Connecticut: The Blunder Years (Part 2) – Rumblepig!

rumblepig setlist

Connecticut: The Blunder Years (Part 2) – Rumblepig!

Catholic school was a great place to meet other like-minded fuck-ups. When I was 13. I was walking home from school, with my best friend Crabtree talking about metal. Crabtree decided he would get a drum set; I would buy a guitar, and we’d start a band. We completed it with our buddy Crowface on bass and vocals. Crowface also didn't know how to play an instrument or sing, but that didn't stop us. We called ourselves Rumble Pig. We loved Carnivore, S.O.D., Metallica, Slayer, Anthrax and had some punk thrown in the mix.

We practiced in Crabtree's parent's basement and then would get high in the dugout at the baseball field across the street. Crowface and I wrote our first song “Nuclear Death” in his parent's basement. The riff I wrote was a total rip on the intro of “Jesus Saves” by Slayer. Crow face wrote the words: “Let's go blow up Russia, Let's go blow up Iran, I don't care where it is, As long as it's foreign land!” We were super politically correct as you can see!

Uncasville was BORING! The Mohegan Sun Casino is there now, prior to that it was nothing but a cow town. For excitement, we hung out at the gas station, smoked pot, and drank beer if we could get our older friends to buy it. But, our primary form of entertainment was making up nicknames for EVERYBODY. I was “Mushroom Head”, there was “AntMan”, “Snakeman”, “Iceman”,  and there was Crabtree’s Dad “Fred” and we called his mom “The Color Green” even though I'm not sure why. I'm sure there are 1000 more I can't remember, feel free to add them in the comments if you were there at the time.


Yeah, it was that boring, so the band was a fun diversion.


We all played together from the time we were 13 to 17. Are songs were straight-up thrash metal, offensive, politically incorrect and sometimes racist (thanks S.O.D.). We had songs like “Mexicans” (“Mexicans, fire-breathing, Breath stinking, Mexicans”), “Revenge Of The Towelheads” (inspired by author of “The Satanic Verses” Solomon Rushdie, who was having his Islamic problems at the time) and “Prostitutional Massacre” whose punch-line was “God dammit, I’ve got aids!!”

That was in 1987.  “Too soon” wasn’t in our vocabulary.

We recorded one 6-song demo tape with a four-track my parents bought me for Christmas. I wish I still have a copy. I'm amazed, even to this day some of my friends can remember the songs.

We've played our first show at a VFW hall that was converted for a day or two a month into a punk club called the Populace Pudding. GG Allin was working as a porter cleaning up the bathrooms at the time. He was recently released from prison and in Connecticut. We didn't listen to him, but we were well aware of who he was. I had a girlfriend who hated our band. She stayed out by the truck while we played, and when I got off stage, she said that the sweet “Jesus looking” guy had been talking to her while we rocked the house. I told her it was GG Allin; she didn't know who that was. I took her to the front of the club where he was selling homemade posters of himself fucking dead cats.


The swell chap I must say.


I had a few other close friends. One was Gordon Conrad, who I'd known since we were two because our families were friends. Over 20 years later Gordon became a big shot for a Relapse Records. I remember he had this girlfriend nicknamed “Munky” for a few months and then they broke up. Years later, Crabtree wound up banging Munky. Gordon still won’t talk to me and wouldn't even listen to a Dick Delicious and the Tasty Testicles demo, because he knew I was Crabtree's best friend.

Talk about holding a grudge!

There wasn't a lot of places to play locally, especially when you were underage, Rumble Pig's coup d'état came during our high school graduation party. We were all bound for college. So we were kind of sure we would never play again. They had this cheesy cover band playing Rick Springfield song, and we went on stage and did a guerilla gig.

I think a lot of the kids in school knew that we were all in a band, but they didn't know how good we were, so the crowd went crazy. The cover band had a hard time getting back onstage after that.

They had just felt the wrath of the pig!

I recorded this a few years ago, just for posterity on my home studio and to demonstrate how the world is changed little since Salman Rushdie.  I play every instrument on the track and made the video.

