Hook-Ups Tour 1999

The Thirteen-Point Plan to Destroy America

The Cast

Jeremy Klein

Jeremy was even worse than on past tours. This shit guy was out of control.

Heath Kirchart

Once again, Heath could have any girl in America. Instead, he played it mellow – except when it came to lighting fireworks in the van.

Willy Santos

After three tours, Willy is finally having fun. It’s good to see that he’s loosening up.

Dan “The Rock” Rogers

The Rock spent less time trying roll up on girls than on past tours. Looks like this notorious ladies’ man is getting “whipped” into shape.

Bam Margera

You’d never suspect that Bam’s shoe sponsor is Nike those idiots ought to be putting his stunts in ads, instead of hyping basketball players. A guy who jumps off buildings would sell more shoes than a guy who slam dunks.

Brandon Dicamillo

If you didn’t actually talk to him, you’d think Brandon had some kind of syndrome. Look at him he looks like his name should be Corky.

Atiba Jefferson

Atiba continues to be the renaissance man of this group of shit guys a piano-playing photojournalist. The women are going to be all over this guy someday.

Nikos Constant

Our pyrotechnician. It’s amazing that this idiot didn’t kill us all.

The Tour

The unspoken truth was that we could have died at any time. That was just the way it was. We’d signed our lives away to a guy who puts on stunt shows at Universal Studios. He left us with four giant tanks of propane, and an eight-foot-high black monstrosity made of pipe and hose that spewed flames, causing the temperature to climb so high that if you breathed anywhere close to it, your lungs would burn and collapse from the inside. We lied to ourselves that it was just like a big barbecue. But it wasn’t. No barbecues hiss and roar like a forest fire. “The ring of fire” was a ticking time bomb ready to go off in a quick flash of fire, heat, and shrapnel. At the same time, that’s what made everything feel so good: the strippers, the parties, the fireworks, cold drinks from gas-station mini marts, even jail. At least we weren’t dead yet.

We hadn’t even tried the ring out. Sure, we’d gotten a quick lesson on how to set it up, but nobody dared jump through it. It was hard enough jumping over the van in the practice sessions, let alone setting up a spitting demon on top that could set the whole funbox on fire if left on too long. As Heath, Jeremy, and I watched the effects guy drive away in his pickup, we knew that this was a stupid idea, but none of us said anything. We had to do it. The tour started the next day. The dates had been confirmed, the wheels set in motion, legal documents signed. There was no one to blame but ourselves.

It was probably better that we didn’t show the crew what the ring did before we left, somebody would have wanted to stay home. But everybody thought it was going to be just like a normal tour, Hook-Ups style: driving all night, do a little skating, sign some autographs, litter, shoot off some fireworks, and start driving again.

This time we added two more troublemakers to the usual lineup of Jeremy Klein, Heath Kirchart, Dan Rogers, photographer Atiba Jefferson, and the world-famous Hook-Ups van Bam Margera and Brandon Dicamillo. These two had been responsible for the Landspeed video CKY, and their ability to cause havoc was legendary.

Their addition was felt immediately when we stopped at our first fast-food restaurant and Bam proceeded to do one of his legendary falls in front of the counter while carrying several trays of food. His painful “Don’t laugh at me!” screams in the middle of Carl’s Jr. seemed incredibly real, scaring both staff and customers. We left knowing we were about to screw with America in a big way, and maybe even die trying.

El Paso, Texas

Somewhere I read that the climate in Los Angeles is as close as you can get to the French Riviera. If that’s true, the clite in the rest of the country is as close as you can get to hell. The eighteen-hour drive to El Paso, our first demo, was unbelievable. The same heat wave that was killing little old ladies around the country was baking our asses across the desert and into Texas. To combat the heat, we kept the van’s sliding door open, which added an extra dose of danger to the ride since any kind of sharp turn could throw somebody out the door. To pass the time, fireworks were bought in Arizona, and launched throughout the Southwest. Brandon and Bam got their first taste of firing off bottle rockets in a moving van. Of course, it’s the new guy who always gets hurt, and Bam got some burns as a rocket chased him down, exploding on his leg. There’s nothing funnier than seeing a guy scramble away from a rocket and then yelling as the thing tags him.

