Title: Crude Stories - A Day in the Life of the Rudest, Loudest, Deffest, Most Obnoxious Rappers in the World

Source: SPIN Volume Two Number Twelve

Date: March 1987

Authors: Text by the Beastie Boys and Tom Cushman, Interview by Scott Cohen, Photography by Glen E. Friedman

Chinatown. Six A.M. on a cool spring morning. Below a sweatshop slept the Beastie Boys in their rat-infested, stinky-ass world headquarters. Life was grand for everyone-everyone, that is, but one inquisitive Mike D. His forty winks were abruptly disturbed by a familiar yet warm, brown liquid, overflowing from the machines above. Ah yes, Mike D's morning had truly broken. Spring was here, and what a lovely Chinese woman she was. The factory above was in full swing: machines pressed, hammers hammered, and the brown water spewed forth, only to find its resting place atop Mike D's festive crown. Mike rose from his bed in a wet frenzy, cursing the Chinaman and his evil ways.

Question: Were you living in a loft or an apartment?

Beasties: Well, it was called a loft, but it was really a small apartment. The ceiling was about seven feet high. The floorboards from the sweatshop above us were our ceiling. And they'd start early in the morning, about seven o'clock. It was the only thing we could afford; but aside from that, we could play music at any time of night, as loud as we could possibly get our amps. We'd come home at four in the morning, drunk, and play music.

Question: How did you pay the rent?

Beasties: It was $500. We moved there when we got the British Airways money. We sued British Airways a while ago. They used part of "Cookie Puss" on a television commercial. We got $40,000 and parted amicably. And we rebuilt the whole thing. The floor was made of blacktop. It was once wood, but someone had poured tar over it. There were so many rats we bought pellet guns. In the basement was a trendy Korean whorehouse, called Club 59. Silver door, completely tacky. None of the women were at all pretty. They were all around 35 or 37 and they'd been around the block too many times.

"Ouch, why does this mystery laundry water haunt me?" Mike wondered aloud, awakening his roommates. Yet, before Ad-Rock or MCA could form an answer, a loud horn sounded, announcing an arrival.

"Get the fuckin' door, assholes," MCA bellowed.

"Reach down and fondle my balls," Ad-Rock most graciously responded. Mysteriously, Bosco appeared, playing his favorite Wagnerian workout on his famous French horn, much to the chagrin of all involved.

"Shutup, shutup, shutup, can't you ever just shutup?" demanded a feisty Mike D, but it would fall on deaf ears. Slowly, the rest of the posse arrived: Ricky Powell, an oft-misinterpreted macrobiotic photographer with a keen sense of smell for the group shot; Eloise, a woman who had seen her share of hard knocks, only to see her way clear around the block- truly a Times Square veteran; Hurricane, our DJ; and then there was the British road manager Sean, a complete bastard.

"Let's go, You bastards," he exclaimed.

"In case you 're all wondering", Mike D began , why we're gathered here today , it is because today, on this very day, unlike so many other days, we have a gig in Detroit, tonight."

"And we fucking late, you bastards," Sean added predictably.

Illusively, Bosco questioned the assembly: "But where's Cey?"

"I made him sleep in the van all week to keep the parking space," Sean explained.

"Well, I don't know about you guys," Mike D said, "but I packed the bong, the Buzzbee, the beer, the cat handcuffs, the laughing box, the whippet dispenser, the whoopee cushion, the beer, the penis pump, the bullets, the Ms. Piggy double-dong, Extended Sexual Orgasm by close friend and comrade John Brauer, the beer, the fur coats, the saw, the blue bong, the rope, the chisel, umm " Mike paused thoughtfully.

Question: What's a Buzzbee?

Beasties: It's a Frisbee, with a pipe built into it in the middle with a screen You take a hit and screw the screen back on. It's like so def, you can throw it. We wanted to have it for our merchandising , a Beastie Boys Buzzbee, but the merchandising company wouldn't do it for us.

