.  I’ll take tight and rowdy over big and swanky any day.

The pad was actually pretty cool.  Here’s a tour of the art they done had put up for your intellectual and aesthetic enjoyment.

Chad tried his luck at the lottery.  The problem was, he tried his luck.

Chad’s terrible luck didn’t jinx us.  It turns out that the night was a big-ass party.   We packed the house for both Total Badass and Hell on Wheels.  We even enjoyed some sweet home-team support courtesy of the Charm City Rollergirls.  And that radio station (WTMD 89.7, thanks!), on which I puked up something akin to an interview by drunkenly, relentlessly shit-talking Boston, they gave away some tickets and helped drag in a noteworthy chunk of the crowd.  Baltimore is looking good!

We also got this cool write up:

Bob Ray’s Down and Dirty Austin Film Tour @ Creative Alliance Tonight

We’ve never been to Austin, TX.

We suspect we’d like it very much if we ever had been. We like Baltimore very much, after all. We like New Orleans and Richmond and Charleston, and even liked Galveston when we went there. So we have reason to believe that we’d get along just fine in Austin, and that when Austin filmmaker Bob Ray brings his Down and Dirty Film Tour to the Creative Alliance tonight he’ll feel right at home.

Total Badass screens at Creative Alliance tonight. 7:30.

The Chop can’t sell you on this. Much like Kesey and the Pranksters, you’re either on the bus, or off the bus. There’s no middle ground here. Just take one quick look at the movie posters and you’ll know right away that this is something in which you either have no interest at all, or something for which you absolutely need to clear your calendar and go see right now!

Hell on Wheels is the second half of tonight’s double feature. 9:30.

For those of you who are on the bus, here are the details. Doors and drink specials start at 6:30 (and show up on time, because the CA screening theater is of modest proportions) and Total Badass begins at 7:30, followed by a Q and A with Bob Ray and Chad Holt.

The Charm City Roller Girls will then host the second half of the double feature, Hell on Wheels with another Q and A after featuring Ray as well as some of the finest real life bruisers in Baltimore.

If your lame schedule and crappy life don’t permit you to see both films for a paltry $10, you can check out either one for $7 at the door. We say watch them both. You’ll be glad you did. Now get on the goddamn bus and hang on for dear life.

8:40 PM – CHAD
Just to put things in perspective, this was December 3rd, 2010 that we were in Baltimore. That was exactly a year ago today from when I am typing this. Here’s what I recall for sure: The Baltimore Ravens were about to play The Pittsburg Steelers for the second time that season. The Ravens had won earlier in the year in Pittsburg, and now the Steelers would be in Baltimore two days later, on Sunday. There was a certain fervor in the city of Baltimore you could feel with the game coming up, with a lot of Baltimore Ravens signage, flags and other memorabilia hanging everywhere. I saw a taxicab drive by the theatre right before Total Badass started, and a little Baltimore Ravens window flag fell off of it, into a puddle of water. The cab driver got out and ran and picked it up real quick. The damage was done; I already knew the Steelers were going to beat the Ravens when they played. I’d have bet everything I had on it. I didn’t have much…

I also remember that a couple named Chance and Sue were there. They had won tickets to the screening on a local radio show, and were very excited about it. I was probably more excited than them that anyone had even bothered giving away tickets to anything associated with me over a radio station in Baltimore, Maryland. The fact that the guy who won the tickets was named Chance was not lost on me.

The movie played at a place called The Patterson in association with The Creative Alliance. This was in a really nice part of town. I remember this, because every time Bob or I would comment on how nice things were in that neighborhood, a local would be like, Yes, Baltimore is very nice in this little five block radius, but PLEASE GOD, whatever you do, don’t go anywhere else in this city. I’m not exaggerating when I say we heard that upwards of ten times.

Here’s the intro to Total Badass in Baltimore:

11:15 PM – CHAD
Ok, so as soon as the movie was done, we did the question and answer as usual, and I could just tell by the back and forth with the audience that one lady in particular had taken an interest in us. When we were done with the Q&A, she walked right up to me, and was like; You know what question I really wanted to ask? So, I said what and she goes, Whip out that fucking cock!! And I remember thinking that was more of a command than a question, but I knew where she was coming from, all the same. The thing was, she pronounced cock like there was an “a” in it… “cack”. Whip out that fucking cack! That’s all I could think about the rest of the night… I had cack on the brain.