Pulling into El Paso is like something out of an Indiana Jones movie you can see the campfires burning in hovels just across the border in Mexico. Heading to the demo, the clouds looming overhead were ominous. When we arrived, Brandon proceeded to take off with the local homies from the shop, and the black clouds thickened. As soon as everybody jumped into the van, raindrops the size of golf balls started to come down. Three seconds later, kids were scrambling for cover; the demo was ruined. Trying to pack up the ramps and get the hell out was nearly impossible, because being out in that rain was like standing under a million bathtub faucets. As I tried to pull ramps into the U-Haul, I remember The Rock looking at me and laughing. He said it looked like I was drowning.

With the streets flooded, Brandon’s hanging with the homies turned into a six-hour ordeal, during which his new best friend’s car broke down. He pushed the car through the rain, while we waited in the skate shop, pissed. Just as we were about to leave him, he appeared in some other guy’s clothes, looking like he’d just been gang-raped in the rain.

San Antonio, Texas

Making up for lost time, we headed straight to San Antonio and our first chance to try out the ring of fire. Though small, the demo went off without a hitch, and nobody blew up. But it was hot enough that some girls had to take their tops off to cool themselves.

Fully recovered from the night before, Brandon treated the crowd to a session of grocery-cart crashing and then proceeded to pick up on a couple of the town’s sexy ladies. At some point during dinner, the ladies turned cold; it’s possible they were turned off by our throwing tortillas around the Tex-Mex-style restaurant. With no action happening, it was on to the infamous city of sin, New Orleans.

Flatonia, Texas

A flat tire on the U-Haul at 1:00 a.m. brought us to Flatonia, Texas, home of CJ’s Country Junction gas station and mini mart. As the fix-it guy changed the tire, we decided to spend our downtime launching off fireworks in the gas station, and aiming Roman candles at each other and a tanker truck parked across the street. Then we lit a huge fountain in the van, with all of us sitting inside. As we bailed out of the van, choking from the smoke, the police arrived. The fuzz are never cool in situations like that. The head cop’s haircut was straight 1988 Vanilla Ice, except this guy was fat and 40 years old. How do you go into a barber and say shave everything, but leave the back long? Especially if you’re a cop! Who’s going to give this guy respect? Even the barber must have been laughing at his ass.

Searching the van, Smokey confiscated all our fireworks and then asked us how much money we had on us. I thought he was going to take us for over a grand, but instead he proceeded to arrest Jeremy, taking him to see the judge. By that time, it was at least three in the morning, and we weren’t sure if we were ever going to see Jeremy again. This was some serious Deliverance-type shit, so I tagged along. The cop put me in the back of the squad car and Jeremy up front. The jail was a small shack at the edge of town with homemade “What Drugs Look Like” posters hanging on the walls.

The cop found the particular statute we were getting busted for, which was “Lighting fireworks within 500 feet of a gas station,” and he woke up the judge. We had an uncomfortable wait with the cop as the judge made her way to the station to prosecute Jeremy. Still in her pajamas and sleepy-eyed, the judge stared us down, looked up the law, and then fined us a grand total of 112 bucks.

Can you believe all that drama for 112 bucks? So the cop took me down to the 24-hour mini mart that sells money orders, we got the money and headed back to jail. After all necessary paperwork, the cop drove us back to CJ’s Country Junction, where the crew was still waiting.

We got the hell out of Flatonia.

New Orleans, Louisiana

Technically, the demo wasn’t in New Orleans, it was across a lake from New Orleans, but that doesn’t mean it wasn’t wild. There’s just something about the Southern states that makes kids grow up wild. With a total lack of inhibition, the kids here had some good summer fun, Porky’s style. With half-pints all around, we partied on into the city, shooting Roman candles out over the lake and heading down to Bourbon Street.

