Richard Haskins Tells an Insane House Show Story

My penchant for mayhem at parties has been a celebrated but often lamented piece of local lore for several years, and that’s especially true when my own band is involved. I mean, hey… They come for a show, right? I live in a city known for its music scene and its college life, and with all that come insane house shows. I’m not going to try to justify or endorse any of my actions or those of anyone in this story, but what I am about to tell you is completely true.

In the Summer of 2010, I had just gone through the worst breakup I’d had up to that point in my life. For whatever reason, maybe as an escape, I put all my efforts into having the biggest, loudest, and craziest band in town. A ten-piece punk rock band called the Wee-Beasties. For those of you who haven’t seen it, basically we sound like if Black Flag had a big horn section. No, we are not a ska band. Amps only go so loud, and a blasting horn section ensured we’d be louder than those swoopy-haired emo kids that were so big in the scene at the time. As the “singer”, I would usually take the stage in only women’s underwear, break stuff, roll in glass, and make-out with dudes while we played. Basically, I did my best to create as much of a riotous atmosphere as I could in whatever drunken and disorderly state I was in. Say what you want, but we were getting written up everywhere and our shows were drawing like crazy.

At this point in our career, Denton, TX kinda sucked. There weren’t many places to play and sad bastard indy rock dominated the scene. Hip-Hop groups weren’t even allowed in most of the clubs for another year or two. It was getting pretty old playing the same couple places, so we decided that a show in a house would be a natural move from the monotony. Fuck, if anything maybe we’d come out of it with some street cred.

I’m not exactly sure who booked the show or who we talked to in order to get on the bill, but someone decided it would be a good idea to put us in the middle of a three band lineup at a place called the Mansion. It was a great big house venue on Sherman Drive that was supposedly owned by a member of the Blues Brothers way back when. It was a Friday night, and we showed up an hour early to drink Four Loko (it was 2010, so they were pretty big then) and watch the opening band, Michael and the Time Travelers. I remember the Red 100’s were supposed to play after us, but because of what happened during our show, they didn’t get to.

None of us had ever been there before, but this fucking place had everything. Kegs. Liquor bottles. Bongs. Weird black-lighted rooms blasting shitty EDM music with douche bags snorting cocaine off drunken, naive tits. A huge backyard for the people trying to just drink and talk. The kitchen was one giant beer pong tournament. I certainly saw more than one midget. I think at one point there was a magic show going on. Frankly, it was hard to tell. There were lights and fog-machines and drinks and drugs everywhere. Without exaggeration, there were at least 500 people and not one of them even close to sober. “Our kinda crowd”, I thought.

The main room where the bands were to perform was of significant size. It was called a ballroom, but really it was just a very large living room that connected to the kitchen. And it was beyond packed. Sometime during the opening set, I got pretty hot. I sweat profusely when I’m about to play, when I play, and then after I play. In an environment like this, I figured taking all of my clothes off except for the panties I was wearing would be an acceptable solution. It always gets a funny sort of reaction when I do it. Some people laugh, some people are grossed out, and some people think I’m a drunken asshole. These are all appropriate responses. I placed my clothes under the bathroom sink and began walking around the party in search of various intoxicants to indulge in.

The thing about women’s underwear is that the crotch isn’t designed to hold external genitalia, or at least very much of it, and these babies were snug. In the back yard, I bumped into a friend of mine who was also plastered. We’ll call him Chad. Not because that was his name, but because Chad is a fucking hilarious name and this guy was a total Chad. He was kind of a super fan who went to all of our shows and always said the wrong thing at the worst time. The rest of my band members had started collecting around me, so we discussed our set list and took pulls off of a whiskey bottle. Our trumpet played passed around a joint. Someone from inside called out that we needed to set up, so I tried my best to walk straight and help the guys load in. Chad helped also, which was very un-Chad.

Sam, our drummer, started setting up his drums and the rest of the boys plugged in amps and started tuning their horns. At about this time, whoever was running sound informed me that we weren’t going to be able to use the PA or the microphones, because we would probably end up breaking them. I lied to the guy and told him we’d be really careful. “Fuck you, let them use it or they’ll break YOU!”, Chad shouted. The combination of these two points seemed to suffice and we continued setting up.