"What about the sledgehammer?" MCA asked.

"Why of course," Mike D continued, "the sledgehammer, the detonator, the pile driver, the thermos, the paddle game, the Village People tape, the beer, and the remote control."

Sean frowned. "What about the turntables, the mixer, the amplifiers, and the microphones, you bastards?!"

"Oh," Ad-Rock marveled, "whose job was that?" "I think it was mine," MCA confessed.

Question: Who's the most organized Beastie Boy?

Beasties: Mike D.

Question: Is that who makes the reservations at restaurants?

Beasties: We just show up, but we don't always get seated. Like at this last restaurant we went to. We said, "We'll have you know that we're close personal friends of Clint Eastwood," and Ad-Rock said, "And my cousin is friends with Ronald Reagan," and they said, "Look, we don't have a table."

Ten minutes later, the Boys found themselves in an elevator with a one-thousand-pound limit and four thousand pounds of shit, plummeting downward.

" Extended Sexual Orgasm is the book the Beastie Boys live by. MCA read it the most times; he read it once."

Needless to say, the elevator soon found its resting place below the basement- it had crashed. "Where's the sign?" Ad-Rock wondered. "Which sign?" MCA asked.

"It can't be, I weighed this equipment myself," a confused Mike D admitted.

MCA smiled, "Oh, that sign. I think it's in the bathroom."

"What are we playing here, Fool the Guesser?" Mike D said, losing his characteristic cool.

Question: How many floors did you fall?

Beasties: About three.

Question: Did you jump a moment before the elevator hit bottom?

Beasties: Mike actually suggested that as we were going down. We all thought about it a lot, then we looked at each other and laughed.

"You totalled the elevator!" Sean screamed. "You guys are getting evicted for sure, like the bastards you are."

But for all the nostril flaring, none had flared to quite the size of Ad-Rock's. "Now we're never gonna get to my friend Ted Nugent's house for dinner," he cried.

"What?" the boys said in unison.

"Well, I didn't want to tell you guys, but I arranged for mealtime at the home of the Motor City Madman himself."

Question: How did you know Ted Nugent?

Beasties: He met us backstage at the Madonna concert in Detroit. There were all these celebrities on that tour all the time who came back to meet Madonna, and he came back to meet us. He was like an idol for all of us. Actually, Mike D hated him and Led Zep when he was growing up, but came to love and admire Ted.

"It's a combination of Kentucky Bluegrass and Californian Sinsemilla. You can play many holes of golf on it, and still get high."

Question: What did you have for dinner?

Beasties: Margaritas and paelia.

Question: Did you ever invite him to your house for dinner?

Beasties: / guess we should do that. We never could get dinner together for anybody, so we never figured it was an option.

"Quick, I saw this in a movie once. This guy's in a bank and he's overdrawn his account, and everyone's calling him names, and the tellers are making fun of him. So he rips the roof off the elevator, and ... LOOK OUT!" At which point MCA reached inside his pants, exposing his last stick of dynamite, and affixed it to the roof. It was detonated.

When the smoke had cleared, a face appeared above them- it was the face of young David Scilken: "You guys should have waited for me, I'm really good with locks, ask anyone, and my dad, he's got this awesome set of tools."

Sean, taking charge of the plethora of bastards standing around him, issued an order: "Pass that equipment up to Dave, you plethora of bastards."

"What's a plethora?" Dave asked.

Question: Who's young David Scilken?

Beasties: He's a crazy kid we've known since we were real little, and he comes out on the road with us. His main objective in life is to cause more trouble than anybody else ever could-and he does.

Question: Does he outdo the Beastie Boys?

Beasties: He tries to, but he usually ends up getting caught.

At any rate, the van was loaded with people and shit, and it was time to leave. Only two blocks into the journey, though, the van encountered waste-case and childhood friend Tom Cushman, strumming his guitar in the middle of the Manhattan Bridge.

"Yo, Cushman, how's business?" MCA asked.