“Just f king do it!” was Bam’s call to arms, encouraging ladies to get their hustle on for a couple strands of plastic beads thrown from second-story bar balconies. All types of ladies flashed their flappers fat ones, thin ones, ugly ones, and hot ones which shows that it’s not a certain type of lady who feels the pressure to show a little bit on Bourbon Street.

Kids, if your mom goes to New Orleans on vacation, she’s probably showing something crazy, if you know what I mean.

Atlanta, Georgia

One odd thing about the New Orleans and Atlanta demos was that the only black guy in attendance was Atiba. The South still likes to keep its small towns segregated, and its funny to think that the best mix of culture we saw was in the Gold Club of Atlanta, Georgia. Everybody likes to see girls naked, and The Gold Club is possibly the best gentleman’s club in America. From the moment the familiar Hook-Ups stunt van pulled into their parking lot, the staff treated us to the best of Southern hospitality.

If you do a strip club right, you get the feeling you’re living in a Motley Crue video, mixing food, drinks, and a cornucopia of the world’s most beautiful women with a lot of cash. We dropped a load of money, and the women were stoked. Even waitresses gave it up for the Hook-Ups style of fun.

Unfortunately, Brandon and Bam weren’t able to partake in the orgy of racially good vibes, because they had to head back to their native Philadelphia. Though we missed their humorous presence, the ladies helped us quickly forget about our loss. With “V.I.P.” being the code word for “Do anything you want,” we closed the place down, leaving at four in the morning.

Charlotte, North Carolina

With the strip-club bug fully caught, our next stop in Charlotte had the ring of fire blazing hotter than ever. It was also the first demo where some of the skaters seriously thought about not doing the ring. With hoses hissing, and water having to be doused on the funbox to keep it from going up in flames, the crowd intensity was only matched by the craziness of the situation. Here we were, thousands of miles from home, setting a van on fire for the entertainment of a parking lot full of skaters.

After surviving the demo, we quickly headed to The Gentlemen’s Club Charlotte’s version of The Gold Club, but with better food. Though lacking the rawness of The Gold Club (bottoms required in Charlotte), The Gentlemen’s Club is five-star dining all the way. Lobster, prime rib, filet mignon, and epic salads for the Rock and Atiba, were served to us stageside, as the ladies shared their assets with the upscale clientele.

To top it off, their world-famous dessert “Sex In the Sand” (a foot-s a small shack at the edge of town with homemade “What Drugs Look Like” posters hanging on the walls.

The cop found the particular statute we were getting busted for, which was “Lighting fireworks within 500 feet of a gas station,” and he woke up the judge. We had an uncomfortable wait with the cop as the judge made her way to the station to prosecute Jeremy. Still in her pajamas and sleepy-eyed, the judge stared us down, looked up the law, and then fined us a grand total of 112 bucks.

Can you believe all that drama for 112 bucks? So the cop took me down to the 24-hour mini mart that sells money orders, we got the money and headed back to jail. After all necessary paperwork, the cop drove us back to CJ’s Country Junction, where the crew was still waiting.

We got the hell out of Flatonia.

New Orleans, Louisiana

Technically, the demo wasn’t in New Orleans, it was across a lake from New Orleans, but that doesn’t mean it wasn’t wild. There’s just something about the Southern states that makes kids grow up wild. With a total lack of inhibition, the kids here had some good summer fun, Porky’s style. With half-pints all around, we partied on into the city, shooting Roman candles out over the lake and heading down to Bourbon Street.

“Just f king do it!” was Bam’s call to arms, encouraging ladies to get their hustle on for a couple strands of plastic beads thrown from second-story bar balconies. All types of ladies flashed their flappers fat ones, thin ones, ugly ones, and hot ones which shows that it’s not a certain type of lady who feels the pressure to show a little bit on Bourbon Street.

Kids, if your mom goes to New Orleans on vacation, she’s probably showing something crazy, if you know what I mean.

