SLABAGE

I'm sitting a rocking chair in PA, lap top on my...lap, that scumbag Rumsfeld on the TV, my host Greg in the other room trying to lay down a click track on the twelve songs on Lucky 13. We stayed up late drinking Straubs, playing music, smoking cigars and feeding the coal stove. It's snowing lightly.
This is the first stop on the journey south. So far so good. Greg's farm is one of the prettiest spots in PA, nestled between big mountains, a flat field bordered by a world class trout stream. It was where I was going to move before I settled in the Catskills. We both had rock bands back in the 80's , back in the EV. He still tours in Europe with his band Raging Slab, when he's not in jail. In Europe he's a god. We had dinner at the local bar where a friend of his told us a joke:
"Three third graders went to a PA state contest to see who had the biggest dick. There was one from Harrisburg, one from Pittsburgh and one from right here in Costello. To everyone's surprise the one from Costello won. He went home with the trophy and was so proud he exclaimed to his mother, "Mom, I won! Is it because I'm a hillbilly?" His mother looked at him sadly. "No darlin'. It's because you're 23."
Click. Click....1,2...3,4. FUCK! Where's the one? I just promoted Greg to executive producer. I working on my Grammy acceptance speech. WE ROCK! The journey continues....