The Taxpayers: Hitchiker Travis and the Weiner Incident (Eugene, OR)-- Local Cut

The Taxpayers: Hitchiker Travis and the Weiner Incident (Eugene, OR)

June 22nd, 2009 [10:59AM] Posted by: The Taxpayers | 0 COMMENTS

EUGENE

Ya know the old story about “Hitchhiker Joe,” the one where you pick up the crusty old vagabond out of the goodness of your heart and he carves out your eyeballs and steals your wallet (and heart)? Well…the times, they have a-changed, and “Hitchhiker Joe” is now “Hitchhiker Travis,” and instead of slicin’ up your eyeballs and stealing your money, he continuously begs you to smoke pot with him and listen to his collection of Sublime tapes. Cuz, ya know, they’re the rare b-sides, man.

Somewhere along the I-5, we saw a nice enough lookin’ fella on the side of the highway with a big cardboard sign that said “Southbound,” so we pulled over to give him a lift. No joke, he runs up to the van, and just like the Tobey Maguire hitchhiker character in Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, he’s got this big dumb smile on his face and just straight up blurts out, “Man, if I played music and could name an album anything I wanted, I’d name it Loving Life, cuz I’m LOVIN’ LIFE NOW THAT YA’LL PICKED ME UP!”

We decided to fuck with him. Instead of responding, we all just stared at him for a good 20 seconds, until Noah says, “I used to have a lot of problems, but…I’m okay now. You ever wonder what a person tastes like?” The kid just giggles nervously, and we speed off down the highway towards Eugene. We had a show in a few hours with Witch Hunt at some new Warehouse space.

When we finally get into town, we meet up with our buddy Mark who’s come down from Portland to hang out with us. Mark, who’s the type of guy that can look at a map for about two seconds and know every park and alleyway of the city, already knows the whole goddamn town. He takes us down to a secret spot by the river where we drink beers next to a series of life-sized dinosaur figurines that someone had arranged to look as though they were all fucking each other. I know, it’s a confusing image, but just imagine a T-Rex fucking a Velociraptor fucking a Pteradactyl fucking a Brontosaurus that’s blowing it’s load into a sandbox. The people of Eugene must have time on their hands…

8:30 pm and the show’s about to start. The warehouse space is fucking amazing. It’s this huge place with scary murals all over the walls, and the kids are already there, drinking heavily and preparing for the show. All the bands are of the intimidating crust-punk variety, so we know we’re gonna be a bit out of place with our goofball Minutemen-style antics, but all the bands seem super nice. By the time we go on, everyone’s pretty faded, including Mark, who’s poured beer all over himself, Phil, and the floor, and has asked some poor kid at the show (in a genuinely concerned voice) how he “got cum all over his socks.”

Halfway through our first song Rob gets completely naked. It’s later referred to by show-goers as “the Weiner Incident.” One of the guys who put on the show grabs his camera to document the evening—you can hear Rob fretting about his job teaching at an elementary school back in Portland now that his naked, hairy body will be on YouTube. We do covers of “Margaritaville” and “Stand by Me” to which all the crust punks sing along. It’s awesome.

By the end of the night, the bro-hippie-hitchhiker guy (who’s actually a really nice and cool fella) is still with us, and he starts looking tastier and tastier. Will anyone know if he winds up missing? What does a person taste like, after all?

“Hey Travis, listen…we need to talk. It’s been nice having you along for the ride so far, but…well…maybe we should continue this conversation in that alleyway over there.”

With full bellies and a full tank of gas, we left Eugene in a hurry. Next up, we’ve planned to camp out in a ghost-town somewhere in the desert of Eastern Oregon, followed by a show in Boise, Idaho. I’ve got this nagging feeling, though. It’s almost as though…we’re being followed.