"Well, I got a physics test today, but I'm thinking of going to Detroit."

"No way," Mike D piped up, "We're goin' to Detroit too. Hop in."

"How strange and bizarre," Tom Cushman concluded. "Can we stop at my house and get Extended Sexual Orgasm by Pete Best?"

Question: What is Extended Sexual Orgasm?

Beasties: E.S.O. is the book the Beastie Boys live by. Yauch read it the most times- he read it once. It talks about ways to make your girlfriend, or any other girl, have an orgasm for an hour or more. We're not talking about multiple orgasm or an orgasm that lasts an extraordinary length of time, like 30 seconds; we're talking about a new plateau beyond the wildest imagination.

The crew was finally complete with eleven people, four thousand pounds of equipment, and totally a lot of beer, heading in the general direction of the Midwest.

MCA by now had fully assumed the role of driver. "Well I'm-a-runnin' down the road, tryin' to loosen my load, got seven women on my mind "

"Would you quit singing those damn Eagles songs and keep your eyes on the road," Ad-rock snapped.

"But Ad-Rock," MCA pleaded, "I'm Born to Be Wild. As a matter of fact, I'm Running on Empty, runnin' on . . ." MCA was K-Tel's Cruisin' '77, the dick who liked to drive. "Cause tramps like us, baby ... we're. . . On the Road Again ... American Woman, get away from me-" But MCA's happy tune was stopped short, as Ad-Rock wrapped his fists around MCA's collar.

"Wait a second," Ad-Rock screamed, sensing the injustice, "What the hell does the Guess Who have to do with driving?"

"Oh, they've been on my mind for some strange and bizarre reason. And speaking of strange and bizarre, where's Mike D?"

Mike D was, in fact, crafting a joint in the back of the van, as one might imagine some old and ancient Indian woman might.

"Where's that fucking joint, asshole?" Ad-Rock asked.

"Roll, very old woman, roll like the wind," MCA encouraged.

"One total spliff coming right up, Mr. Dude," Mike saluted. MCA tore his hand away from the wheel to take a hit.

"Yo, what's in this?"

"Well actually," Mike D explained, "it's a hybrid, dude. A combination of Kentucky Bluegrass and Californian Sinsemilia. So you can play many holes of golf on it and still get high."

Question: Who would the Beastie Boys most want to fill out a golf foursome with?

Beasties: Bob Hope is the obvious. Bing Crosby, God rest his soul, would have been our choice, had he been alive.

The sound of Bosco's nefarious French horn intruded. "Isn't that 'Space Truckin' by Deep Purple?" Ricky asked Bosco.

"No, it's 'American Woman' by the Guess Who."

"Yo! I know that tune," MCA screamed. "It goes American woman, American woman . . . ." "Why don't you all shut up! I play the music here," Ad-Rock interjected. "I've got the box, I've got the tapes, and I play the music!"

"CUM ON FEEL THE NOIZE ... LET'S GET WILD, WILD, WILD."

Question: Who's your biggest influence?

Beasties: Musically, from Julio Iglesias right on over to Beethoven, with a little bit of Led Zep, the Clash, and Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young thrown in.

Question: Which TV shows have influenced you?

Beasties: Make Room for Daddy, Abbott and Costello, and The American Fisherman.

Question: And your sense of fashion?

Beasties: Eddie Murphy. He's not a very funny man, but on the fashion and the singing end, he truly has a talent that few people have recognized.

"Excuse me guys ... umm, fellows, hey ... you guys?" It was iust then that evervone remembered that Eloise had been there all along. "Umm, fellahs, I don't know how to put this, but I have to you know take a powder, tinkle, wee-wee." "You have to piss?" MCA translated.

"Umm, I don't know, ah, yes," Eloise agreed reluctantly.

"There's a great macrobiotic salad bar just off the next ramp, with spacious quarters for you, Eloise," Ricky offered.

"Shut up, hippie," Ad-Rock said.

