Gibby Haynes Pantomimes Giving Head

Getting the pleasure of meeting some of your heroes in the celebrity world can be a mixed bag; sometimes it was all that you imagined and other times it wasn't. I have had the pleasure of meeting a few celebrities, mostly by chance, and the underlying hope has always been that whatever they have inside that makes them so special will rub off on me. Now what you don't want is to meet a celebrity past their prime and what they want to rub off on you can't be discussed in mixed company! That was not the case here, but I though that sounded like good lead in.

I had the distinct honor of meeting Gibby Haynes-singer for the Butthole Surfers-at a club in San Diego called the Casbah about a year and half ago and it was very cool, puzzling, yet cool. The thing is, when you are famous everyone wants a piece of you and it helps to develop a sixth sense that warns you of approaching fans that want autographs, handshakes, home phone numbers ect. and after having so many people do this I assume for the sake of the celeb that the thrilll is long gone.

Gibby was playing with his new band 'His Problem' and they were doing the tour old school, traveling in a van across country. I was lurking outside of the club hours before the show-around soundcheck time-hoping to catch a glimpse, maybe say a few words to the ex-Butthole, maybe get him to chat for a few minutes or whatever. Well, obviously I hadn't done my homework because Gibby walked by me, making an ugly face and some sort of noise I don't have any idea how to put into words. He was carrying a piece of gear and was skinnier then I had ever seen him.

"Hey dude! That was Gibby!" I said to my friend, who thought this whole charade was nonsense, not being the biggest fan-if even-of the group or the singer.

"No that wasn't" He replied, because before the show we had watched some Butthole videos and Gibby had his trademark long black hair, chin beard and mustache and was a little on the chubby side, well, he had a considerable gut anyway. The guy that just walked past us was whip-thin, clean shaven, short haired and was wearing Buddy Holly glasses. After a few minutes I was convinced I must have made a mistake; my friend was right, there was no way that could have been the illustrious Mr. Haynes. Still, I didn't want to leave my post outside the club by the van, I wanted to make sure. Soon another dude walked by and since I didn't recognize him it was easy enough to tap him on the arm and ask him a question.

"Hey man, are you in one of the bands?" I said.

"I'm in Gibby's band." He said shortly, but not too unkindly.

"Is that Gibby over there?" I asked, pointing at the van. Gibby wasn't actually in sight, I was just hoping to get some kind of confirmation.

"Uh, no that's our van."

"But is he inside?"

"I don't know..." The guy was looking at me strangely and I was starting to feel like a stalker so I let it go.

"Yeah, uh, whatever...take it easy dude."

He rolled his eyes and walked away. I would have done the same had I been him. This job of being a fan and wanting to meet a celebrity kinda sucked!

We waited there for a long time-okay, about twenty minutes-and then gave up and went into the club, had a few drinks. We discussed if it had been Gibby or not and I was in turmoil over whether or not it was. I couldn't decide.

Long story short: the opening band sucked mule cock, I mean, as a musician my ears were just plain insulted. It was nothing I wanted to waste my hearing on. We went back outside. About thirty minutes before His Problem was to take the stage I was back at my post, waiting for Gibby to leave the van. The rest of the group knew what was up and they were running defense for him. At once somebody yelled: "There's Gibby!" And pointed toward the van. While my head was turned the other way he ducked into the club, this I caught out of the corner of my eye and instantly felt duped and then sorta creepy. What the hell did they think I wanted, a date? I just wanted to say hello but for some reason I was on their radar as a sycophant or something. Maybe it's my looks, something about my round head or sunken eyes, I dont know, but I had the man RUNNING from me! Damn! To what did I deserve that honor? Crushed, I decided to give it up. No one else at the club was clamoring to say anything to him so why should I? It wasn't like it was Johnny Depp or somebody of that ilk but damnit, he was still one of the persons on my list that I wanted to meet and I was going to at least shake his hand! My buddy has eagle eyes and he spotted him by the t-shirt stand, alone, drinking a beer. He was surrounded by people but no one was talking to him. F*ck it, I thought, I'm going over there.

I approached slowly, sidling up like I belonged there and casually stepped into his line of vision. I had to think of a great opening line, nothing like: "Dude you rock!" but something vaguely intelligent. Grasping at straws I cleared my throat and said:

"Hey dude, you were great in the movie 'Dead Man'!" For those of you not in the know, "Dead Man' is an indie cinema gem that starred Depp when he was box office poison. Lance Henrikson is in it, amongst a number of various 'A' list actors-names escape me-but the guy who played the octopus villian in Spider man was there, as well as Gary Farmer, Robert Mitchem, Iggy Pop, Billy Bob Thornton, Crispin Glover and Gabriel Byrne...a veritable who's who of entertainment! Gibby was in it for about ten seconds as a cowboy-a rather depraved cowboy-getting a blow job by a woman he has at gunpoint. Depp walks by and Gibby looks up, snarls and aims his gun as the former gasps and beats a hasty retreat.

Gibby looked at me and offered a hint of a smile.

"Oh, you liked that, huh?" He said, placing his hand out before him on an invisible woman's head and emulated recieving oral sex, grinding his hips as he did so. It was quite the sight.

"Yeah man, it was totally awesome!" I replied, smiling wide.

Gibby turned sideways so that I was looking at him in profile while he looked at the wall across from him, taking a drink from a bottle of Heinekin.

"Whats your name man?" He asked, voice soft, almost obligatorily.

"Um, ***** ******." I said.

He reached out and shook my hand, his enormous paw enveloping mine and it was at that moment that I got the chills.

"It's nice to meet you *****." He said and took another long pull on his beer.

"It's nice to meet you too!" I said exuberantly and then his hand retreated and he turned away, resuming his vigil at the wall. After a moment I realized that I had been dismissed and it was time to leave. I nodded once more at him and beat it, but man did I feel good! It was like I met royalty or something and, in a way, I had. I had been an enormous fan of the Butthole's since the mid-80's and here it was that I finally met the freakin' singer! Like, totally far-out!

He and the band went on to play an inspired set and I stayed until the end but decided not to bother him again, not wanting to ruin it. As it was I was leaving with my dignity, which a lot of fans can't boast after meeting or trying to meet a celebrity that doesn't want to be met. I could check Gibby's name off of my list.

As it was I had already met and had actual conversations with the ex-bassist of the band, one Mr. Jeffry Pinkus, an awesome musician and southern fried gentelman-sorry, but it's true!-when I roadied for he and his band 'Honky' at a SXSW music conference in Austin Texas and whom I had the pleasure of running into again when he and the aforementioned band came to San Diego and played at the Casbah as well, but that, my friends, is another story all together.