"If that accident hadn't happened, we wouldn't be a band."
The telling tales of a band jaded by the fatigues of age. Three men who hated each other reunited by the near death of the little drummer-boy.
Or maybe we shouldn't focus on the negative side of all of this because after all I am looking for reasons why, as a straight man, I would want to fuck Travis Landon Barker. I have nothing but respect for a man who, to a greater or lesser extent, has had a mohawk since he was sixteen, whereas I couldn't even keep mine up. Likewise, I have nothing but respect, even sexual intrigue, towards a man with a sense of rhythm so well defined and well executed that he leaves the legends of jazz behind in the dark as mere amateurs.
And there is the dark side, the ghetto upbringing, the revenge he was ready to exact upon a lecherous ex-boyfriend in an episode of Punk'd. Boy! He was gonna knock that motherfucker out and dump him in a bin for Christ's sake! And that was all in the defence of his mental wife who he keeps divorcing, Marshall Mathers style, and who he is still lumbered with to this day because of the aforementioned plane crash. But who can blame him she was Miss [crack whore] America after all.
Then there is the ink, the glorious ink that covers his epidermis, the boom box across his chest is a personal favourite of mine, perhaps the greatest tattoo ever.
Plus I think we'd have this whole thing going on where he would give me free Famous Stars and Stripes apparel and I'd be in such awe of him because I could never afford any of it as a kid... :-(
Post written by Marcus Harris.
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