All entries for Wednesday 24 August 2005

August 24, 2005

HUGE CHUFFING TRUCKS CRUSH SMALL CHUFFING CARS WITHOUT REASON OR MERCY!

"YAYYYY-UHHH!", as Metallica are wont to intone.

That's right, kids. Last Sunday marked the blackest of all sabbaths, a day of whimsy made resolutely good as myself, The Ballard and Shallmaster General ventured over to the N.I.A. in Birmingham to witness the awesome spectacle that is MONSTER JAM EUROPE.


[As you can see from this photo, these lumbersome Goliaths are simply too awesome for a regular camera to keep up with!]

Now, despite Ballard's ridiculously-oversized biceps, anyone who knows us half a damn will realise that we are in fact the feyest of the fey - they'll be no macho posturing from these three wimp-ass mo'fos right here, no no. However, sometimes you have to just let go and unleash your inner redneck - and so, here is the story of how the sight of several oversized vehicles turned us into ABSOLUTE FUCKING HOLLERING NEANDERTHALS FOR TWO HOURS. Ladies and gentlemen, start your engines!

After several minutes of having the rules explained to us by a baseball-hatted commentator hell-bent on twatting about the track like Charles Bronson on a suicide watch (I mean, rules? What rules?! Bring out the huge fucking trucks!), out boomed the noise we'd all been waiting for: the indomitable sound of GARBLE-VOICED ANNOUNCER BLOKEY. This sonic behemoth certainly didn't disappoint the roaring masses as he proceeded to let fly with the order of the day in his punishing mangled tones, the mealy-mouthed meanderings coming off like nothing short of the baddest of the bad from Tim Burton's remake of Planet of the Apes. YEEEEAAAAHHH!!!

And then – oh yes – in a hail of hell-thunder not heard since the raucous bowel-eruptions of a post-curry Satan, OUT CAME THE FUCKING TRUCKS. The contenders…

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EL TORO LOCO (like a bull in a fucking china shop alright…)

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ESCALADE (this built-like-a-Yorkie-esque effort has apparently been modelled on one of Venom's vehicles from the 1980s cartoon classic M.A.S.K. …)

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GRAVE DIGGER (rest assured, you won't find this fearsome fucker anywhere near a Shakespeare play…)

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MADUSA (piloted by the lone female driver in the competition, allegedly the Monster Truck Freestyle World Champion. However, I suspect that this may be a fiction, as we saw little-to-no evidence of her prowess.)

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MONSTER MUTT (don't be fooled. Although replete with crap tail and floppy tongue which render it distinctly reminiscent of the car from Dumb & Dumber, this bad-boy's all bite and a fair bit of bark…)

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SUPERMAN (faster than a speeding bullet, and quite clearly capable of deflecting the entire arsenal of the United States Army!)

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That's right. Several tons of pure titanium beastliness. And what did they do? They CRUSHED A BUNCH OF FUCKING CARS TO WITHIN AN INCH OF THEIR LIFE. Alright!

During the wanton auto carnage which followed, one particular driver emerged as the star of the show: Carl Van Horn in the mighty Grave Digger. This brutal mastodon quickly claimed the tournament as his own, strutting about like he owned the fucking place to a perpetual soundtrack of George Thorogood & The Destroyers' rifftastic swamp-boogie Bad To the Bone. Indeed, despite the resolutely stingey marks doled out by the day's designated judges (apparently a father and his two kids - though quite how these people became qualified to pass judgement on the kind of awesomeness witnessed at this event is beyond me), each of the drivers distinguished themselves with a display of dirt-pummelling virtuosity not seen since The Blues Brothers pulled one of those handbrake parking manoeuvres in the shit film of the same name. Fucking topper! (Even if we couldn't make out a word they were saying behind those incomprehsible Southern accents, eerily reminiscent of Boomhauer from King of the Hill).

After a brief intermission, the pit-techs then wheeled out the mother of all ramps for a choice bit of AWESOME FUCKING MOTOCROSS ACTION. Following the obligatory self-aggrandising intro, the bikers swiftly took to the platform, and what did they do? They LEAPED OFF THEIR BIKES IN MID-AIR AND FUCKING GOT BACK ON AGAIN BEFORE LANDING. Yessss!

By this point, the three of us were naturally on the verge of total apoplexy, delightedly beating our thighs like masturbatory monkeys and dribbling all over each other. However, nothing could have quite prepared us for what followed next. Squealing like a chainsaw in a high-pitched ruckus with Rosie Perez, out shot the incendiary ear-wrecking pipsqueak that is ARMAGEDDON. "To do what?" though, I hear you cry. To which I say - to SPEW FLAMES FROM ITS EXHAUST LIKE THE FUCKING BATMOBILE! Holy auto pyromania, Batman!

The final two events were the inimitable 'Donut' and 'Freestyle' rounds. The latter was simply a display of how much destruction the beasts could wreak within the space of a minute. But the former? A magnificent excuse to make them all SPIN IN FUCKING CIRCLES, kicking up DUST LIKE A MOTHERFUCKER. Have it!


[Note: genuine photo not piked off the internet]

By this point, we were worked up into such a frenzy that when Grave Digger was pronounced the day's victor we were able to utter only gruff monosyllables which translated into something resembling a gorilla's orgasm. Having been whipped into a sufficiently incoherent motorsport-induced frenzy, we then capped off the day in the only way that seemed appropriate: we got ourselves MONSTER JAM FUCKING T-SHIRTS. That's right!

As can be evidenced from this historic pictoral document, we are quite clearly THE MOST AWESOME PEOPLE WHO HAVE EVER LIVED. Respect!


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