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Greetings, mere mortals. I am the Great & Powerful All (humans may respectfully refer to me as Mr. G & P for brevity‘s sake), the omniscient, omnipotent founder of Without Annette (that Bitch), the most amazing band in the universe, a universe which I, of course, founded also. Conceived in 2003 (the band, not the universe…and what a wild six days of multiply-orgasmic, passionate conception it was [on the seventh day I rested, smoked a cigarette, and took a shower, which got pretty wet and steamy as well]), circa Bartman’s interference with Alou’s attempt to catch the foul ball which would have propelled the Cubs to their first World Series since ’45 B.C., Without Annette (that Bitch) originally consisted of Me, My acoustic guitar, My harmonicas, and a singing voice I can only describe as, well, Celestial, as well as a young, singer/saxophonist (but never at the same time--he was, after all, merely mortal) disciple named Glacial Till (I‘ve never performed on stage with anyone in my lifetime who was as talented as Glacial Till thought he was); and, of course, the Love of My Life, the Divine, Celestial, Tender, Alluring, Passionate, Beloved, Darling, Dear, Sweet, Lovely, Amorous, Romantic, Intriguing, Exciting, Charming, Captivating, Warm-hearted, Tender, Adored, Prized, Revered, Treasured, Beloved, Loved, Cherished, Darling, Dear, Idolized, Worshiped, Amative(?), Enchanting, Captivating, Fascinating, Angelic, Amatorial(?), Erotic, Paphian (hell, I don‘t know), Delightful, Coquettish, Bewitching, Wanton, Seductive, Dallying, Trifling, Beguiling, Flirtatious, Bewitching, Selfish, Philandering, Deceitful, Cheating, Bamboozling, Bilking, Defrauding, Finagling, Fleecing, Flimflamming, Swindling, Astucious(?), Cunning, Dishonest, Disingenuous, Foxy, Fraudulent, Impostrous, Insidious, Knavish, Machiavellian, Misleading, Oblique, Obliquitous, Rascally, Roguish, Scheming, Serpentine, Snakish, Wormish, Centipedish, Weaselish, Dirty Dogish, Shifty, Slick, Slippery, Sly, Sneaky, Snide, Treacherous, Tricky, Underhanded, Vulpine(?), Wily (like that damn coyote), Double-dealing, Two-faced, Ambidextrous, Hypocritical, Gold-digging, Back-stabbing, Blood-sucking, BITCH herself: My Precious Annette.
Bitter? You bet I’m bitter, pal. By the way, have any of you folks seen My Thesaurus?
Anyway, after discovering Glacial, the dirty bastard, in a decidedly uncompromising position (missionary, as it were), clad only in black dress socks w/ garters and sporting the natural brown, thick fur he semi-annually has to shave off his back and arse, and with his chronically enormous, unlanced hemorrhoids peaking through the matted fur, alone with my beloved Annette, herself adorned in a lovely red dress most certainly being worn much higher around the waist than its maker intended, and toes pointed skyward as tight as a ballerina’s in the backseat of My, yes My, winged chariot, while most definitely invading one another‘s personal space and most definitely not keeping their hands on their own bodies and most definitely not using their inside voices…well, let’s just say the three-piece quickly became a one-piece after Glacial got his piece. That, plus Glacial decided his wife and children were more important to him than rock-n- roll. What a shame. Such misplaced priorities.
So on I trudged, desperately alone (except for My wife, three daughters, friends, two dogs, three cats, one tortoise, My parents, My brothers and their families, and countless other members of My extended family) and still penniless, back and forth in the snow with no shoes uphill both ways every other Saturday evening to the now tragically deceased Crawdaddy’s Voodoo Lounge. Yes folks, I was laughed at, beaten up, often stranded in the middle of nowhere without a dime, frequently went days without food, slept on bass cabinets in the back of careening vans with ice inside the windows during blizzards, toured in vans without heat in January in the middle of North Dakota, and drove ten hours to the middle of nowhere to play for NOBODY on multiple occasions and dealt with more excrement than you'd believe, but I, the Great & Powerful All, a middle-aged, seemingly washed up Deity, and only surviving member of the seminal ’90s band Twopenny Hangover (except, of course for fellow songwriter/guitarist/vocalist James Schrum [whereabouts unknown], bassist/vocalist Michael Kelsey [now a successful musician in the one-man band cryptically entitled Michael Kelsey], and percussionist extraordinaire Dennis Leas [who several months ago wandered into a room full of his own percussion collectibles and hasn‘t been seen since… but you can hear him playing back there somewhere]) labored on, performing originals and obscure covers for unappreciative audiences, doggedly collecting one dollar bills and loose change from tip jars, and picking the pockets of those few fans whose trust I had earned.
Now, I know what you’re thinking (No, seriously. I know what you’re thinking; I’m omniscient, for My [God’s] sake): Why, O’ Great & Powerful One, didn’t You just use Your Supreme Powers to make life better and fairer for Yourself? Certainly a fair question. But, like Darrin in Bewitched, My Great & Powerful Spouse, Ol’ Lady G & P Herself, has steadfastly refused to let Me twinkle My nose, as it were, in the presence of Our three darling mini Great & Powerfuls, and has insisted My Powers only be used in cases of emergency. And trust Me, it’s not nice to fool with Mother G & P.
To be continued…
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