Roy D. Mercer

Roy D. Mercer

ROY D. MERCER'S SHORT FUSE GETS SHORTER
Roy D. Mercer, the nonpareil hillbilly hothead, is on the rampage again with his new album, HOW BIG'A BOY ARE YA? VOLUME SIX. Using the phone as an instrument of terror, Mercer addresses a wide span of troubles on this new disc -- saddest perhaps being the malfunctioning freezer that spoiled the frozen "seed" of his late brother-in-law Cooter Bob Wexler and foiled his wife's plans to have a baby by "artifical persimination"; Roy D. demands some "money or appliances" as compensation, "or it's gonna boil down to an ass-whuppin'." But more often, Mr. Mercer winds up with a bad case of what he calls "the red-ass." We tracked down Roy D. recently at the Tulsa, OK, trailer park where he lives and discussed some of the issues raised on his new album and his big acting break in the forthcoming Billy Bob Thornton-directed DADDY AND THEM. As you will see, Mercer gets a bit testy when pressed about his aggressive approach to problem solving.

barnesandnoble.com: You have two things on this album that are special. One is an answering machine greeting

Roy D. Mercer: Yes, sir, that's how we talk to them folks around the trailer park here that call.

bn.com: There's probably going to be people all over the country putting your voice on their answering machine, threatening people with ass whuppin's.

RM: That's alright, there's a bunch of 'em out there that need it! And we want to thank Charlie Daniels for puttin' his voice on the album.

bn.com: That's right. You've got a musical track on there, "How Big'a Boy Are Ya?," that's kind of a country-rap song. I take it that Charlie Daniels is a big Roy D. fan, then.

RM: Well, he's a big, for sure; yes sir, he's a big fan. We think that one's a toe-tapper. He's a fine man; a fine American. He didn't play his fiddle on this one, that's the only thing that disappointed me.

bn.com: Maybe next time.

RM: My wife Sharon Gene would have loaned him hers. The thing with her is that she just has to pick out which chin to put it under. Course I saw Charlie, and he might have the same problem. By God, by the time he lays that chin on there he can't even pluck the low strings. He's a fine fellow. He worked for nothin'. That's what I like about him: price is right.

bn.com: You're making your film debut pretty soon, aren't you?

RM: Yeah, you know, I tell you what, those folks couldn't hold me a candle to see by. Oh, yeah, all them Acrademy (sic) Award winners and all them, they was lookin' to me for direction. Yep.

bn.com: What kind of part do you have in this film?

RM: I play an ass-whupper. Yes, sir. It was kindy a stretch for me.

bn.com: Did you make a lot of friends on the movie set?

RM: I don't care. Them flaky-Jake, tofu-eatin', crystal-readin' Hollywood folks.

bn.com: The cast includes Laura Dern, Kelly Preston, Diane Ladd, Jamie Lee Curtis.

RM: That'd about make a bulldog break its chain, wouldn't it? But my mind was so befuddled by all the saltpeter Sharon Gene was feedin' me I couldn't think straight.

bn.com: So your memory is kind of clouded.

RM: Yeah, it is. I can't wait to see the movie come out so I'll know what I done.

bn.com: Do you think you might want to do this again?

RM: You know what saltpeter tastes like on beef jerky?

bn.com: Can't say that I do, Roy.

RM: Lord a-mercy! Got kinda a metallic taste to it. Like it's been in the tin too long.

bn.com: And you were on a steady diet of that stuff, huh?

RM: That's what I hear. I didn't know it at the time; I thought we just had bad jerky.

bn.com: That must have been disappointing when you realized what was going on.

RM: By God! I think if I saw Jamie Lee Curtis walk by I'd want to spring into action. You know what I'm sayin'? And I had to limp off!

bn.com: Now I have a philosophical question for you.

RM: A what?

bn.com: A philosophical question. Given that you wind up threatening everyone you call, I'm wondering if you think people are basically good, or do you believe everyone is out to get you?

