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The Nine Lives of Every Time I Die

Normally when we’re just trying to buy Funyuns and Red Bull at any nondescript, Midwestern truck stop and someone older than the age of 50 asks what our band’s called, we make up a name like “the Dudes.” That’s because saying, “EVERY TIME I DIE” inevitably leads to a tilted head like a dog waiting by a door, then a look shot at the lady behind the counter, then, “Well? How many times?” then a wheeze and an uncomfortable glare deep into my eyes awaiting an answer. I respond with a nearly inaudible exhale from my nose and, “Good one,” as if I’ve never heard it before. Well, apparently AP is that old, salty gentleman because I’ve been asked to recall some near-death experiences that ETID have endured. Good one, guys. —Keith Buckley

1. Our old drummer, Mike Novak, almost made us cancel a show because he breathed in oven cleaner while working at Dunkin Donuts. Mike felt he was very near death and needed to go to the hospital.

2. After something like a 15-hour drive to Portland, Oregon, we were finally on the same street as the venue. As I made a left into the parking lot, a truck had pulled out of his lane in order to make a right- hand turn and T-boned us almost in half. The timing was impeccable and the driver was not only unlicensed and uninsured, but also drunk. Okay, I can’t be sure that they were drunk, but they sure were dirty. The accident was ruled as my fault but because it was in a different state than where I live; I claimed my constitutional right to skip court, left the state and ignored the fine to this day.

3. Our old drummer, Mike Novak, almost made us miss a show because he was experiencing pain is his “bikini zone.” Mike felt he was very near death and needed to go to the hospital. [Guitarist] Andy Williams told him that it was just “blue balls” and advised him to masturbate. Mike didn’t heed his advice but went to the hospital instead.

4. Once in 2006, while traveling west on I-80 in Wyoming on our way to Salt Lake City, Utah, our van hit a patch of black ice and flipped over the guardrail, rolling down into a ditch. I remember Andy having to kick out the back window so we could crawl out. I found my phone in the snow with a picture of my old lady and dog on it and realized how lucky we were. The van was completely shredded, but miraculously no one was hurt. We were forced, however, to wait in our crushed, upside-down vehicle while awaiting the cops and ambulance for more than an hour because the people there were backwards, mouth-breathing half-wits. The safe we were traveling with was projected through the air and missed crushing our merch guy’s head against the window by less than an inch. This was the first time our entire band was near death, not just our old drummer, Mike Novak. We were forced to stay in a shitty hotel in Laramie, Wyoming, and eat Chinese food until a new van and trailer could be driven out, at which time we would pick back up on the tour with Story of the Year. The band became very close in those following days. Then we went back to ignoring each other.

5. Our old drummer, Mike Novak, almost made us leave the Gallows tour in England because he was feeling “very near death” and needed to go to the hospital. After a five-hour sit in the waiting room, he was diagnosed with a common cold.

6. On the same highway as our accident during the Story Of The Year tour (take a fucking hint, Wyoming) we spun out and ended up on the other side of the road, facing traffic, somewhat in a ditch. Our trailer was at a perfect 90-degree angle, blocking the lane of oncoming cars. Ahead of us was a blind turn, and we knew it was going to be trouble. A few minutes later, a semi came down the hill and, seeing our trailer in the way, slammed on its brakes and began to lose control. There was nothing we could do but watch as the cab headed directly towards us. It felt like it took hours. Someone yelled to hold on. Others jumped out of the van and rolled into the street like they were goddamn Indiana Jones. There was squealing brakes, exhaust, grinding iron and gravel just three feet away from us and then…bink. The truck barely touched our trailer, but did so at such an angle as to spin us slowly back around and onto the road facing the right direction. It did us a favor. To show our thanks to the driver, we took off without exchanging information because we were hungry.

7. One day about five years ago, our merch guy and best band friend, Jeff “Durst” Stranahan, began feeling extremely sick on our tour with the Dillinger Escape Plan and Drowningman. He claimed he had a fever and was short of breath, but he swore he could work through it. He never mentioned it again. The next morning, there was a rash all over his body, but he said it was probably just an allergic reaction and swore he could work through it. He ignored his worsening condition for a few days until one night in Indianapolis when he could barely speak. We took him back to our friend’s house and gave him an Epsom salt bath, at which point he began joking with us from the bathroom about “tugging it.” We thought for an instant things were getting better and got in the van on our way to Kansas City. The next morning as we were loading in, we found Jeff asleep in the front seat, shivering and blue. We finally decided to take him to the hospital. Within minutes, they had him hooked up to more machines than RoboCop. We were told to leave as they ran tests. That night, we were called and told that he had to be flown to a different hospital. He had a staph infection that had all but completely shut down his organs. They told us if we had waited another five minutes, he would have been dead. Jeff went into a coma for three months. When he awoke, he told us he had a dream he was hanging out with Lindsay Lohan. He made a complete recovery and we held a benefit show for his medical bills, which was basically just us feeling guilty for waiting until the last five minutes of his life to take him to the hospital. He left the road shortly thereafter, but not before getting addicted to pot by Atreyu and beginning to drink alcohol out of a gas container as a party trick. Durst rules.

8. One of our former bass players (whose name I will omit from this story) came down with what the doctors called a “scrotal breakdown.” It was a highly contagious and painful rash that covered–well, we were all terrified to be around him. I believe that was the point in which he realized the touring life wasn’t for him. Him touring with a broken down scrote wasn’t for us, either.

9. As I write this, just a few days ago, we were involved in a bus accident somewhere between Berlin and Weisbaden in Germany. We are currently sharing a bus on Taste Of Chaos International with Maylene And The Sons of Disaster. At around 5 a.m. that morning, a few of us began watching The Big Lebowski in the front lounge while others slept. The scene where the Dude gets his car back from the cops and starts smoking weed while listening to Creedence Clearwater Revival before crashing right into a dumpster was about to come on. I said out loud, “This scene coming up is great. Imagine how much fun it would have been to be the driver.” At that moment, we veered off the road, scraped a guardrail and came to a rest. I was flung off the couch and cut my shin, but not before launching seamlessly into a triple back flip. Our drummer didn’t even wake up because he was ripped on Nyquil. I still don’t know the whole story, but we smashed into a car, hit the guardrail and came within inches of a tanker. We missed the show in Weisbaden and in the interim had a bus without internet. It was nearly impossible for us to masturbate quietly in our bunks. alt

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