It reminds me of this one girl I met here in Austin over the internet. She had a boyfriend or a husband or something, but somehow we ended up talking back and forth over facebook and deciding to meet up over at Barfly’s and have sex in my car. Maybe it was her car, but still, I remember us hanging out inside Barfly’s for a drink or two, acting like we were there to do anything other than go out and fuck on the street. We got out to whose ever car it was, and she unbuttons my pants and goes “Wow, you’ve got a fucking stuntcock!”  She said “stuntcock” like fifty times while we were fucking, and I’ve got to tell you, it kind of grew on me. So much so, that to this day, I think of her as “Stuntcock” whenever I see her. I’ll be at a bar and see her there with her boyfriend and think to myself, “There’s ol’ Stuntcock… Should I go say hi?”

Anyway, homegirl in Baltimore was named Birdy. Me, Bob, Birdy, Chance, Sue and a host of forgotten others went to a couple of different bars and Birdy wouldn’t stop talking about my cack. It was like brainwashing. Everything was a mixture of my cack and the fact that I was staying with her and we needed to leave soon. I finally gave in and left with her. I mean, I intended to leave with her all along, but I kind of wanted to stay out late and shit because that might have been the only time I’ll ever be in Baltimore. Nonetheless, I told Bob I was splitting for the night and let her drag me out of there a couple hours early. We walked out the door of the bar and the second, I mean the second my foot hit the sidewalk outside, she goes “We’re not doing anything, by the way. I’m not touching you.”   And I was just like…. But what about my cack? You’ve been talking about my cack all fucking night, don’t you at least want to see it, or let me get it off for you or something? I kind of wanted to walk right back inside the bar, to be completely honest. It wasn’t the fact that homegirl didn’t want to mess around, it was just the way she had led things on so strongly and insisted that I go with her right then, and shit. If I hadn’t been accused of rape just a day earlier, I would have walked right back in the fucking bar, I assure you. As it was, I decided to try and better myself. I went with her and she had a very nice place and cooked me a couple of good meals. No cack, though…

BOB 3:33 AM
Somehow, I managed to turn two badass screenings into me hanging out at a bar long enough that, out of pity and maybe the kindness of his heart, the bartender let me sleep on his couch.  Well played, me.  No cack, neither.

Badass Film Tour 2 – Day 1: Houston, TX

November 10, 2011

“Chad Retires – Departing, Delays, and the Damn Ice House”

3:01 PM – BOB:

Here we go again.  I spent the last three and a half months booking another tour.  This time we’re headed through the South and up the East Coast.  Tour producer Mia Cevallos and her right-hand woman Jamie Flaxmann have been busting every hump they have to help find locations and get us some press.  We post all the good stuff we come across on the two Facebook pages:

Getting Started  (late)

Picking up, Chad

Check list…where’s, Billy Bishop?

Departure Pause (again)…and OBSOLETE© Billy Bishop?

3:33 PM – CHAD:

As you may recall from our West Coast tour journal, the last time I left town with the movie, I put my lone surviving guinea pig, Suckerfish, in charge of selling weed for me while I was gone. That is not the case this time around, because I have officially retired and I’m not even fucking kidding. I’d love to sit here and tell you it was due to strong ethics on my part or some sort of divine rehabilitation, but that is simply not the case. I mean, I’ve wanted to quit selling weed for about seventeen years now but could never bring myself to do so. I can look back on my life since I moved  to Austin in 1991 and it’s basically one landmark after another of times I promised myself I was going to quit selling weed, but never did: Every birthday and New Years for the better part of two decades, when I got kicked out of college, when I went back to college, when my son was born, when I left the family, when the kids moved back in with me, when I got a felony for making the fake SXSW wristbands, when I got off probation for it five years later…. Every time I swore once the date or event passed, I was done selling weed for good. Never has this been more the case than when the movie about me selling weed came out.

Once Total Badass was actually out and we showed it in town four or five times then toured the country with it, I was pretty sure it was about time to go ahead and quit. You have no idea how nerve wracking it is to sell weed when there’s a movie out about you selling weed, trust me. When I got back in town from that first tour, I even told my son, Shay, that I was going to be making some big changes in the way we do things that were long overdue and our lives were going to be much better because of it. I now refer to that as my “Pay No Attention to the Three to Five Pounds of Weed in the Closet Speech”.  I put it right up there with The Gettysburg Address and George Bush’s Mission Accomplished lecture as far as eloquent, yet misguided monologues go.

