The whole thing started so simply. I never meant for it to end up in this bog of complications.

I was sitting around one Monday evening, jamming and drinking port with my buddies Roger and Tim. We are starting this Stooges-type rock band which has at various times been named such things as Crime Desire, Cannibal Rape Job, Romilar Jag and Cigar Box Joe Bob & the Clap, and is currently called National Dust, since we are going through our down-to-rudimentals period. Tim plays rhythm guitar, Roger

sings and blows flute, and we have a couple of other cats not present this evening on lead and bass, although our drummer recently split because we were too far out for him. I blow harp and sing lead on some tunes. This night we were rehearsing some of my new killer originals such as “Please Don’t Burn My Yoyo,” “A Race of Citizens,” “He Gave You the Finger, Mabel,” "After My Misspent Youth,” and “Barricuda Anthem,” which was my own revolutionary juvenile delinquent philippic:

Hey motherfucker!

Hey motherfucker!

All you do is sit on your can

Get out in the streets and proove you’re a man