Due partly to the fact that I haven't had time to check my emails for questions, but largely due to the fact I wanted to take the focus off me on tour, this weeks 12 Rounds With Johnny Boxer features questions asked from members of the two bands I recently toured with, Diskust and Piston Fist.

The guys came up with some pretty interesting and thought-provoking questions, most of which Bobo had answers for, but there was also the odd occasion where the great man was stumped - albeit temporarily.

This week's questions include what would Bobo run his campaign policy on if he was running for office, if he would rather dicks for fingers or someone telling his inner thoughts, is more than a handful a waste, who he would rather fight out of Alf Stewart and Harold Bishop, what television show and character he would be had Fat Pizza not surfaced and one that I am not too fond of but had to ask anyway, why is Kris Peters such a c$#t!!!

The answers are nothing short of hilarious this week so listen in plus hear Johnny reveal plans to visit Queensland for a special benefit show later this month...

As usual, please read on below the audio for another intriguing and humorous look at life from the inside (literally) with Johny Boxer.

Words by Louise Crothers

Mr Boxer was due to fly out from Sydney to Melbourne at approximately 10.30 am on a Friday in July 2018 as he had been invited to judge at a tattoo expo on the Saturday.

I’d usually drop him at the airport on these occasions, but hadn’t heard a peep out of him for 2-3 days and was becoming concerned.

First thing that Friday morning the organiser of the expo contacted me to confirm his ETA and I had no idea what the fuck to say. Johnny was always putting me into tricky situations. It’d gotten
to the point where I could feel my scalp tense up anytime he’d ask to meet with me. Who the hell knew what was going to go down?

Sure enough, the flight time came and went then just after 11 am I received a call. He was in lock-up.

“I’m down in the Newtown Courthouse holding cells. I’ve been to 4 different gaols over the past 3 days. They’re about to put me before a magistrate and I’ll most likely be refused bail and sent to Long Bay... Can you come here real quick, act as my representation and get me out?”

I was like...wait...what?

“Johnny, what the hell have you done? You were supposed to be on a flight half an hour ago! What do I say to the tattoo crew?”

“Tell them I’ll be there soon...”

Luckily I was dressed rather professionally and had on a lanyard for an organisation I was contracted to that day. Jumped in the car and headed on over to Newtown, along the way taking frantic phone calls from Melbourne.

Before entering the police station I flipped my lanyard around so no one could tell where exactly I was from yet looked somewhat official. Approached the front desk and put on my best voice of
authority...

“Hi. Louise Crothers. I’m here to collect John Boxer.”

The young constable looked a little bewildered.

“He’s down in your holding cells,” I added.

“Oh. Ok. Just let me call downstairs. You’re his custodian?”

“Yes.”

Didn’t even know what that meant...

I took a seat in the foyer.

“They’re bringing him up shortly,” the constable informed me.

Ten minutes or so later JB appeared out front with two officers. I was given something to sign. Thankfully his hearing had been adjourned and I could take him away.

I wanted to kill him. As I approached though I could see he looked like shit. Unshaven, hair a mess and appeared to not have slept a wink in days. Shook my head instead. We ventured up the street to the Courthouse Hotel for a bourbon bathed explanation.

By Saturday night the menace was partying it up in Milton, Victoria as if no such thing had occurred. He had a jolly good old time there. So much so he missed his flight home, had lost his I.D and phone kept dying before I could gather exactly what needed to be done in order to get him on another flight!

At one point I had Melbourne Airport Security scanning through the place for him and could’ve pulled my hair out and just cried. Ok. I actually did cry.

As it always seems to go with the guy who describes his life as “a magic carpet ride” by pure chance JB was spotted at the gates by a couple of fellas who knew him and they went above and beyond to make arrangements for him (including the rebooking of and payment for his flight home).

He managed to text me an ETA right before takeoff, adding that his “foot is fucked and can’t walk.”

Of course.

What did I do? Did I tell the over-aged delinquent where to go?

No.

Upon his arrival there I stood with a wheelchair at the ready.

What an asshole.

Nah. He’s ok. That bloody Johnny Boxer.

And the next time he went missing I just checked the online NSW Court Registry. Boom! Found him...