In the interest of making excuses and condoning crime in general, let me say  it’s always been financial reality that sidetracks me from walking the straight and narrow. I’ve explained before how selling drugs is like magic…. You’re just able to look back at the last year and somehow you’ve been able to pay for shit like rent and beer and sporting events when, in real life, the math never would have added up. So, even when I got back in from our tour over the summer, the realities of the bills and the car and all this shit just came right in and took over any plans I might have had about quitting. All along, I’ve also suffered from the common delusion about how if I could just get a little bit of money… just enough to pay my debts and get a little ahead on my bills… then I would walk away and never look back. Since selling pot is no different than any other shitty little job as far as getting ahead and upwards mobility are concerned, that day never comes. Except this time, it did.

Back right before the summer of 2008, on the first day that Bob and I ever worked on a scene for the movie, my grandma died. I actually had tentative plans to go by and interview her on our way back from the guinea pig show we went to, but it was too late at night by the time we were finished. The next morning, my Aunt called me and when I saw her name on my cell phone, I knew Meema had died. Well, fast forward two years later, and I’m back in town from the West Coast, spinning my fucking wheels for the thousandth time and, if I may get a bit personal, at an all time low as far as hopelessness and reality creeping into my head are concerned when my Aunt calls me again. Meema had left me some money. Not much, by any stretch of the imagination, but enough to equal about a year’s worth of weed selling salary. I’m not saying that I squandered any of it, but I did spend enough to pay off my debts and get a little ahead on my bills… and stop selling weed for the rest of my fucking life.

Now, I love Meema very much and her and Pop’s deaths are certainly right up there on the list of shittiest things that happen in life, but for the sake of humor and being honest, I have to tell you that the psychological relief that came along with that little financial windfall was so overwhelming that I couldn’t get the song, “Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer” out of my head for like two weeks. Seriously, I’d just be driving down the road with this huge smile on my face and the words to the song on a permanent loop in my brain. Here, sing them with me: “Grandma got run over by a reindeer, walking home from our house Christmas Eve. You may say there’s no such thing as Santa, but as for me and grandpa we believe.” So, when I get back in town this time, don’t ask me to sell you any weed, because I quit. Take this job and fucking shove it. I feel like the biggest burden of my life has been lifted, because I’m never going to sell another scrap of weed ever again for as long as I fucking live… except for the three quarter pounds I have stashed away at my house because obviously, I can’t just let that sit there and go to waste.

4:17 PM – BOB:

Fucking Billy Bishop.  I love the bastard, but he’s late as usual.  Billy is a badass artist and poster printer, but odds are you won’t get your posters until the event they are promoting is half over.  And so here we go again…

MEET Billy Bishop?

Guinea Pig Tee…no Billy

Got Shirts

So yeah, fresh out of the gate and we’re already running late.

On the drive to Houston, Chad and I decided to write a few scripts on this tour.  We figured to do that last tour, but blew it off and partied non-stop instead. Our re-commitment to writing scripts on tour was, shortly after, followed by a silent re-commitment to blowing it off again.

Arriving in Houston

7:16 PM – CHAD:

Our first official stop on the tour was at The Dam Ice House which is right by the Alamo Drafthouse West Oaks where the movie played. The Dam Ice House is… well, I’ll let our friend, Dave, tell you:


Headed to and at the ALAMO

A Fist full…

In review…

11:11 PM – BOB:

Houston screening was rowdy fun.  LOTS of laughs.  The ‘toons got the mood set right and the flick killed.

11:34 PM – CHAD:

We had established The Dam Ice House as the staging ground for an eventual assault on the theatre, but when we got there, only Bonnie Bilski, Holly Anders, and Chris Cortez were to be found. Luckily, after the movie, a lot more Brazoswood High School Alumni showed up, as evidenced in the following video: (Before showing the video, I would also like to add that Thao Ho, Kathy Krampota, Eileen Asswood, and countless other B’wood women were there looking better than ever as was my “cousin” Abbey, who is still not literally related to me and thus it would be perfectly fine if we made out, sweetheart.)