Before we start playing, one of the things I like to do is hold the microphone and pace back and forth in front of the band like some sort of caged animal about to be let loose. This gives the feeling that something unsettling and explosive might happen at any moment, which was a good thing to indicate, because that was absolutely about to happen. That and the combination of feedback and distorted guitar tuning is classic punk doctrine. Our guitarist gave me the signal that we were ready, so I put the mic to my mouth and shouted, “Let’s fuck this place up! 1-2-3-Go!”

On “Go”, we ripped into a fast pacer and the place ignited. Bodies were flying left and right, up and down. You could feel the wooden pier-and-beam floor buckling and pulsing from the weight and energy of such a mass of human flesh. There was almost no room to breathe, it was so packed. Eventually, the mosh-pit began spilling out into the kitchen, knocking over beer pong tables, drinks, and other party goers. It became such a problem, that the owners of the house slammed the door closed and locked it.

I’m not exactly sure what possessed me to do it, but I started punching, kicking, and pounding on the locked door, and eventually our trumpet player and I busted it open with our shoulders. We had no clue there was a dude on the other side trying to get in, and when the door gave way, it smashed into him and his head got split clean open. There was blood fucking everywhere. Keep in mind, the band is still playing. This is probably 45 seconds into our show. I’m screaming and yelling into the mic the whole time, and not a single person has stopped moving.

I’ve made it a rule to NEVER stop playing no matter what happens. During our second song, a very large, young black man came into the room and started waving his hands to get us to stop playing. This was during a “call and response” part of the song requiring fan interaction, so every time it came to the part where the crowd was supposed to shout, I held the mic in front of his face, knowing damn well he wasn’t trying to participate. Eventually, he got annoyed and tried to grab the microphone from me to explain that the show was over, but we simply wouldn’t stop. He clutched at the mic with both hands and tried to yank it away, but he could only get it as far as his chest, where I still continued singing into it and looking directly at him.

I wasn’t sure at the time who this guy was, but evidently he was friends with the people who ran the house, and at that moment, all his friends burst into the room at the same time to aggressively stop the show. What followed was a full scale riot. There were bottles, blood, and fists flying everywhere. Chad started swinging, but disappeared into a wave of people. Someone wrapped their arms around me from behind, pinning my hands to my side and lifting me up.

I was still “in character” at this point, and began shouting, “Don’t touch me!”, “How dare you?!”, and “You’ll never work in this town again!” One of the homeowners approached me with fresh cocaine hanging from his nostrils. “You’re out of here!”, he shouted. As I was being dragged through the kitchen door and towards the night, I could see my band mates tearing down their gear while trying to fight off marauders and the homeowners alike, while several people in the audience continued to fight.

At one point I was headbutted square in the face by ole coke nose, but was so drunk I began laughing. “If I wanted a kiss, I’d have asked your sister”, I stated bluntly to the him as I began being pushed outside even faster by the large black man and the other people attempting to remove us. He became enraged and punched me in the stomach. I couldn’t stop laughing and the process repeated. Chad grabbed our box of promotional CD’s and began passing them out and advertising a show we were having at Rubber Gloves the next week. On my way out, I saw him slip one in the back pocket of an unconscious man laying face down on the floor. (Full disclosure: I’m pretty sure that guy was unconscious when we got there.)

When we got outside, things went from bad to worse. “Maybe this isn’t our type of crowd. Can we just stay for beers and not play?”, I reasoned. “Get the fuck out of here” was a response I began hearing repeatedly. “Fuck, my clothes are still under the sink”, I thought. There’s a moment in every man’s life when he realizes he’s fucked up somehow and should cut his losses and leave. At the exact second I began even considering that possibility, a television smashed through a window and on the other side of where the glass used to be was Chad. Holding up one of our shirts, he bellowed, “Wee-Beasties t-shirts! $10! No fat chicks!”

I turned toward the unbelievably long and crowded driveway that this house had and noticed one of our guitarists getting into her SUV with a couple other people and band mates. I ran and dove in the back cargo area, hoping to soon hear tires squealing in retreat. It was not to be. After several minutes of wondering why we weren’t moving, I notice that the car was completely surrounded by the large black man, ole coke nose, and their friends. “Perhaps they’ve come to apologize”, I wondered. The back hatch opened, and Chad stepped in to sit beside me, bleeding profusely from the face. He handed me a $20 bill. “I sold two of them, but lost the rest”, he slurred.