Question: Who is Eloise?

Beasties: Eloise Ladies and Gentlemen, as she's always referred to, is the newest member of the Beastie Boys. We had a giant birdcage built for her, which she dances in throughout the entire show. She used to dance on 42nd Street. She goes to clubs to dance and that's where we discovered her. It's kind of like Lana Turner getting discoveredat that Hollywood soda fountain. Her breasts must be about 50 inches. Naked, she fills out the Beastie Boys roster.

Needless to say, the Boys arrived moments later at Aunt Ballsfish's Creole Critter. "Again? Oh, I hate Ballsfish," protested young David Scilken. Inside the restaurant, the Boys encountered Auntie Ballsfish herself, who proudly seated them at the finest table. "Is this your first time down South, boys?" Everyone looked confused. "I thought this was Ottsville, Pennsylvania," Hurricane demanded, flaunting his gold. "Metaphorically, yes. But geographically ... also yes. But here at Aunt Weezilfish, we believe in bringing the finest Southern critters to Ottsville. And bring them we do," she added ominously. "Now what are we havin'?"

"I'll have ten eggs."

"I'll have the chicken stuffed fish."

'A bowl of steam, please."

"Caesar salad omelette."

"Monte Cristo Sandwich."

"I'll have a Metroliner-that's scrambled eggs, American cheese, Canadian bacon, served aboard an English muffin."

"How's the egg salad omelette today?"

Aunt Pencilfish looked puzzled. "Why, you don't mean a coffee omelette now, honey?"

"Yes. I certainly do."

"Pistachio paste for me."

"Cap'n Crunch on a bagel with cream cheese." "Cheese pranish."

"Just bring me a boilermaker," Sean demanded, rounding out the order.

Just when things seemed to be running smoothly, Aunt Bogusfish emerged >from the kitchen with a pensive look. She approached Hurricane: "I'm sorry, sir, but on behalf of myself, the staff, and the whole Fishfish family, I find myself at your most sincere mercy, for we only possess nine eggs."

This did not sit well with Hurricane.

Question: Who is Hurricane?

Beasties: He's our DJ and, on occasion, he doubles as our security person, because he's 6'5" and mean. He's a one-man Hollis wrecking crew. His arms are twice the length of our arms, with enormous fists covered with sharp gold rings.

Question: You mean his fists are almost the size of Eloise's breasts?

Beasties: Perhaps much larger.

Hurricane rose and grasped Aunt Barnaclefish by the collar and seat of her pants, hoisetd her above his head, and pushed her head and then her body through the front window of the restaurant. The Boys looked on in amusement while L.L. Coolfish pleaded, "But you can't leave, you're the guests of honor!"

Hours later, back in the van, a hungry David Scilken questioned the turn of events. "I don't know, Hurricane, but I think if we had just waited another five minutes they would have brought us that tenth egg."

"Word," Hurricane agreed.

"If you'd keep your mind on the road map instead of Hurricane's egg, maybe we wouldn't be TOTALLY FUCKING LOST, you total bastard!" Sean screamed, grasping Dave by the hair.

"Yo, we're lost?" MCA said, confronting the sad truth.

"Don't be frightened, amigos, I know this tremendous short cut to Detroit. Take your next two lefts here, and another left at the Celestial Seasonings factory. "

"Wait a minute," Dave Scilken offered, "I'll just ask this nice old lady on the street what town we're in." He then leaned out the window and yelled: "Hey, you fuckin' bitch, I know you're naked under all those fuckin' clothes, I fuckin' hate you, you bitch."

"Why David, what a strange and peculiar analogy you've made," Cushman pondered. 'Are you interested in Indian basket weaving?" But before Dave could admit it had always been a passion of his, he was interrupted.

"Yo, chill out. I said I'm rolling another one right now," Mike D misunderstood, as the van ground to a halt.

"MCA, why are you making smoke come out of the engine?" Eloise giggled.

"Yo, dudes, we're over-the engine's seized." MCA declared.

