I had been hyping myself up for this special event for some time. Sure Brooklyn’s KC/DC skateshop hosts a shitload of art shows, but this one was going to be quite different. It was to feature artwork by some of my favorite skate legends, including an infamous line-up of Mark Gonzales, Lance Mountain, Pat Ngoho, and OG Steve Olson. In addition to the badass work of the previously mentioned, the event had more of a purpose than to simply give collectors a chance to spend some loot and acquire high profile, original art. This show would also act as a benefit for New York’s own, Andy Kessler. Andy (of Wounded Knee Skateboards fame) recently broke his hip skating the Brooklyn Bowl. Without health insurance and in need of surgery, proceeds from the art sales were to go toward Andy’s medical expenses. I think it’s safe to say that the skaters of NYC have Mr. Kessler’s back. And hip.
Upon arrival, I was beginning to regret my earlier experimentation with the now distinct taquito. My stomach was shaking and squirming like a caged animal that was rapidly being stung to death by wasps. Meanwhile, the shop was jam packed with fans, friends and scenesters who surfaced in the name of free liquor and good times. While the shop mini ramp was receiving a UFC style beat down from the loc dogs, I drifted through the congestion and attempted to take in each artists work.
All the work was hot, especially Lance Mountain’s and Steve Olsen’s. Steve used color griptape and plastic letters to send a powerful message and a middle finger salute to the non-skating public. I also loved Lance’s work. His framed, pool tile paintings would be my choice to buy if I actually had a pot to piss in. In fact, I liked it so much that I approached Lance to congratulate him on his work. Not particularly in my best physical state for an introduction, I went against my instincts and asked Lance if I could take his photo. At this very moment, my brow moistened and my thighs started to tremble. My worst public nightmare was becoming a reality as my ass muscles began to rumble and gyrate violently, like the hips of a particularly talented Britney Spears back up dancer. “Hey Lance, can I take your picture, I mumbled, certain of what was to come. “Yeah sure, he replied. It was painfully apparent that Lance new something was very wrong with me (see picture).
I followed up my strange interaction with my favorite pro by visiting the bar that was fully stocked, thanks to the good folks over at Red Stripe and Zygo Vodka. I had myself a glass of vodka, hoping that the peppery liquor would act as some sort of anti-diarrheal agent. But I was just a fool to believe. While waiting in line to use the toilet, I “sharted twice. For those that don’t know, a ‘shart’ is a fart that ends in a squirt. I had been defeated by Mother Nature herself. I didn’t even bother to use the bathroom. Instead, I walked home in the rain, hating taquitos, loving Lance Mountain and feeling major discomfort as my underwear pressed against my two cheeks. I’d like to give a big spicy shout out to KC/DC, all the artists, Red Stripe, Zygo and Lolas Mexican Café.—Jay Riggio