It's not like I make money writing this. Donations are always appreciated! 🙂

jason quinlan paypalNow, I'm going to have to think about what I'm going to publish next, there is still a lot to choose from!


The Decline Part 2: Atlanta

First off, let me say, I am not some greedy motherfucker. In 2002 I was living in Atlanta in a $700/mo rat-hole apartment making $700,000 a year as an affiliate and happy as a clam. Moving to California to be part of some “big affiliate program” was a pay cut for me and an all-around disaster.

The Decline Part 2: Atlanta


Suffice it to say the people I chose to get in business with are worthless, talentless, dishonest, lazy pieces of shit who if they died today; I'd gladly piss on their graves tomorrow. Yes, that includes John “JC” Baumgartner, you are the biggest scammer I've ever met. Morgan Mcnerny, an actual case study that a steady diet of weed and pills causes severe brain damage. Morgan could be replaced by a $50/mo Filipino outsourcer, and nobody would know the difference. Sandra McCarthy, you look like a cross between a Motley Crue groupie and the siege at Waco, plus you run an illegal escort agency. Nick Melillo, don't forget, you were the one who asked me to save your failing program, and I succeeded. You and Sandra should look up the definition of the word “perjury” in the dictionary because you both did a lot of lying on the stand the five times I had to face you In court. I won both cases BTW. In case you are wondering, Sandra and Nick, filed a restraining order because I dropped a cocktail napkin folded like a paper airplane on my shoes. Chris Klimasz, I'm not sure what you do, but I hope you're happy with the outcome of the contract your partners forged your signature on.

A map of the US showing the drive from Los Angeles to Atlanta

Oh yeah, and there's “Kenny“. The guy who “brought me out” for a fraction of what the shares of my business were worth. I can't be that mad. I don't know you, so you are just some dumbass who fucked some strangers girlfriend, got her pregnant, and got stuck with her.

How is that working out?

These statistics are publicly available at I remember when I was pushing 250k a day through this site. What happened?

filthfreaks-traffic-after-xxxjayAn excellent graph on this one! I'm so happy you found someone who can market to your crowd better than I can! LOLpornstar-platinum-after-xxxjay

I was forced from a partnership that generated millions of dollars (primarily from my contributions) because I was”too crazy” for porn. In truth, they thought they could do better with this “Kenny” joke. Just how do you get too crazy for porn anyway? That's like getting kicked out of Cypress Hill for smoking too much weed. You knew who I was before your decision to get in business with me. I was the same person for a whole decade and all of those millions of dollars we cut up. What you see is what you get! Now, all of a sudden I'm a problem? Add to that; I worked my ass off, while you tried to start side-project after side-project leaving me with the bulk of the work.

In this blog, I will spare the gory details. I have barely scratched the surface of their deceit. I messed up by being too trusting and not standing up for myself when I should have! I already know what you're thinking, this is idiotic you could get sued for this. Sue me, go ahead have at it. Before you do that, remembered you were the ones who salted my name to everyone in the industry for months. Then you made me sign papers to keep my mouth shut. Plus, I am getting sick of explaining the bullshit that went down in LA over the last 13 years.

The point is, I don't give a fuck. I left a lot of the juicy details out of this blog. If I were you, I would just take your lumps and leave me alone. I held a lot back on this post. If you want to fuck with me, I've got some GREAT dirt to spill and proof to back it up!

My only goal is to remind you that there is an actual human being, WHO USED TO BE YOUR FRIEND, who lost everything he's worked his whole life for you to succeed. YOUR GREED left me in a worse place than I've ever been in my life. I'm not a saint, and I'm not saying I didn't bring some of this on myself. But with that even being said, all of you motherfuckers we're doing the same exact things I was — in fact WORSE!


Fucking hypocrites!


I like to believe that karma exists, but it must be overbooked worse than the airlines. In any event, I hope by the time it catches up to you; it removes your reproductive organs so that your sub-human species can no longer pollute the human race with your lack of moral turpitude.

If anyone would care to contribute, I don't make Donald Trump money writing this blog.

jason quinlan paypalDonations are appreciated 🙂

Thank you for letting me vent,

VOTE HERE: Who Will Be the Next President?