"I packed the bong, the Buzzbee, the beer, the cat handcuffs, the laughing box, the whippet dispenser, the beer, the penis pump, the blue bong, the chisel...."'

"I can fix it, I'm really good with locks," Scilken said.

Sean was now becoming enraged. "Shutup, bastards, let's walk up to that farm up there and try to get some help. And someone wake up Cey -tell him to stay here and watch the equipment."

The group bounded up to the rather picturesque farmhouse as the sun set on their deceased van. Sean knocked on the door while the group gathered behind him and improvised a human b-boy pyramid, in order to pass the time. A young farmgirl greeted Sean.

Question: What tips would the Beastie Boys offer a girl who wanted them to like her?

Beasties: Any girl who has a job, wear's men's size 19 boots, has huge ears, and has an inclination towards snowmobiles.

Question: And what tips do you have for breaking up with a girl?

Beasties: It's only been once or twice that the group had a relationship with one girl when we all knew about it. The three of us would take her out to dinner, then the three of us would bring her back to the house and she would have to go room to room, because we don't like to see each other naked. Ad-rock went first and Mike D likes to go last. We broke up with her by changing the lock on the door; putting an ad in the personals of the Village Voice that said we didn't want to see her any more; and putting up a billboard in Chinatown telling her if she ever came to our house again, we'd beat the shit out of her with a stickball bat.

"Hello, fair farm maiden, these bastards here are the Beastie Boys, and I need to use your phone," Sean said in an unusually polite tone.

"We don't have a phone, but I reckon we have a pickup truck," she offered.

"Oh great, let's hop in," the group said in unison, untangling themselves from the remains of the pyramid. And they did.

"Where you going?" she asked.

"Detroit," they answered.

"Detroit? Why I've got tickets to see the Beastie Boys in Detroit tonight!" she cried.

"We are the Beastie Boys," Mike D, Ad-Rock, and MCA explained.

"Oh, that's right . Well, then there shouldn't be any problem. But wait , I can't go without my copy of Extended Sexual Orgasm by Tom Cushman," she whined.

"Why, Tom Cushman's right here," they said, and she climbed aboard.

A look of excitement crossed Hurricane's face. "I bet you got some fresh eggs here," he said, as they sped off down the dirt road.

"Eggs?" the farm girl whimpered, with tears in her eyes. She then proceeded to tell a three-hour story of a horrifying plague that had befallen her family. It was a drought that had killed all the eggs on this once happening egg farm.

The Boys, tears streaming down their faces, looked at each other, and realized there was only one thing to do: EGG AID. They gathered all the townspeople together: the shopkeepers, the farmers, the fishermen, the carpenters, and even the Partridge Family. And together they formed an event that would never end.

There was much wine and festivities while the children sang and the Partridge Family played. All was gay -yet, in these crowds there was a man who appeared out of his element. Ad-Rock approached him. 'Aren't you Jirnmy Randolph, who does those TV ads for the Albert Merrill School?"

"Why, no I'm not. I'm Carl Douglas."

"Carl Douglas ... hmmm. Don't you do that song 'Kung Fu Fighting'?"

"Well, yes I do, and here I go." With that, he began singing and running towards the stage. Remarkably, the Partridge Family knew all the chords, and Danny Partridge joined Carl for one magical verse: "There were funky Chinamen, in funky Chinatown, they were choppin' them up, and choppin' them down, it was an ancient Chinese art . . . ."

Dave Scilken could not help but turn to the camera and remark, "Interesting that Chinatown plays such a recurring theme in this episode." And play it did.

The show finally ended, and it was the great success that everyone had hoped for: the eggs had been saved. "Our work here is done. We must move on and let these bastards rejoice," Sean waxed philosophically.

"Wait, let's ask my friend Mr. Douglas if he'd like to join our merry posse in our quest. Hey, Hong Kong Fooey," Ad-Rock cried, "can we borrow your equipment? We've got a gig tonight, and we left our equipment two hundred miles back in a van with our roadie."

