Don Slater’s Pork Chop Express: Better Late Than Never!

Battlecross’ bassist is back talking about butts, racism, riffs, and semi-drivers

Don Slater's Pork Chop ExpressDon Slater's Pork Chop Express

Don Slater’s Pork Chop Express

Sorry for the lack of a quote this month. It’s been a busy one, for sure. However, where there is a will, there’s a way. Between writing new material for our upcoming album and trying to figure out my life (never ending…), I’ve a few subjects I’d like to touch on. I promised Chris, the nice (and very forgiving) gentleman behind the awesome Gunshy Assassin, I’d touch on the butts, boobs and bums of Brazil. So here we go!

Alrighty. Who remembers that infomercial about the Brazilian Butt Lift? Anyone? Well, there’s a truth and a very, VERY damn good reason why it’s Brazilian. The butts there — mein Gott — they are unlike any other.

Even the scrawniest of chicks have this bubble for an ass, and it seriously defies all logic. For instance, I was hanging outside the hotel in Rio de Janeiro, sitting on a stoop having a smoke. We were roughly a five minute walk from the famous Copacabana beach, and naturally, there were many a passer-by. Many ladies of which were pleasing to the eye, however one stood apart from a crowd. This woman walks towards me, and not unlike many of the lovely ladies there (mind you, the average in the city is easily an 8 out of 10), she’s pretty.

I look, I admire, I take a drag and continue feeling incredibly out of place. It wasn’t until she passed in front of me that I almost sucked my cig down my throat. She couldn’t have been more than five feet tall and MAYBE ninety pounds in a wet towel. There was this thing attached to her. If I hadn’t known any better, I’d have sworn she was smuggling two full hams down the backside of her pants. It was physically impossible for this wafer thin woman to have a booty so bulbous, so bountiful, so.. BIG, that I’d sworn I was either having a flashback or relapsing into my drunkenness from the night prior.

Best way I can give you a visual is to look at a lower case “b,” but put legs on it.

“Couldn’t you tell from her hips?,” you ask. NO. No I fucking couldn’t because this chick was an anomaly. A damn alien from the planet Baby Got Back. Then came the jiggle. Oh yes.

Considering that my audience must be 90-percent male, I have no qualms with addressing the way her ass moved. It had it’s own time signature, I swear. My eyes fixated, my rhythmic instincts kicking in, I couldn’t help but start humming a funk beat to this girls bouncing butt. And then… she was gone. Gone, but fuck me, NEVER FORGOTTEN. So yeah, there’s Brazilian Butt Lift in a nut shell for ya. No wonder it became such a thing.

Moving on from my usual one paragraph of smut and sleaze, I’ll poorly segue into something meaningful.

Seems legitSeems legit

Seems legit

Did it work? Good. Anyways, there’s something I have to say about people who are blatantly racist. That something is “Fuck you.”

I won’t go into specifics of what show, when or where, but this asshole just decided to start spewing the N word and other ethnic slurs around like we were back in the late 1800s. I mean just rampantly slandering everything and anyone who wasn’t white. I’m fine with whatever you do in your own home, what you think in your own head or even mutter under your breath, but when you take it upon yourself to be the biggest and loudest bigot in the vicinity, you seriously need to lay off whatever drugs or booze you decided was a good idea to abuse that evening.

Thankfully, no one spurred him on or rejoiced in his stupidity. No action was taken, either. The few left in the room just became silent or murmured a bit. Me? I shouted “GOOD NIGHT” and got the fuck out of there. I wasn’t going to have any further part of what the discussion was about or whatever he was obviously angry about. I have friends of every race, and I prefer it that way. Diversity and cultures are what makes you more in tune with humanity. You wanna call someone out or bitch about a specific person? Do what I do. Call them an asshole, cocksucker, fuckface, a piece of shit, buttknocker, dickhead, pissdrinker, pussyfart, cunt, bitch, dick, ass, cock, mangina, shithead…you get the point.

There are plenty of perfectly fine insults to use when addressing someone who has slighted you in any way than going as basic as the color of someones skin. Typically, this type of thing doen’t really bother me as I’ll just blow it off as someone being a ignorant piece of shit cocksucker (see what I did?), but this one instance just irked me something fierce. I hope that guy reads this. If he is, fuck you, dude. Fuck you until you piss blood and vomit diarrhea.

To all the ignorant fucks out thereTo all the ignorant fucks out there

To all the ignorant fucks out there

Moving on to something a bit more cheerful, let’s talk about the good ol fashioned practice of writing music.