I began to hear arguing and yelling coming from the front area of the vehicle. It seemed that one of our friends in the front passenger seat was having words with the large black man. It was getting pretty heated. “Why don’t we just go?”, I asked. “We can’t move,” our guitarist replied, “There’s too many people behind our car.” I could tell this was going nowhere and fast as it seemed there was going to be another brawl in a few seconds. I tried my best to emotionally prepare. Just then, Chad said something that I couldn’t process right off the bat. I mean, I love the guy but he’s such a fucking idiot sometimes.

“It’s not our fault you’re black”, he said casually. There was a brief second of silence while everyone’s jaws dropped. All at once, two windows smashed on the SUV and the interior lights came on. I honestly thought the car was being turned on it’s side for a second. The back hatch opened again and it rained fists for what seemed like an eternity. In a situation like that, you can’t do much but wrap up the best you can and hope you don’t die. I’ve being in a lot of scrapes, but I’ve literally never been punched so many times in my life.

Suddenly, the vehicle revved and squealed, and we flew down the driveway towards the street. There was a guy still holding onto the side of the vehicle and I’m certain we hit at least two cars on the way out. At the street, we stopped and could see what looked like a small army running towards us. I’m certain I saw someone carrying a pitchfork. “Fuck, we’re falling apart fast! We’d better get out of here!”, Chad shouted, not knowing that it was the understatement of the century.

The drive back towards town was silent apart from the wind whistling through the busted windows. No one said a word. It was a sobering moment in my life, and I considered the path I was was on and where it may lead me. “Perhaps, I should go to dental school,” I thought. A face turned towards us from the front seat and, addressing Chad, it asked rhetorically, “It’s not my fault you’re black?

I never got my clothes back.


Oaktopia Returns to Denton in 2018 Under New Ownership

By: Brian DeLuca                                                                      1/10/2018

In an official statement released earlier today, it has been confirmed that the Oaktopia music festival will return to Denton in 2018 under new owner Cesar Millan.

Millan, best known for his Emmy-nominated television series The Dog Whisperer, purchased the majority share of the local festival at the end of 2017 in an effort to pay off mounting debts accrued by Oaktopia’s previous owners.

According to Millan’s official Twitter page, he plans on making the festival a “dog only” affair, citing the rise in human crime at such large gatherings. Owners will be allowed to drop off their pet and wait outside the gates while their pups enjoy the dog festival’s many features, including gourmet dog-food trucks, a state-of-the-art belly scratching machine, and an obligatory performance by Jessie Frye.

The festival is said to be the first of its kind in North America, however Sweden’s Vallhund festival is considered by most to be an early predecessor.

Property Values Increase Dramatically with Planned Development of “Little People” Community in South Denton

By: “Fast” Eddie Farmer

As the development of the Tiny Acres Midget Community broke ground last Fall, it wasn’t readily apparent what economic effect the planned community for primordial dwarves and little people would have on the local economy.

“We were afraid at first,” said City Councilman Kevin Roden. “The little bastards are known to burrow, so we initially were terrified that their incessant digging would lead to foundation issues for certain homes. But, honestly, the price of Hawaiian Punch has tripled (little people are known to covet the famous fruity drink) and with so many gawkers trying to get houses near the midgets, even home values in the South part of Denton have increased drastically. Who knew all you needed was a pan flute? The second you start playing, them little fellers’ go into some kind of trance and start baking. It’s the damndest thing.”

Many in Denton don’t share Councilman Roden’s enthusiasm. Ferrell midget attacks have accounted for the vast majority of dwarf-related fatalities on humans in 2016, and it is expected to increase this year as recent conservation programs have led to a greater population.

All that is known is that very soon, the midgets will be coming for you.



The Labb to Close and be Replaced by Foot Locker

By: Brian DeLuco

It was announced late Tuesday evening that local sports bar the Labb with be closing in early June 2017 and will be replaced by a Foot Locker franchised storefront. The news comes as a shock to many patrons of the local tavern who have begun congregating on Oak St for a memorial chicken wing vigil.