"Who's your roadie?" Carl asked.

"Cey."

"Cey? Why, you must be the Beastie Boys." And strangely, they were. Carl continued: "Don't you guys live in Chinatown?" And yes they did, and there was much rejoicing. With Carl Douglas navigating the pickup truck, they found themselves in Detroit in no time.

Question: What places have you been to that won't let you come back again?

Beasties: We're banned for life from Holiday Inns all over America, and Eastern Airlines. You punch our names into the computer on any terminal and, we don't know what it says, but they won't sell us any tickets.

Question: Do you belong to any clubs?

Beasties: A.A.

"Why, Mr. Douglas, you're quite the navigator, aren't you? , said a bewildered Ricky.

Yes," he replied. And he ran off screaming naked into the night, never to be seen again.

"What a strange person ", Hurricane surmised.

"Alright bastards," Sean snapped, "we're on schedule as usual ... SEVEN HOURS LATE! We've completely missed soundcheck and we'll be lucky if they let us play."

The boys could only then watch in amazement as their roadie Cey arrived in the van with their equipment. "Cey, you puzzle me," MCA admitted. "You have driven like the wind."

Cey could only smile. "Ah yes, good friends, you seem to have overlooked chapter six, page 113 of Bulldog Brauer's steaming text Extended Sexual Orgasm and Van Maintenance, in which he describes the Kegel exercises as applied to auto mechanics."

Sighing, the group was awed by Cey's brilliant manner. "Very impressive, you bastard," Sean spat. "Now apply yourself to this equipment, and get it inside."

Question: Who's influenced your business decisions?

Beasties: We base a lot of our career moves on fortune cookies. We realized, having lived in Chinatown, that they can mean life or death. We've tried to write a rap song using all the fortunes we've gotten. "You shall be awarded some great honor." "It takes a truly good man to have confidence in the goodness of others." "Excellent health is a part of your next phase." You see, these fortunes are all pertinent to our lives.

Equipment in hand, the group pushed forward into the hall, finding it completely packed with fat old men, and women with thick mustaches.

"This is great! We're really hitting a new audience," Mike D celebrated. "We must finally be crossing over. Wait, what is this song?"

"It sounds like 'Oh Bondage, Up Yours" by X-Ray Spex, but who's playing it?" Ad-Rock asked, revealing an inquisitive nature to rival that of Mike D's.

"I don't think that's the question, young Ad-Rock. I think the question at hand is, why is there another band onstage?" MCA said.

"And they're really fat," Bosco added, taking a breather from his French horn.

Question: If you could be somebody else for a moment, who would you most want to be?

Beasties: Jason Brauer of Extended Sexual Orgasm, because Mrs. Brauer and us have something we have to settle. Mike would like to be a gynecologist.

Sean reappeared from the overweight crowd he had disappeared into only moments before. "I've got good news and bad news. The good news is we're not late. The bad news is that we're an entire day too early, and you bastards have ruined my entire life once again."

"It's not that bad, Sean," Cushman decided. "This band is really good. Who are these guys?"

"GOOD EVENING LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, WE'RE THE GUESS WHO. HOW MANY OF YOU REMEMBER 'AMERICAN WOMAN'?"

"Yo, I totally know this song," MCA screamed, singing and dancing at the top of his lungs.

But if that wasn't strange and bizarre enough, Ted Nugent arrived at this historic concert in a 70-foot limousine, accompanied by the mayor of Detroit, who was wielding a large, golden key.

"Hey guys, come here!" Ted yelled, beckoning them to join him and the mayor.

"O.K. Ted," the Beastie Boys replied.

"This large golden key to the city is for services far and beyond the call of egg duty," the mayor announced. "May you be prosperous and learn from your own wisdom." And it was at that point that Ted Nugent invited the entire posse, including the Guess Who, back to his personal yacht for paella and margaritas. And there was much rejoicing!