Long Gone John Mermis
Owner/Swindler, Sympathy for the Record Industry

I'm sure thousands of other people have their own gripes about Long Gone, whether it be Glenn Danzig-who punched him for flooding the world with bootleg Misfits 45's-or anyone who's ever sold a record on Sympathy's extreme lack of royalties (read: greedy pig fucker), but he makes the asshole echelon in my book for something so piddly, you can only wonder what goes on in that philandering, wig-covered head of his. On the White Stripes East Coast tour of June '01, Mr. Long Gone accompanied the band for mere shits and giggles. While dispensing much-needed humor on the tour (like calling Pete Townsend a "chin-ball wizard"), his presence was a hindrance the rest of the time. Put the beast behind a driving wheel and you'll have a newfound appreciation for seat belts. Worst of all, the man couldn't even spring for his own hotel room, instead crashing the already cramped quarters of the "roadie" room, meant for John Baker, Stripes' tour manager, and me. Baker and I, not interested in bear love with the Anti-Mogul, were forced to share a bed, and in some cases, sleep on floors while Long Gone's carcass undeservingly snaked a snuggly warm bed out from underneath us. He was a waste of space. Sure, he's Long Gone John, but he's an asshole.

Convocation Of...
Baltimore, Maryland

Chunklet's "Shit List" issue wasn't just clever marketing: this band really is shitty. But I don't hold that against them. Instead, after their allotted time of caterwauling, they invade the upstairs at Fletcher's with the drummer's corpulent, cornrowed girlfriend in tow. This wouldn't be a problem besides the huge fucking sign that leads to the band room that says "BAND MEMBERS ONLY! NO FAT CHICKS! Etc., etc." They then proceed to drink all the Von Bondies' and White Stripes' beer, when they were given drink tickets and told specifically not to drink any of the beer in the band room. When presented with the situation, Todd, the promoter, sends a bouncer to quell the situation and more trouble arises. Apparently, the drummer took offense to being called "brother" by the black bouncer and some macho chest thumping takes place. Todd confronts the ringleader of the Convocation of Assholes about it, and the whole time he acts like a spoiled kinderbrat, saying that they should've had more beer, and bitching that they always have to open shows and never get to headline. Cry me a river. John Baker then asked the Convocation man about bringing people upstairs. "Can't you read the sign?" "No. I can't read." Feigned illiteracy is sooo passé. Assholes, apparently, are always in style.