Hillary Clinton, Donald Trump, John Kasich, Bernie Sanders or Ted Cruz who do you think will win? – I thought this was cool, so I did it for a goof. If you are logged into YouTube you can actually vote! That's right, even if you're convicted felon: You can actually vote!


VOTE HERE: Who Will Be the Next President?

All of the interactive voting magic has been brought to you via the highly underused and very cool Google cards.

If you missed the last major update, you can find my awesome touring story from 1995 with my buddies Super X-13 right here.

Look for another major update of Don't Tell Me How to Ruin My Life by the end of the weekend.

Alright, I've got to get back to writing,


The Springer Incident


Don't Tell Me How To Ruin The Springers Show

In 1998, while I was out on bond from the Treutlen County debacle, it was the height of Springer-mania. Drummer #11 of Dick Delicious (Rick aka “Hardon Long”) helped book Jerry Springer guests on the side. When he played his first show with the band, we had never even met him in person. He was our booking agent. After the previous drummer quit, he said he knew the material good enough to play it, we took him at his word, he met us at a club in North Carolina and did a solid job considering we didn't have one rehearsal.

After a while, Rick moved from Raleigh to Atlanta, and made the suggestion “Jay, you are a ham – you should go on the Springer Show.” I said, “Sure.” Truth told I'm not a Jerry Springer fan. I just thought it would be a funny story to tell later and guess what? You're reading this blog.

You Better Fax Somebody!

Jerry Springer's people called and asked if I wanted to be a jealous boyfriend of a girl posing for Playboy. Since I had already been in the porn industry for a while, I explained I was the wrong guy, but if they wanted a pimp, a drug dealer, or any other kind of scumbag — I was their man. They asked me to send a headshot, so I faxed one (yes, I said “fax”) and they agreed I was indeed a despicable curmudgeon and booked me immediately.

10 minutes later, after an extensive plot writing session, Jerry's producers called me with a new show premise and asked if I wanted to be a pimp who will not let his hoes out of servitude “come rain, sleet, or snow” unless they coughed up the cash they owed. This role, I happily accepted. A few weeks later, I’m in a Motel 6 in downtown Chicago preparing to film the show with my friend Scott from the Spo-its, who agreed to play the part of the jealous boyfriend. Everyone else was people we didn’t know who were other characters in the episode.

Are The Jerry Sringer Fights Real? Questions Are Answered

These were the years when Jerry was still showing all of the fights. Scott and I agreed that we would try to kick each other’s asses because we knew neither one of us would get many swings in before security stormed us. The show taped on Monday, and we were in Chicago from Thursday till then rehearsing for a few short hours per day in the hotel room with a producer. In truth, myself and the ensemble spent most of that time in Wicker Park getting hammered at hipster bars.

When Monday came around, we had to be at the studio at 9 AM. The previous night, we all drank until 5 AM and hadn’t slept. I think I had sex with one of the strippers who was one of my “prostitutes.” 7 AM the head producer shows up and the entire cast was still drunk. I recognized the producer as “Bud Green“, who was a fake marijuana advocate who's big schtick was smoking joints on talk shows and getting thrown off set.

He asked me, “Where Is Your Suit?”

I told him, “I don't have one. I thought you guys did.”

I didn't bring any decent clothes, so they rushed me to and bought me an Armani suit. The suit was supposed to be custom tailored, but in the green room, they managed to make it fit me via scotch tape, thumbtacks, and bobby pins.

jerry spinger with jason quinlan

Despite the disorganization, I looked pretty legit.

In the green room, reality kicked in: I’m not an actor, I’m not a pimp. What the fuck am I doing here? Here I am, 10 minutes away from going on the biggest show on daytime television and I knew I was a total sham.

To say the least, I was nervous.

As the show began, I sat backstage and watched from the monitor as “my prostitute” explained her tribulations to Jerry. A thunderous “boo” resounded from the audience. In real life Jerry recently lost his bid to be Governor because he was busted with hookers, in part for trying to pay one with a personal check. I asked if I could bring this up and was warned not even to try.

