The Ultimate KLOWN Experience: A Journey Into The Heart Of Drunkness Part Two

For the beginning of this epic journey, please refer to Part One

It was when we came over the hill to the bus that I caught my first glimpse of some of the heavies with whom we'd be traveling. There was Evan Husney, director of Drafthouse Films, who had spent the last week or so toting the film's stars around the country on their "Tour de Pressy". The stars, Casper Christensen and Frank Hvam, were also in attendance, which was one of the major selling points for the tickets in the first place. The opportunity to canoe down the mighty Guadalupe with these supposed experts was certainly a big draw in my case. Last, but most certainly not least, was Alamo Drafthouse head honcho and legend among hardcore film fans, Tim League accompanied by his equally legendary better half, Karri.

Sure, the temptation to hobnob was almost overwhelming, but only because I was starting to get a good head of steam going. Normally I'm a terminal wallflower, however, my friendly hosts had managed to get me to open up a bit and as a result, I did my best to make friends. By the time we'd reached the buses most of the journalists, being local and friendly with one another, had already paired off into teams. Since I didn't know many of these folks, when I was offered a teammate, I gladly scooped him up, though when he produced a dagger from his pants (no pun intended, this was a literal dagger), and announced that he was ready and willing to take on "any Ned Beattys" we might see along the way, I began to shrink a bit.







(That's me on the far right)

Thankfully, once we got onto the bus, this particular budding psychopath found another friend, and I was off the hook for the time being, but this also left me partnerless. As the seemingly endless five mile drive to the launch point wore on, I started to get worried about finding someone with whom I could undertake this monstrous journey. Yes, even as a thirty two year old man, I still get nervous that no one will like me, Junior High, you've scarred me deeply. It actually wasn't until we hit the ground that another orphan like myself appeared, it was Don Simpson, a writer for Film School Rejects and Smells Like Screen Spirit. We became the dark horses, determined to conquer this demon of a river, safety be damned!

I've never canoed. Never wanted to. I'll be damned if I'm going to fail at anything, though, and so Don and I pressed forward, into the abyss. The bus driver warned us that the river might be "a bit low", resulting from the years of drought we've had in Texas that have drained most of the natural waterways and even water reserves across teh state, but she didn't prepare us for exactly how low it was. The mighty Guadalupe River was, in most places, little more than a trickle of lukewarm piss water. More often than not Don and I found our canoe's ass dragging on the bottom of the river, and on more than one occasion we had to get out of the fucking thing and push off like it was a skateboard. You'd think that this would make the whole experience less intimidating, however, my friend, you'd be wrong.

My main fear when undertaking this journey was dumping myself into the river. I've seen enough movies and late night TV to know that people in small boats get overturned all the time. Well, we got turned around all right, but not that way. Don and I managed to spin the fucking thing no less than four times. This meant that he and I would have to stand up (itself a danger), and turn around in the canoe without tipping it over. How we managed I'll never know, especially since for the great bulk of the journey this was all I saw: