Blanketing opinions that I'll probably regret soon.

Friday, May 19, 2006

Shit god damn, my dobro smells like a French whorehouse.



All right, I ain't sayin' who it was, but I recently lent my dobro out to a friend and it came back smelling like it had spent a couple of booze-fueled nights in some 19th century house of disrepute. Fuck. I wiped it down twice with a paper towel to no avail. I can smell it from here and it's hanging 10 feet away on the wall! Oh, wait a second, that's not the guitar that I'm smelling, it's the perfumey residue it left on my shirt from playing it for 15 minutes.

What the fuck.
Comments:
As Becca would say "Why's it gotta be french?"
 
I see the sea claimed another life in the volvo race.
 
Cuff,

It did. I actually donated to his memorial fund. Also, one crew had to abandon ship.
 
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