When Jerry was interviewing her, she started crying: She was great! After watching, I felt slightly emboldened. I was still quite anxious, but I went out and acted like the biggest bastard I could. When I saw the horrified reaction from the audience, I fed off of it, and this pushed me to be an even greater slimeball. Scott came out in the next segment, we exchanged a few blows, talked about slapping hoes, insulted the entire restaurant industry, and Scott expressed his displeasure about his girlfriend coming home “smelling like an open can of cat food,” just before proposing. The show culminated with my epic Shakespearean-like improvised monolog about “how pimping ain’t easy”.

The Episode Was The Highest Rated Spriger Episode Ever, Surpassing Opera

The show aired on Friday the 13th 1998. When the ratings hit the following Monday, it was the first time Jerry had ever surpassed Oprah. Springer was now the #1 talk show on television. By Monday afternoon, I was getting calls to come back and film a follow-up. Two weeks later, Scott and I were back in Chicago playing the same parts.

On the second show, I had to be escorted through the back entrance because there was a huge line of people around the Studio. The producers explained, “We got a lot of mail based on your appearance. 50% of it was from outraged viewers that want to kill you, and the other half was from girls that want your number.”

I found this quite amusing.

The second Springer appearance was good, but the cast wasn't as strong as the first. I took a few good shots in the jaw that day, but nothing I couldn't handle. Even though I didn't feel it was as solid as the first episode, it still exploded in the ratings. Before I even left Chicago, they were making arrangements for a third appearance.

After filming, they shuffled us to the airport within ten minutes after wrapping. I remember one of the strippers was on the same flight as me, still dressed in her outfit from the show and we recognized Senator Paul Simon at our gate. She ran up and hung on him long enough so people could snap a bunch of pictures. To this day, I'm surprised they never surfaced.

While the third show was coming together, the producers cut out Rick and started calling me to recruit guests. In the next few months, half of my scumbag Atlanta friends had been on the show. Meanwhile, I was getting stalked 24/7 by news media from New York and undercover reporters trying to be the first to break the “Jerry Springer is fake story”. It was surreal. I had producers from various networks showing up at Dick Delicious shows trying to say they would feature the band if I would talk about the episode. Another time, the cheesy “undercover reporter” with the camera clearly hidden in his bowtie was waiting for me in my parking lot. I told him there's no way I'm going to talk to the guy whose claim to fame as he caught people pissing in coffee makers. I never went on record to them regarding the show, my Italian side would never allow me to “snitch”, plus I'd signed a contract with the Jerry Springer show holding me responsible for 40k production costs if “my story was not authentic”, which I found ironic.

Jerry Spring Is Fake,And There Is No Easter Bunny

Two weeks later, 20/20 broke the big story with another group of “fake” Springer guests. In a statement from the show, Bud Green became the “one rogue producer” and was fired. Everyone on the Springer staff, including Jerry, knew it was bogus! On the second show, in lieu of purchasing a second Armani suit, they lent me one of Jerry's! The guy was looking at me wearing his own clothes for Christ sake!

When I returned to Georgia, I was a low-rent George Clooney for two weeks. The day the show aired some of the guys from the band and I made the cultural misstep of going to a monster truck pull. The entire audience recognized me, and I remember wrapping a towel around my head, so I looked more like the Taliban and drew less attention. I got into a scuffle on the Marta train with a redneck who is trying to look tough for his girlfriend. I ended it by stepping outside of the train, waiting for the door to close, and hitting him with a solid right to the jaw, then then giving him the middle finger the train pulled away.

About a year later “The Best of Jerry Springer DVD” came out and I was the first scene on it.

There were my 15 minutes of fame.

Or so I thought.


This Blog Has No Content

This Blog Has No Content

This is my favorite trick I like to do with combining Beyond blue dream weed, some budder, and nitrous oxide. The following euphoria will be the best ever for about five seconds. If they could make a drug that lasts 20 minutes feeling like this…on second thought, they had better not or these blog posts would end here.

Hopefully my last two posts weren't that depressing.

I am working on the final edits of “The Jerry Springer Incident” I hope to have that to you guys by the end of the weekend.

In the meantime, happy Friday and yes that is a very poor David Chapelle impersonation.