Roll Call

The Houston screening was fucking great, to put it lightly. We had unbelievable support from the guys at 1560 The Game, a shitload of high school friends showed up, and someone gave me so many fucking pills, you might as well quit reading this shit now because I don’t care about it anymore. It wouldn’t surprise me at all if Bob and I fail to post a goddamn thing on this journal for over a week.  The Q and A after the screening was easily the best one we’ve had on the east coast trip so far, especially towards the end where Holly Anders asks the question that exposes Jesse, Charles Jesse Miller Jr, as the farce that his life has become:

(Coming Sooon): VIDEO D01-c-qanda

Badass Film Tour – Day 37: Austin screening

 August 19, 2010

The Austin Chronicle’s Marc Savlov caught up with us in S.F and wrote up a nice li’l article on the Tour:

Hell on Wheels … and Weed

Bob Ray takes the show on the road

By Marc Savlov, Fri., Aug. 13, 2010

Chad Holt in <i>Total Badass</i>, Bob Ray's documentary portrait of the infamous Austin wild man

Chad Holt in Total Badass, Bob Ray’s documentary portrait of the infamous Austin wild man

It’s just after noon on a sunny summer day in Berkeley, Calif., and Bob Ray, fresh and rested after the previous night’s four-hour drive down from Chico, is admiring his host’s breeze-rippled backyard field of legally cultivated marijuana.

“It’s overgrowing everywhere,” says Ray. “It’s awesome.”

And all too fitting for the director of the legendary stonercore, ’99 Austin snapshot Rock Opera and the ferociously entertaining Roller Derby doc Hell on Wheels. At the moment, though, Ray is midway through the West Coast leg of the 22-city Down & Dirty Austin Film Tour, screening both Hell and his newest River City cinematic provocation, Total Badass, which chronicles the life and times of infamous Austinite Chad Holt, publisher of and profane mouthpiece for local music rag Whoopsy!, onetime South by Southwest swindler (he was busted for counterfeit wristbands), and – as Ray’s online tour diary succinctly details – “wild man-about-town, social deviant, musical/stunt performer, sex addict, Guinea pig enthusiast, writer-publisher, father, weed dealing felon and local maniac.”

Microbudgeted indie film distribution is going through a flux-y kind of hit-or-miss stage right now, with video-on-demand, Netflix, and the perpetual uncertainty of a festival pickup or random encounter with the ever-mysterious Gods of Chance Distro – Ray mentions Will Ferrell’s championing of Jody Hill’s microindie The Foot Fist Way as an example of the latter – all attracting and/or recoiling from scads of fresh indie product like boozed-up hipsters at a way-afterhours Vice magazine soiree. The bottom line being, barring Sundance glory or improbable YouTube/Vimeo megahits, it’s a helluva time to get your cash-poor, narrative-rich labor of cinematic love seen, much less released.

Ray’s solution? Punk-rock it, dude. Old school. City to city, prebooked, utilizing past contacts and far-flung ex-Austinite friends (cf “Field of Weed” guy). And so far, it’s working.

“It’s been pretty damn fun so far,” says Ray. “Attendance has been hit-or-miss, depending on the press. One thing I’m finding out is that a lot of papers don’t have film writers anymore. They just use wire services, which pretty much sucks ass because how do we get the advance coverage we need? It’s not like the old days, when I did essentially the same thing nine years ago with Rock Opera. It’s a little trickier now.”

Audience numbers may be holding double-digit-steady, but as a seat-of-the-pants film tour like this goes, Ray’s remarkably upbeat. And it’s not just because he’s standing in the middle of an urban cannabis plantation at the moment.

“The reaction to Total Badass has been really good, with the exception of some old people who somehow wandered into a film called Total Badass and were offended by it. That was in Victoria [British Columbia], and the Victoria National Film Festival helped promote us, so I guess this older couple were just on the mailing list and failed to read the fine print: ‘This movie is filled with drugs, pornographic material, and obnoxious humor.’

“When we screen it for the crowd that it’s meant for – Seattle is a perfect example – it goes over great. Seattle was just busting up laughing, in from the get-go, even to the point where they were rolling in the aisles during the CrashToons we screened beforehand.”

There’s something delectably Kerouac about two guys on the road to everywhere, jammed in a small car, blitzkrieging town after town with 90-minute, 24 frames-per-second hell-lights of purebred Austin indie-liciousness. Everything could go right. Anything could go wrong. Shit happens, daily.

“I had to leave Chad behind in Portland when I went into Canada,” recalls Ray, “because, you know, he’s a convicted felon. We could’ve got him in, but we’d have to leave the border guys a $450 ‘deposit,’ which you don’t get back. Everywhere else on the planet they call that a ‘bribe,’ not a ‘deposit.’ But not in Canada.”

Despite the tour’s “Down & Dirty” dubbing, Ray and Holt are actually green-speeding their way through purple mountains’ majesty. In a Prius.