Atlanta, Georgia

One odd thing about the New Orleans and Atlanta demos was that the only black guy in attendance was Atiba. The South still likes to keep its small towns segregated, and its funny to think that the best mix of culture we saw was in the Gold Club of Atlanta, Georgia. Everybody likes to see girls naked, and The Gold Club is possibly the best gentleman’s club in America. From the moment the familiar Hook-Ups stunt van pulled into their parking lot, the staff treated us to the best of Southern hospitality.

If you do a strip club right, you get the feeling you’re living in a Motley Crue video, mixing food, drinks, and a cornucopia of the world’s most beautiful women with a lot of cash. We dropped a load of money, and the women were stoked. Even waitresses gave it up for the Hook-Ups style of fun.

Unfortunately, Brandon and Bam weren’t able to partake in the orgy of racially good vibes, because they had to head back to their native Philadelphia. Though we missed their humorous presence, the ladies helped us quickly forget about our loss. With “V.I.P.” being the code word for “Do anything you want,” we closed the place down, leaving at four in the morning.

Charlotte, North Carolina

With the strip-club bug fully caught, our next stop in Charlotte had the ring of fire blazing hotter than ever. It was also the first demo where some of the skaters seriously thought about not doing the ring. With hoses hissing, and water having to be doused on the funbox to keep it from going up in flames, the crowd intensity was only matched by the craziness of the situation. Here we were, thousands of miles from home, setting a van on fire for the entertainment of a parking lot full of skaters.

After surviving the demo, we quickly headed to The Gentlemen’s Club Charlotte’s version of The Gold Club, but with better food. Though lacking the rawness of The Gold Club (bottoms required in Charlotte), The Gentlemen’s Club is five-star dining all the way. Lobster, prime rib, filet mignon, and epic salads for the Rock and Atiba, were served to us stageside, as the ladies shared their assets with the upscale clientele.

To top it off, their world-famous dessert “Sex In the Sand” (a foot-high tower of ice cream, chocolate, and fruit) can be fed to you by one of the club’s sultry staff. Finding out we were part of a skateboard tour brought out the interests of the ladies, with special “dirty talk” given tableside by one of the more top-heavy ladies. If you’re ever in Charlotte, bring a button-down shirt and a stack of twenties, and treat yourself to one of the best meals of your life. The view makes all the difference.

Louisville, Kentucky

Our first and only indoor demo was in Louisville, and before the madness began, the park owner was assured by our pyrotechnics guy that the roof wouldn’t go up in flames. The rest of us didn’t believe him. As the roof started to bubble, Jeremy made his last run through the ring and immediately gave the signal to shut down the fire. After a few seconds of tension, everything was off and no fire had been started. In Louisville we noticed that indoor product tosses seem a lot more hectic.

With no strip clubs that serve food in sight, we headed for the Caesar’s Palace Riverboat Casino. Atiba came away the only winner of our group, but as we tried to leave, we found out the boat had “left the dock,” and we were stuck for another two hours. Claiming injury, I tried to get us an early reprieve from our river cruise, but the E.M.T. just wrapped me in a splint and told me to sit tight. After losing even more money, we finally made it off that torture chamber of chance and headed out of town.

Chicago, Illinois

Willy finally met up with us in Chicago, where our schoolyard demo started with a cop creeping around, wondering what all the commotion was about. We feared that if we told him about the ring of fire, he’d shut the whole thing down, but somebody spilled the beans anyway. The cop approached us and told us to hurry it up, he wanted to see the show, and he had to get back to work. Cops in Chicago are different than the rest of the country.

At this point, Atiba left the tour.

Sioux City, Iowa

The land of Dan Rogers is a stinky hellhole of pig shit and heat, and the only redeeming factor is Sugar’s, which closely resembles the place in the Burt Reynolds movie Best Little Whorehouse In Texas, except Sugar’s is in Iowa. Unlike the big cities, where houses of ill repute are usually secluded structures hidden behind the facade of “oriental massage,” Sugar’s flaunts itself like it’s just another store downtown, except with girls inside.

We didn’t get the chance to enjoy Sugar’s, because honestly, it was creepy as hell. The whole state is creepy, with one-armed gas station attendants, surreal roller-skating rinks, and that persistent smell of pig shit. We got the hell out of Iowa.

