Fun With Our Bodies
Date: Thu, 4 May 95 12:41:30 PDT
From: Peter Langston <psl>
Subject: Fun With Our Bodies
Forwarded-by: bostic@CS.Berkeley.EDU (Keith Bostic)
Forwarded-by: "Linda Branagan" <email@example.com>
From SF Weekly, by Jack Boulware
My friend Becky alerts me to a rare piece of archival video -- starring a
young man who can make himself vomit in different colors. Okay, pretty neat.
I eventually meet her source, Larry, who gleefully mails more footage of his
hurling, video-swapping friend, nicknamed "Barf Boy."
Barf Boy is actually Lance Ozanix, a musician from Santa Rosa who can heave
copiously on command. Performances by his band Skitzo feature splatters of
gastric spew. Women even jump onstage to get retched upon. I immediately
ask Larry to write this singular show business talent up for Nose magazine.
Chuck Farnham from Live 105 radio spies the ensuing Nose article and books
Barf Boy on the Alex Bennett Show. Lance promises to vomit live on the air
and will even upchuck all over audience volunteers! For their participation,
these crackpots will receive free tickets to an Adam Ant concert! Our
Founding Fathers would be proud.
The Live 105 studios are packed with puke fans. The other guests are no
slouches -- performance artist Karen Finley and comedienne Sue Murphy are
there -- but it is obvious that folks are here for the bile. Lance waits in
the reception area, cradling a liter bottle of Diet Sprite and a portable
weed-blower, re-labeled the "Chunk-Blower." His moment of truth is at hand.
On the air with Bennett and Farnham, Barf Boy describes the history of his
unusual gift. Finley loves the concept -- she is no stranger to chocolate
and yams, after all -- but Murphy and news director Lori Thompson get
completely grossed-out and leave the room. (At least they showed up -- the
show's producer Stephanie Kelman even refused to come to work this morning.)
The clock on the wall tells us it's barf time, so two volunteers, Farnham,
Lance and myself hop into a pick-up truck and drive to the 10th Street
Lance begins chugging Sprite, the puke recipients gather their nerve and the
parking lot fills with cars. I am given a video camera; Farnham goes live
with a portable hook-up. Car horns are beeping. The Bay Area is on edge.
The people want their chunks.
Our two volunteers stand bravely at attention. Lance rolls his eyes, this
tongue flickers a la Gene Simmons and suddenly he boots up a stream of bright
green vomit into the top of the portable Chunk-Blower. A sheet of puke fires
out onto the duo's faces and chests. "It's cold!" they scream. I dutifully
zoom in. A nauseating puddle of green bile develops on the pavement. Lance
bends down, sucks it back into his mouth and barfs it back out again!
Entertainment with a capital E.
As the two drenched fans towel off excitedly -- they got their tickets, man!
-- another guy runs up: "Hey, am I too late?" Of course not. Lance takes
another swig of Sprite. The newest volunteer hesitates: "Um, I'd rather have
my pants puked on."
Barf Boy nods and sprays his trousers with fresh, green gut spew. He wipes
his mouth. "You alright?" Lance asks.
"Yeah," answers the victim, "I'm cool."
I hope Adam Ant appreciates this.
© 1995 Peter Langston