It’s so easy, but so difficult at the same time. I really don’t know how else to put it other than “try try try try try try try try try try.” So many riffs I’ve made, yet maybe one or two I’ve found worthy enough to send to the dudes in the band. And even out of those two, I’m still not entirely happy with. There lies my faith in the rest of the guys.

They might hear something I don’t, and what I felt was a bomb could easily turn into a blast to play. It’s a wonderful and fantastic feeling to embrace each others creativity and make it ours. Rest assured, I’ve heard their contributions and so far, it’s really good. This next album should be the bee’s knees, no doubt. We’ve grown with Battlecross, and in the past few years we’ve come to understand not only what our fans expect from Battlecross, but also what Battlecross expects from us. Thus is why I’m such a hard critic on myself. There’s a pretty sizable bar set for the expected quality and craftsmanship of our songs. Again, I trust we won’t disappoint you. You’ll just have to wait see.

Fountain pop. Soda. Coke. Whatever you call it, fountain pop is the goddamn best. I swear, if we ever get a bus that we can modify, I’m putting a fountain pop machine in that bitch. And a slushy machine. Never skimp on the beverages. Not to mention you get far bigger quantity with fountain pop.

One 64oz “Bladder Buster” might cost you a buck twenty-nine as opposed to a 20oz over-sugared bottle that’ll run you just under two bucks plus deposit where applicable. There have been some really awesome fountain pop machines we’ve seen in our travels. Some allow you to add flavor shots for an extra boost in either caffeine, flavoring or sugar. My favorite would be the machines that give you the option of crushed ice, little cubed ice (my personal favorite) or big cube ice. To round things out, there are accessories for your fountain pop pleasure as well.

You can purchase you’re own bladder buster mug that will net you a discount if you’re a repeat customer; sweet lids that allow for straws, sipping, or chugging; an assortment of straws that range from curly, straight, plastic or metal. Yes, metal straws. Seems absurd, doesn’t it? Well, it kind of is, but our FOH engineer Mark and I were casually browsing a Flying J’s and stumbled upon these metal straws that guaranteed our drinks to stay cooler for longer.

Ok, so the metal straw just gets really cold because of the ice in the beverage, but once the ice melts, I’ll be damned if this straw isn’t still nice and cold. You have to drink slow, but it actually works.. kinda. It could be a psychological thing from the straw being so cold, fooling my brain into thinking the beverage is still nice and icy, and you know what? That’s fine by me. I’ll totally rock “ignorance is bliss” on this matter. No fucks given.

Me in thirty yearsMe in thirty years

Me in thirty years

Semi truck drivers really have a shitty reputation. No one likes to be around them on the road or gives them any respect whatsoever. They are usually the first ones to be blamed and the last ones to be thanked. Drivers are too quick to cut them off or give them enough room to make a wide turn, usually hugging the line in the left-hand turn lane. And all this is just on the road. Stop at a truck stop and you can see families huddling close together when a big bad trucker guy comes ambling by in a bid for the bathroom.

They’re looked at as dirty, perverted guys who stare down women’s shirts as the driver pass by with their dick in their hand. And you know what? I’m sure that’s true for some, but most are looking to just make an honest living at a trade many people in today’s world want nothing to do with. They have families to go home to as well, but they’ll be driving across the country for the next week or two, trying not to kill or run over someone or some thing, all while maintaining control of a very large and very cumbersome vehicle. In a way, I can empathize. Being on the road as long as we are, hauling a fifteen foot trailer stuff with gear, merchandise and personal belongings with a van that’s not exactly the safest ride as it’s bare of all seats except the two front captains chairs and a bench in the very back?

We’re not only making sure we don’t kill someone or something, but also ourselves in the process. We get cut off just as much as the big rig, glared at, flipped off, all because I’m simply trying to drive as safe as possible with regards to my band mates. So next time you’re out there and a semi truck seems like the harbinger of your soon-to-be “miserable fucking day,” do yourself a favor and get mad and yell as much you want, just don’t do anything stupid. Those trucks are a LOT bigger than you are, and your vehicle will crumple under its massive girth.

Now that’s smart thinkingNow that’s smart thinking

Now that’s smart thinking

Goodness, I got preachy in this update. My bad. Y’all can do whatever you’d like, I’m just trying to help put a spin on things you may have thought of, but never really paid any mind.

I’ll have a Halloween special coming up for you in a week or two where I go out and try to find the most absurd Halloween decorations and, of course, talk shit about it. Thanks for reading!


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