Fargo, North Dakota

Finally, we were back home with our people in Fargo. It felt great to still be alive in the great Northern wilds. Fargo folk know how to treat their guests right, with parties galore, an awesome demo, a Fuddruckers, and lots of wanton women that town has it all.

The demo went off during the day in the city’s new outdoor skatepark, and the posse went off that night in downtown Fargo’s disco palaces. For some reason, no matter how ridiculous you act in Fargo, you don’t get beat up or arrested. Instead, you get crazy action. Running down the street in front of cops with lit fireworks, lighting smoke bombs inside a packed disco, even illegal parking are all fine in this town. Everyone came out a winner.

Bismarck, North Dakota

Hungover, Bismarck was all about getting back to Fargo for more action. Raging again into the night, cases of beer were drunk and fireworks were lit. We’d made it that far without dying, and the pressure was on to survive the rest of the tour. Would we see home again without major burns? The clock ticked as we approached our final demo only three days away. Would the seals on the ring hold, or would a slow leak blow up the van? Only time could tell.

Sioux Falls, South Dakota

Another party toown (though, this time on the mellower side), the Sioux Falls demo packed in the little kids, and they became a part of the nightlife as well. Nobody tried to kick our asses this time, which was a surprise, because last tour things got a little aggro there when we started lighting fireworks in some guy’s house. This time, the shop owners decided to take us to their own home, which was pretty plush. The only thing that bent them out of shape was when a crew of young kids, known around town as the Perverts, broke curfew to hang out with us.

Lincoln, Nebraska

Demo number twelve was filled with surprise guests. Steve Berra was in Lincoln shooting a movie, as was Bam, who gave the jump ramps another shot. Jeremy hurt himself twice. His ankle turned on a landing after going over the van, and his wrist was tweaked going through the ring.

Since it was The Rock’s last stop of the tour, hard decisions needed to be made. So with only two skaters still able to skate and Jeremy in intense pain, the last stop of the tour had to be canceled, making this the third stunt tour of three to self-destruct. Lucky demo number thirteen would have to wait until the next tour.

Expect us back on the road for a couple mini tours during the next year, bringing Hook-Ups destruction to your town. We’ll get the ring of fire checked out, so hopefully, nobody will die. – Nikos Constanth tower of ice cream, chocolate, and fruit) can be fed to you by one of the club’s sultry staff. Finding out we were part of a skateboard tour brought out the interests of the ladies, with special “dirty talk” given tableside by one of the more top-heavy ladies. If you’re ever in Charlotte, bring a button-down shirt and a stack of twenties, and treat yourself to one of the best meals of your life. The view makes all the difference.

Louisville, Kentucky

Our first and only indoor demo was in Louisville, and before the madness began, the park owner was assured by our pyrotechnics guy that the roof wouldn’t go up in flames. The rest of us didn’t believe him. As the roof started to bubble, Jeremy made his last run through the ring and immediately gave the signal to shut down the fire. After a few seconds of tension, everything was off and no fire had been started. In Louisville we noticed that indoor product tosses seem a lot more hectic.

With no strip clubs that serve food in sight, we headed for the Caesar’s Palace Riverboat Casino. Atiba came away the only winner of our group, but as we tried to leave, we found out the boat had “left the dock,” and we were stuck for another two hours. Claiming injury, I tried to get us an early reprieve from our river cruise, but the E.M.T. just wrapped me in a splint and told me to sit tight. After losing even more money, we finally made it off that torture chamber of chance and headed out of town.

Chicago, Illinois

Willy finally met up with us in Chicago, where our schoolyard demo started with a cop creeping around, wondering what all the commotion was about. We feared that if we told him about the ring of fire, he’d shut the whole thing down, but somebody spilled the beans anyway. The cop approached us and told us to hurry it up, he wanted to see the show, and he had to get back to work. Cops in Chicago are different than the rest of the country.

At this point, Atiba left the tour.