“Yeah, I bought it off of Craigslist, and it gets 45 miles to the gallon,” laughs Ray, “so in terms of breaking even, that’s good. It’s surely not helping my street cred, but it’s a solid ride, and, you know, we’ve got weed in there, Chad is blazingly doing crimes across the country, and the number one goal on this tour is to not go to jail. And Priuses totally do not attract cops. Knock on wood.”

Or weed. Or whatever. Pass go, collect $200, do not go to jail. It’s the microbudget indie filmmaker mantra in the age of self-distribution. And Ray’s got it nailed. (Holt, chiming in, admits: “Honestly, I’ve been so fucked up I can’t remember a single question from any of our Q&As. But I have gotten nailed a few times.” Wink, wink.)

“The tour’s making $65 to $100 at every screening, and so we’re basically in the black,” says Ray. “I bought 1,000 DVDs, which is the minimum you can get, and we’re selling a few of those at every gig. I think, at this point, the tour’s really building momentum. I guess the pinnacle will be Los Angeles in about another week. We’ve got three screenings there. One’s at USC in the George Lucas building, one’s at the Steven Spielberg Theatre at the Egyptian, and the other is at the Echo Park Film Center.”

Maybe, if they’re lucky, Lucas or Spielberg will swing by, fall for the onscreen antics of the ultracharismatic hell-monkey that is Chad Holt, and pull a Foot Fist Way-style renegade pickup on Total Badass.

Or maybe they’ll just make it back home in one piece with no jail time. Either way, they win.

Bob Ray’s Down & Dirty Austin Film Tour continues through the month, ending Aug. 19 in Austin with a screening of Total Badass at 7pm at the Alamo Drafthouse South Lamar. Bob Ray and Chad Holt will be in attendance. 

We didn’t write a tour journal for today.  We probably should, and we actually might.  Who knows?  But here are some vids and pics:



Badass Film Tour – Day 34: Tuscon to Las Cruces

August 16, 2010

2:22 PM

Yes, last night ended up being pretty fun, indeed. In order to make you feel a little more involved in the process, here is some reel from the movie we made last night. This is pure, unedited film work, shot by a notable filmmaker, starring a leading man and woman with no less than four or five legitimate projects under their belts, including this one:

7:45 PM

A lot of driving today:

I have no fucking idea what to expect from Las Cruces.  We’ve been told that the town is basically a truck stop.  And we’re running late as fuck.  We didn’t get the action on video like we did in Boise, but we did roll up about two minutes late and I couldn’t find the screeners.  I dug through the car in search for the DVDs to play.  After a few more minutes, I found the fuckers, grabbed the merch case and bolted for the cinema. But all was fine as, to my pleasant surprise, there were a shitload of people in there.  They were whooping it up and having a blast.

I thrust the DVDs upon the theater manager.  He was hesitant to play the CrashToons before the feature.  He’d watched and approved the feature, but hadn’t laid eyes upon or even knew that we were screening ‘toons before the big show.  “There’s nothing indecent on here, is there?  We can’t show anything indecent.” “Um… no.”


11:59 PM

Anyway, we left Tucson and drove down to Las Cruces for what would turn out to be out to be our last screening of any type. Bob showed Hell on Wheels to a building full of screaming rollerpussy. I’ve inserted some footage of him hobnobbing with said rollerpussy, as well as the intro to the movie, which includes sign language for the hearing impaired. This was the first of our screenings to come with a sign language interpreter, and the moment was not lost on us.

In what was perhaps the most serendipitous moment of the entire trip, I was walking from the theatre with a guy named Marty over to his place because we were going to spend the night there. The rollergirls had asked around for us a place to stay and a seemingly random stranger had volunteered. Along the walk, Marty tells me he is from Texas, too. I ask him where, and he says Seguin. I could tell he was about my age and so I asked him how well he knows Mike de Leon. Turns out, they have been friends ever since kindergarten. Unfortunately, I didn’t get any video footage of Marty. The good news is, I don’t have any footage of Mike de Leon, either.

1:11 AM

After the screening, a derby gal was handing out Klonopin like it was Halloween.   Then we all crawled down to El Patio bar right around the corner. We’re actually in Mesilla, the old historical and Billy the Kid infested part of Las Cruces.  Apparently, and according to the history drunks, Billy the Kid fucked this place with his uncircumcised member and gave it the clap and a bad rash.  I think this bar used to be the jail or some shit.  Here’s their bathroom sink: