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A collection of 9th St. Stories 2/15/2008 Thanks to Travis Kincaid for the Halloween 2007 pic's. Thanks to www.SandyCarson.com for the first and last pic's on this page. Look at photographs, then read bullshit.
The things I have seen at the trails are endless. I have seen some of the kookiest shit of my life on 9th Street. I laugh about this every time I think of it.>>>>>>>>>> So the other day, like any day, a couple of us were sitting on the sidewalk talking about whatever, and this guy out of nowhere walks up in his fucking underwear. Note; all he had on were shoes and underwear. The moment I see this guy I start laughing, just couldn't control it. So when he finally says something, out of all the things he could have said, he goes, in this really slippery voice "Have any of y’all seen a soccer ball around here". Again, continuous laughing, wasn't stopping. Byron looks over at the guy all non-chellaunt and is like "No man"........... Then the guy thinks to himself for a second and comes up with; "I'm dressed like this because we just had a whip cream fight across the street". He thinks to himself for a couple more seconds on top of the laughing and takes off..............How random is that? If you are ever bored senseless, go to the trails and sit there for an hour. I'm sure something out of nowhere will happen>>>P DOG 9th ST. LOCAL'S REVIEW: Austin Police Department Central Booking Facility 1100 Nueces St., Austin, TX
Contributed by Staff Writer T.C. Rocker OUR RATINGS: Lodgings: **** 1/2 Dining: **** Service: *** 1/2 Ambiance: ***** Overall rating: 4 out of 5 stars "Gracious hospitality--the service was unparalleled, par excellence!" --TCR Upon arrival at the Central Booking Facility in Austin, lovingly referred to by locals as "the fuckin' drunk tank," guests are immediately immersed in the rich, luxurious detainment and penal confinement experience that only the world's elite can afford to dream of. Your hosts at Central Booking will waste no time in making you feel welcome and truly at home in their spacious, warm, and inviting facility. Not yet three steps inside the door, this reporter was warmly greeted by the receiving clerk, Officer Dick, truly a man among men in the Criminal Justice Customer Service industry. Officer Dick not only courteously checked my coat, but went the extra mile, forcibly removing all articles of clothing and jewelry, taking the extra time to manually check this reporter for dangerous items that might have inadvertently become lodged between my nuts. This level of service is a vanishing breed; we salute you, Officer Dick. Moving along to Printing and Photography, our expectations were again exceeded by the photo technician, Officer Jane Dykes-Kundt. Officer Dykes-Kundt handled her job beautifully; although the nascent aroma of a pork chop sandwich with onions hanging around her collar could possibly be something of a put-off those clients of truly effite breeding. Hence, the 3-1/2 star rating. The decor was breathtaking. An off white hue of paint graced the industrial brick walls, and the Maitre D' informed me that this particular shade is called "Milk Of Magnesia in a Tanning Booth." And while some folks may say that Martha Stewart's stock value is down because of insider trading scandals, I think the true explanation is that she doesn't have the taste to hire the interior decorator that did such a stunning job on Central Booking! Hint hint, Martha! Chairs were a neutral Panzer Blue shade of Nerf which matches any outfit, even the neon green Adidas sweatpants and a "Fuck Whitey" t-shirt sported by one of the guests enjoying his repast. But the coup d'etat was the food. Lobster aux-cravates in a Mornay sauce garnished with truffles and French brandy are the trademark specialty dish of this esteemed establishment; but to our dismay, there was a lobster shortage that week. Grade B homogenized milk in a paper carton provided an excellent substitute, complemented perfectly by a whole orange, aged, warmed, and tenderized to exquisite perfection. It was a fond farewell indeed that I bid to Central Booking, but as sure as the herons return to the Rhone river in the spring, so shall this reporter make a return excursion to this fabulous resort, with all due haste. 08/14/2002
Every time, every single time, without exception, every time I have EVER gone to 9th, something that crazy has happened. It never fails. Just a few off the top of my head: from J. Crow
Muddy Porno Shoot
GZ and I are digging in the back on a muddy, rainy day. You know the days when “It’s too wet to dig” (bullshit excuse). We see this guy and girl riding by on the sidewalk. They start to ride into the jumps and realize it’s really muddy. They put there bikes down and start to walk into the woods near Leftline/Slacker. Halfway over, they take notice of us. At this point we realize the girl is hot and dressed slutty. We keep digging. They walk back to where we are and we see this girl is very, very hot. The guy busts out a fancy camera and starts taking cutesy pics of her posing around the woods and jumps. We stop digging and start watching, smiling, letting her know we approve. At some point she begins to crawl up this Pecan tree that is leaning over. She has on a short plaid skirt (ala catholic schoolgirl), stockings, etc… She’s not getting up the tree gracefully, kind of inching her way up. It looked painful but we kept on smiling, encouraging her to do whatever it was she wanted. She gets positioned in the tree and out come the titties! Nice big titties, she’s squeezing them, showing off for the camera. GZ and I are amazed. Then she pulls up the skirt, pulls the panties to the side, smiling and posing just like in HUSTLER. We’re floored, just loving it. After a while, she gets down and goes over to the building-(Richard’s house). She goes through the posing again standing against the wall. We’ve followed them over there to keep watching and she was loving the attention. Little Digger Ed and some old fat maintenance man came up during the final stages of the shoot. The extra akward attention ended the shoot early. Needless to say this was my best day of digging ever. A true story witnessed and drawn to lifelike realism by Big Steve...
Doug E Fresh crushing the RC car It was a nice summer day (circa 1999-2000?) and we were having a good dust session, lots of locals, trails dialed. A car pulls up on the sidewalk and 2 middle aged guys get out with RC cars. They take their time getting the cars ready with gas and such. Then they fire the loud obnoxious little beasts up and began to buzz around the jumps. We went over to ask them nicely to not run these RC cars in the park and gave several valid reasons.
One of the guys had a foreign; maybe German accent, and odd attire (deck shoes, shorts, goofy glasses, etc) They told us they would do what they wanted. Bad idea, Doug E tells the guy to go across the street or his car will get run over. The guy/car actually drives further into the jumps and gets closer to the lines/riders. Doug E gets nearer and nearer the car. At some point, the car passes Doug E’s path and he bunnyhops on the car, crushing it to pieces. The guy flips out, starts screaming, runs over to pick the car up and cradle it like a wounded baby. Then he starts screaming that he “Wants to talk to Doug E”. All this yelling in a hilarious accent. Locals laughing aloud, the guy having been given prior warning. The guy attempts to chase Doug E down on foot, deck shoes slapping the sidewalk. Double AA Doug E evades without effort and begins verbally taunting the extremely upset RC owner. This guy realizes he can’t catch Doug E and announces he’s calling the cops. The cops actually showed up to talk to him. Popo 5.0 told him he was fucked and he couldn’t do anything about it. On top of that, he couldn’t drive RC cars here, as we had mentioned earlier. They exited to the sounds of laughter, never to return. A clip of this action can be seen at the end of one of the last TREND videos… “It’s Raining Bums!”
Zach and I had finished extreme makeover 3.0 of the bamboo tree house. This was treehouse #2 in 9th St.’s history. It was located by Schoal creek, above the bamboo forest, close to Old Man Pierce’s treehouse #1. Treehouse #1 was ironically enough struck by lighting and burned down.
With the gaining popularity of the treehouse, GZ and I had installed back rests, storage areas, camo, beer pulleys and bong facilities. The locals loved it, heckling was taken to a new level about 14 feet off the ground. During one tree party R-Dog Castillo started a tree wrestling match which almost got out of hand. All was well until the bums found out. They came in like a plague in the night, invading the sanctity of a local’s only spot. They brought litter and feces, urine and stench, flies and fleas. Yes, fleas and pee in the treehouse! Eviction was imminent. GZ and I had prior bum eviction experience and came down equipped with trash bags and such. We climbed up and cleaned out. Took all belongings in trash bags to the nearest dumpster. Caring not, that we were throwing away priceless bum belongings. We threw away items of value; cd players, clothes, books, etc. We did not keep the items of value, we are not thieves. Merely custodians of the trails, keepers of the jumps. Later that day, as the session was winding down, a beer run was made and the locals met in the treehouse to relax. I remember GZ, Noodles, Santana and a few other being upstairs when the bums arrived. The bum pack sat at the concrete bench while bum#1 approached the treehouse. "What's up?"; announces Bum #1 “US!”; Noodles replied. “We’re coming up to get our stuff”; slurred the bum. “There’s no stuff up here”; Noodles announced. “There better be!”; replied the bum. “Nope”; replied the locals… So bum #1 begins to climb to the tree, which was not an easy task even sober and in good shape.
Just as his bummily shaven head crested the floor of the treehouse he could see his stuff was not in the tree. At this moment he somehow lost his grip. His feet slip off the steps and he is left dangling by his hands clinging to a branch. We all watch in awe, amazed, emotionless. He is struggling, scrambling his thoughts, looking for a way up. Noodles stands up, and offers him a hand. The bum tries to grab his hand but has no strength. He snaps back to his original double hand hang and begins to lament. “This is it! I can’t hang on!” cries the bum. “Just climb up.” Santana encourages.
“I can’t do it, -----THIS IS IT!” screams the bum. Picture the bum dangling, realizing he must let go. He is scared, scared like he is about to fall off the Grand Canyon. Now picture the 6 foot tall bum hanging from a branch 12 feet off the ground. Maximum distance to fall, 6 feet. He fears are unfounded, yet he screams again “THIS IS IT!” and lets go. He hits the ground screaming and cussing. He twisted his ankle but is sure his leg is broken. He cries for help, but we tell him to “Walk it off”. Two other bums come from the bench to carry off their wounded. “Throw me my stuff”; he whines. “We told you there is nothing up here, you should have listened and you wouldn’t have got hurt”; states a salty local. The bums take him to the concrete bench and 20 minutes later an ambulance shows up and takes the bum to the hospital for a good nights rest on solid ground. A few years and floods later, Schoal Creek eroded the base of the Oak tree and the tree house fell down.
We gave it a proper burial at sea by tossing it into the raging flood waters to be carried down to the Gulf of Mexico. Random memories from Noodles.
Dirt basketball...
The bum passing out on a double roller! from P-DOG Keith made out and spooned with him. Joel filmed for his new porno..."Spooning with Bums". Since Keith couldn't wake him with his moves, Daveweiss.com proceeded to ramp off his arm repeatedly. Daveweiss.com was unsuccessful as well at waking the bum from his Steel Reserve nap. This is where I stepped in with the power dust skid to the face. Success! Having nothing but 9th st. dust entering his lungs he is forced to move and seek air. After the bum cursed me, he stumbled off mumbling...." I guess I was in a bad place." Bum Orgy
Little Nick and I were digging at Lone Star Line when a bum
crew-(3 bum men, 1 bum woman) walks by and shouts something at us. We weren’t
sure what they said but we didn’t care for the comments or the bums. Bums had
continually used Lone Star Line as a toilet even after several confrontations.
So Nick shouts something back, to the effect of “Whatever-go away”. We use to "tag" cars back in Oak Cliff. It pissed the Ice Cream Man off to the point of physical violence -(another great story). One night I was following Santana back to his house from 9th St. I decided to tag a CAP METRO bus with my left foot under the rear bumper. It worked great, I passed Santana at speed. At West Lynn and 6th St. I tried to let go of the bumper but my shoestrings had gotten hooked on something. I was scared to death. The bus pulled me all the way to the North Mopac entrance ramp before I unhooked myself. Random entertaining internet videos: Scuba
Cat
Kimbo's best backyard fight
82mph on a
bike, flat ground, pedal powered!
Pool filled with a
non-newtonian fluid
Thanks for visiting 9th Street! Now go Dig...
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When we first built Treehouse#2, it was built with parties
in mind. Intended to seat 10+ locals, which it did comfortably. We had tree
sessions with 15 people and 3 cases up there. Several of the locals had used the treehouse successfully as an “After 6th St- Pimp Pad”. Meaning that
when the bars closed down at 2am, you had a good line to give the honeys. A
unique spot, close to 6th St., with a bar that was open all night;
pre stocking was mandatory.
Bum #1 was the type of middle aged bum
who tries to stay clean and dressed in new clothes as to not look like a bum. On
his way up, he told us how he had just recently had to spend a few nights in our treehouse. That he was not a bum and used to be a cop or something. All
delusional bum lies I’m sure. 
