Chinatown. Six a.m. on a cool spring morning. Below a sweatshop slept the Beastie Boys in their rat-infested, stinky-ass world headquarters. Life was grand for everyone — everyone, that is, but one inquisitive Mike D. His forty winks were abruptly disturbed by a familiar yet warm, brown liquid, overflowing from the machines above. Ah yes, Mike D’s morning had truly broken. Spring was here, and what a lovely Chinese woman she was. The factory above was in full swing: machines pressed, hammers hammered, and the brown water spewed forth, only to find its resting place atop Mike D’s festive crown. Mike rose from his bed in a wet frenzy, cursing the Chinaman and his evil ways.
Boys Buzzbee, but the merchandising company wouldn’t do it for us.
“What about the sledgehammer?” MCA asked.
“Why of course,” Mike D continued, “the sledge-hammer, the detonator, the pile driver, the thermos, the paddle game, the Village People tape, the beer, and the remote control.”
Sean frowned. “What about the turntables, the mixer, the amplifiers, and the microphones, you bastards?!”
“Oh,” Ad-Rock marveled, “whose job was that?”
“I think it was mine,” MCA confessed.
Question: Who’s the most organized Beastie Boy?
Beasties: Mike D.
Question: Is that who makes the reservations at restaurants?
Beasties: We just show up, but we don’t always get seated. Like at this last restaurant we went to. We said, “We’ll have you know that we’re close personal friends of Clint Eastwood,” and Ad-Rock said, “And my cousin is friends with Ronald Reagan,” and they said, “Look, we don’t have a table.”
Ten minutes later, the Boys found themselves in an elevator with a one-thousand-pound limit and four thousand pounds of shit, plummeting downward. Needless to say, the elevator soon found its resting place below the basement — it had crashed.
“Where’s the sign?” Ad-Rock wondered.
“Which sign?” MCA asked.
“It can’t be, I weighed this equipment myself,” a confused Mike D admitted. MCA smiled, “Oh, that sign. I think it’s in the bathroom.”
“What are we playing here, Fool the Guesser?” Mike D said, losing his characteristic cool.
Question: How many floors did you fall?
Beasties: About three.
Question: Did you jump a moment before the elevator hit bottom?
Beasties: Mike actually suggested that as we were going down. We all thought about it a lot, then we looked at each other and laughed.
“You totalled the elevator!” Sean screamed. “You guys are getting evicted for sure, like the bastards you are.”
But for all the nostril flaring, none had flared to quite the size of Ad-Rock’s. “Now we’re never gonna get to my friend Ted Nugent’s house for dinner,” he cried.
“What?” the boys said in unison.
“Well, I didn’t want to tell you guys, but I arrange for mealtime at the home of the Motor City Madman himself.”
Question: How did you know Ted Nugent?
Beasties: He met us backstage at the Madonna concert in Detroit. There were all these celebrities on that tour all the time who came back to meet Madonna, and he came back to meet us. He was like an idol for all of us. Actually, Mike D hated him and Led Zep when he was growing up, but came to love and admire Ted.
Question: What did you have for dinner?
Beasties: Margaritas and paella.
Question: Did you ever invite him to your house for dinner?
Beasties: I guess we should do that. We never could get dinner together for anybody, so we never figured it was an option.