Jesse James Madre
Good morning ladies and germs. Today marks a wonderful day here at Gun Shy Assassin: The second entry in the Whiskey Diaries from Jesse James Madre, frontman for Tiger Flowers. This recent entry is something that, once you’ve read it, you won’t soon forget it

It probably hasn’t been sitting there that long? It’s under a heat lamp. It’s fine, right? Right? WRONG!

First night out and it’s all wrong. We’re in a motel off I-95 in Delaware when it hits me. I jump out of bed and make a bee-line for the toilet. Up comes the burger. Mother fucker.

After puking for five minutes, I go back to bed, hoping that’s the end of it. Two hours later, I’m up again and barely make it to the toilet to puke…only it’s not just puke. My ass has played a trick on me and has evacuated itself into my new pajama pants my sister got me for Christmas.

By the time I realize it, it’s too late but I’m not done puking and I’m not thinking straight so I pull down my pants. As I wretch into the toilet again, I spray the walls and floor behind me with all types of Doodoo butter. And I can’t stop. It will not stop. I grab a wash cloth to try to cover the backside and all I accomplish is ruining a wash cloth.

There is shit everywhere. I clean it up with towels and my pants and go back to bed. For the next 8 hours, on the hour, I’m back in the bathroom.

First day of tour and I have poisoned myself with truck stop Burger King. I spend the next day in the back of the van moaning like a sissy. Missing out on all the good laughs and stories. My drummer Dan got ahold of our bass player’s first band’s CD and they played that over and over on the way to the venue while just berating him for the lyrics he wrote when he was 17.

I missed all that fun. I missed scenery and the first waffle house. I missed it all. I wake up about 40 minutes from the venue and find out we’re late. We pull up and have to load straight in and on, and I’m questioning if I’m gonna blow out my pants on the first scream. Mind you, I’m a minimalist, so I only have on the jeans I’m wearing. We hate being late. We absolutely hate having to get out of the van and playing right away. We need a few minutes to stretch out and say what’s up but alas, traffic and my shit storm had made us late and we gotta do what we came to do.

We get through three songs and the lights are getting dim. I can barely stand and I’m ashamed to kill it early but I can’t. I hadn’t eaten in 17 hours or even been able to keep down water and all the energy I had left in me was focused on keeping my asshole clenched so I didn’t turn my blue jeans brown in front of all these strangers.

I can’t watch Meek is Murder. I go straight into the van and pass out for an hour. We stay at some kid’s house and I drink a Gatorade (endorse me!) and pass out. I woke up this morning feeling good. Well, feeling better. I eat some waffle house. Keep it light. Keep it simple. Focus on fluids. Next stop is Charlotte, North Carolina. Day two. This is the road. Isn’t it grand?

Entertainment The Whiskey Diaries: South By Southwest And Back, Part 2