Sioux City, Iowa

The land of Dan Rogers is a stinky hellhole of pig shit and heat, and the only redeeming factor is Sugar’s, which closely resembles the place in the Burt Reynolds movie Best Little Whorehouse In Texas, except Sugar’s is in Iowa. Unlike the big cities, where houses of ill repute are usually secluded structures hidden behind the facade of “oriental massage,” Sugar’s flaunts itself like it’s just another store downtown, except with girls inside.

We didn’t get the chance to enjoy Sugar’s, because honestly, it was creepy as hell. The whole state is creepy, with one-armed gas station attendants, surreal roller-skating rinks, and that persistent smell of pig shit. We got the hell out of Iowa.

Fargo, North Dakota

Finally, we were back home with our people in Fargo. It felt great to still be alive in the great Northern wilds. Fargo folk know how to treat their guests right, with parties galore, an awesome demo, a Fuddruckers, and lots of wanton women that town has it all.

The demo went off during the day in the city’s new outdoor skatepark, and the posse went off that night in downtown Fargo’s disco palaces. For some reason, no matter how ridiculous you act in Fargo, you don’t get beat up or arrested. Instead, you get crazy action. Running down the street in front of cops with lit fireworks, lighting smoke bombs inside a packed disco, even illegal parking are all fine in this town. Everyone came out a winner.

Bismarck, North Dakota

Hungover, Bismarck was all about getting back to Fargo for more action. Raging again into the night, cases of beer were drunk and fireworks were lit. We’d made it that far without dying, and the pressure was on to survive the rest of the tour. Would we see home again without major burns? The clock ticked as we approached our final demo only three days away. Would the seals on the ring hold, or would a slow leak blow up the van? Only time could tell.

Sioux Falls, South Dakota

Another party town (though, this time on the mellower side), the Sioux Falls demo packed in the little kids, and they became a part of the nightlife as well. Nobody tried to kick our asses this time, which was a surprise, because last tour things got a little aggro there when we started lighting fireworks in some guy’s house. This time, the shop owners decided to take us to their own home, which was pretty plush. The only thing that bent them out of shape was when a crew of young kids, known around town as the Perverts, broke curfew to hang out with us.

Lincoln, Nebraska

Demo number twelve was filled with surprise guests. Steve Berra was in Lincoln shooting a movie, as was Bam, who gave the jump ramps another shot. Jeremy hurt himself twice. His ankle turned on a landing after going over the van, and his wrist was tweaked going through the ring.

Since it was The Rock’s last stop of the tour, hard decisions needed to be made. So with only two skaters still able to skate and Jeremy in intense pain, the last stop of the tour had to be canceled, making this the third stunt tour of three to self-destruct. Lucky demo number thirteen would have to wait until the next tour.

Expect us back on the road for a couple mini tours during the next year, bringing Hook-Ups destruction to your town. We’ll get the ring of fire checked out, so hopefully, nobody will die. – Nikos Constantparty town (though, this time on the mellower side), the Sioux Falls demo packed in the little kids, and they became a part of the nightlife as well. Nobody tried to kick our asses this time, which was a surprise, because last tour things got a little aggro there when we started lighting fireworks in some guy’s house. This time, the shop owners decided to take us to their own home, which was pretty plush. The only thing that bent them out of shape was when a crew of young kids, known around town as the Perverts, broke curfew to hang out with us.

Lincoln, Nebraska

Demo number twelve was filled with surprise guests. Steve Berra was in Lincoln shooting a movie, as was Bam, who gave the jump ramps another shot. Jeremy hurt himself twice. His ankle turned on a landing after going over the van, and his wrist was tweaked going through the ring.

Since it was The Rock’s last stop of the tour, hard decisions needed to be made. So with only two skaters still able to skate and Jeremy in intense pain, the last stop of the tour had to be canceled, making this the third stunt tour of three to self-destruct. Lucky demo number thirteen would have to wait until the next tour.

Expect us back on the road for a couple mini tours during the next year, bringing Hook-Ups destruction to your town. We’ll get the ring of fire checked out, so hopefully, nobody will die. – Nikos Constant