Details of the corporate takeover are vague, but it is believed to be part of the same Scientology conspiracy that brought Jason Lee and his investor Sparky Pearson to Denton.


Body Found on Patio Deck at Eastside Denton

By: Matilda Shreves                                                                                     May 2, 2017

The body of a man was found early this morning on the patio deck of the local Eastside Denton tavern. Police have yet to release a name, but the corpse is believed to belong to a man still waiting on his girlfriend to come back from the bathroom.

“At first, we didn’t think much of it.” said owner John Williams. “Dudes sometimes have to wait a long time for girls to come back from the bathroom. Especially if there’s make-up involved, plus they bump into friends and end up getting shots. I’ve even heard of girls pooping sometimes and that can take a while if they just ate something from one of these food trucks. This guy must have just started waiting and died from exposure.”

A memorial fund is being raised to cover the body’s outstanding bar tab.


Denton City Council Candidate John Ryan Kicks Puppy

By: Barney LaChance                                                                          4/25/2017

As the local Denton elections draw near, news has surfaced of a video recorded several years ago depicting Denton City Council Place 4 candidate John Ryan kicking a puppy in his back yard. While it is not known whether Mr. Ryan will face any criminal charges, this seems to be good news for his opponent Amanda Servis who has a long history of not kicking puppies and whose service to the community knows no bounds.


Warning: The Video Is Graphic


Bernie Sanders Claims Jessie Frye is Why He Lost 2016 Nomination

By: Kyle Greene                                                                                            April 19, 2017

In a recent statement released on his personal twitter account, former presidential candidate Bernie Sanders claims an endorsement by Denton “artist” Jessie Frye cost him the 2016 Democratic presidential nomination.


The charge seems a bit strange, considering both the facts that Bernie Sander was trailing Hillary Clinton nearly the entire nomination process and that Jessie Frye was utterly clueless that she was even endorsing a political candidate of any type.

When asked to comment on this story, Frye replied “Thank you for your interest in my music” followed by nearly 34,000 smiley face emojis.




Fine Arts Building to Become Ice Cream Shop for Cats

By: Larry Zerner                                                                           April 19, 2017


Multi-Millionaire developer and LSA Burger owner Sparky Pearson has pledged to rebrand the historic downtown Denton Fine Arts Building into Freezy Kitties, an ice cream shop for cats. The shop is said to be the first of its kind in the city of Denton.

“I do it for the pussy,” Pearson stated in a recent interview. “I already own every major business on the square geared towards human customers. Now I’d like to take a crack at getting some feline customers.” This bold strategy is sure to be a hit among the hipster elite.

The shop will feature flavors like “Rocky Rodent” and “Mississippi Mouse” along with a horde of hilariously titled fish, bird, and small mammal flavors. Famous cat food chef and television personality Rachel Ray is also said to be an investor in the venture.


The project is said to begin early this Summer and be completed by mid-June.


Denton Arts and Jazz Fest Bans Turkey Legs

By: Brian DeLuca                                                                         April 19, 2017


Officials announced late Tuesday evening that the Denton Arts and Jazz Festival will no longer be allowing the sale or consumption of fried turkey legs beginning with the 2017 festival. The new change in policy stems from a lawsuit filed by the Chick-Fil-A Corporation, a major financial contributor to the festival, who claims the celebrated fare will be unfair and direct competition with their own brand of chicken sandwiches.

“We won,” said City Councilman Kevin Roden. “Those turkey legs have been a nuisance for years, and it seems only fitting that a good Christian corporation should be the one to take them down! Bwahahahahaha!”

While it isn’t likely his enthusiasm will be shared, what is known is that only a turkey would be happy about something like that.


Dusty’s Bar Forces New Employees to Submit to Experimental Medical Tests

By: Jesse Farquar

It was leaked via facebook over this last weekend that Dusty’s Bar in Denton requires new hires to sign waivers that allow tavern owners to conduct scientific experiments and perform organ harvesting procedures on employees. In addition, the cost of the medical experiments will be taken out of the employee’s paycheck.

Also, Masters of the Mic is happening soon, but not at Dusty’s because of the medical experiments…