RM: Well, it ain't like a big right-wing conspiracy. I don't know why it happens, I don't know how it happens; it just happens. Dadgum it, if people would mind their p's and q's better, I wouldn't be having the red-ass all the time.

bn.com: But when you make these calls, do you assume the people you're calling are going to do what you ask them to do? For instance, did you really expect the office supply manager to reimburse you for the week's pay Raymond lost when he passed out from the glue he bought from that guy's store?

RM: Well why else would I be callin'? Otherwise I'd just go down there and whup his ass! I was tryin' to give him an opportunity to make it square. Most of 'em don't want no part of that.

bn.com: Then Raymond lost another job after he picked up a nail fungus from the holes in a bowling ball, or so you claim, and it spread to his nose and his "private area," as you put it. And you wanted the bowling alley owner to compensate you for Raymond's week's pay after he lost his job at the Sonic Drive-In. You even told that guy that if he didn't give you the money you were going to knock his teeth so far down his throat that he was going to have to drop his pants to chew his food. Again, is this the right way to negotiate with someone you're having a problem with?

RM: If somebody was gonna kick your ass so hard that you'd have to clear your throat to chew your food, wouldn't you cough up a dollar or two?

bn.com: I don't know. If he was much bigger than me, maybe I would.

RM: I tell you what, you kinda irking me out, I need me some money to put up with this. How about you just writin' me a check for 50 dollars for puttin' up with this?

bn.com: I'm not gonna write you a check! I'm giving you free publicity for your record!

RM: No you ain't! You just givin' me the red-ass. I'm gonna come to -- where are you?

bn.com: I'm in New York City.

RM: It may take me a while to get up there. But it ain't nothin' for me to whup a computer boy's ass.

bn.com: You're saying you're gonna come up here and take me on?

RM: Yes, sir!

bn.com: You probably think I'm some wussy New York City guy. But I gotta tell you, I'm from Tulsa.

RM: Then you've had a country ass-whuppin'. You mighta forgot about it, you been up there in Yankee country long enough.

bn.com: Let me put it like this, Roy: You won't have to look hard to find me.

RM: You a pretty big ol' boy?

bn.com: Six feet, 150 pounds.

RM: That's ripe ass-whuppin' size.

bn.com: I'm fast, though.

RM: You better be. I hope you're a fast healer, too.

bn.com: I don't think this is the way to treat somebody who's trying to help you advance your career.

RM: It started out fine, but then you got on my bad side. I think it was that dadgum philoslophical (sic) question you had. That threwed me right off.

bn.com: Let's talk about your family some more then. One of the really sad things I learned from listening to this new album is that your late brother-in-law Cooter Bob left his seed in a mayonaisse jar and the freezer malfunctioned --

RM: Spoilt it. Whole big mayonnaise jar. Actually it weren't a mayonaisse jar, it was Miracle Whip. Cooter Bob's wife Merva Gene is gonna have to adopt now. Go down to the Pettin' Zoo and see which one looks most like Cooter Bob.

bn.com: How did Cooter Bob die?

RM: I'm gonna come up there and kick your ass! He asked me stupid questions like a smart-ass, and I kilt him dead! I couldn't hold back no longer! His face was a big pile of goo, and I just kept on! It was like a big Jell-o parfait with marshmallows and stuff! I didn't let him up off the ground!

bn.com: You might not want to go on record with that, Roy.

RM: By God I'll go on record, CD, cassette tape, everything with that!

bn.com: Well, we'll sign off now. But I want to wish you luck with your budding film career.

RM: I bet the next movie I make I'll have black rectangles over my eyes. Martin Scorsusie called, Oliver Stoned, that fellow with three names -- Francie Ford Copperfield or something. But I ain't got time for them. I got ass whuppin's to do.

bn.com: The movie's coming out in December, right?

RM: Well, if it don't somebody at Miramax is gonna get 'em a big thrashin'. I told all the family it was comin' out around Christmas time. They's all tryin' to dig up the cans of quarters they buried in the back yard so they can afford a ticket. Sharon Gene can't wait; she just wants to go for the concessions. She has to buy two tickets, though -- one seat, one cheek.

David McGee