The occasion for this drunken debate was the unexpected travel stop of Esak , Kat and dog Banjo on their way to New Mexico to work the winter on the slopes. Shewho and Savage made a feast of sausage and venison. Plenty of beer, whiskey and sake were also consumed. Esak always brings the party, so after dinner we pulled out the guitars, eye medicine, harmonicas, tambourine and drum. Esak and I were on the gits and Savage reminded me that as youths we were both tested by Johnson and O'connor human engineering Labs and they had informed him he had perfect rhythm. "You should be a drummer." they said. Last night his dream came true.
The first couple of songs were dead on. Savage's deft fingers hit the skins with restraint. He kept a good beat and everyone was impressed. But as the evening progressed the drum got louder and the beat took a hike. Maybe it was that old 12 step button getting in the way. In any case in Savage's mind Tito Puente had nothing on him. Rifts, fills and flurrys came out of nowhere. There was no reeling him in. Unki Harold grabbed the truck keys and tried to get The Lynch Pin out the door, to no avail. "Just one more song." he pleaded. My face aches from laughing so much.
Now for Savage Lynch's DEER REPORT: I was up in that tree across the road when my cell phone rang. It was Unki Harold. Remember that time I shot that big buck when H was on the phone....ugh. My ass hurts. Fuck, what is that ringing in my ears? What are you looking at? You know some people.....What was I saying? You remind me of (mumble, mumble).......man.......you notice how those little hairs on your......nevermind.
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