116 Days of Summer Guests: The Boleys

Our first story is based in Houston, TX after the last show of our 2017 tour through Colorado, Oklahoma, and New Mexico. A couple friends of ours came to see our show but their truck had broken down about 15 min away, so we came to pick them up in El Toro (our van). We get there, get back, play the gig and one of our friends was lookin a lil fucked up and kinda woozy but he says he’s cool to get in the PACKED van and ride back to their truck afterwards.

So, we’re a little ways into the trip and its pretty quiet, and then a stench started floating around. We then realize this dude has been silently puking all over the floor and everyone starts freakin’ out. We make it back to their truck (throw up guy ain’t driving, of course) and the vomit’s like Nickelodeon orange and is all over Em’s (our drummer’s) shoes. We thought it was pretty funny and I mean who hasn’t been there.

Our next story comes from none other than Austin, the greatest city in Texas. It’s 2015 and The Boleys are playing their first shows at Red Eyed Fly on. So we unload, do our deal, and we’re ready to play 30 minutes before we need to be. We decide to take a smoke break, so we retreat to the alleyway between Beerland and Red Eyed Fly (currently Sidewinder).

If you’ve had the pleasure of seeing and or smelling this alleyway; ya know its a pretty smelly one. Homeless folks go back to do their business, crack heads roam around talking to themselves, its a dark, dank place.

There we are ‘bokin a smoley, hangin, talkin, having a good ole time in the crack alley. Joe (our Bassist) takes the first steps to head back in and slips on something in his brand new shoes. IT WAS A BIG OLE HUMAN DOOKIE!! Oh, the perils of playing on Red River!

Our final story hits close to home for us. The setting: out on a country road around our hometown in Florence, TX. We were taking some pictures with one of our good friends and a great photographer Chelsea Marshall, we had just gotten done with some pictures of us being HARDCORE and breaking a TV. We hit it with baseball bats and put fake blood all over it, the works.

As we were putting it back into the trunk of our car; being green and all. Then tooting down the road, two fellas in a golfcart with a fuckin s-h-o-t-g-u-n roll up; “Get the fuck outta here” was his greeting to us on this fine afternoon. We replied by letting him know that we’re cleaning up our mess and that we’re taking some band pictures. “I dont give a fuck” he said n so we got outa there and they followed us allllll the way to the end of the road. We thought we were gonna die.