When you assume, you make an ass out of… oh nevermind, you stupid donkey.

I have opened for DJs, strippers, trivia, and even Karaoke, but last night was a first for me. I was the opening act for a donkey.

I played a private post-election party at the home of an affluent mortgage guy of some sort, and he hired a donkey also. I was 9pm-midnight, the donkey was midnight onward. It is unknown who got more tips.

The donkey’s name is Peanut and he likes it when you scratch his ass, so that makes one thing besides the gig that Peanut and I have in common.

I realized today as I was reading a web page on long words that the words “cabbage” and “defaced” are among those which are comprised of musical note names.

Because I think that’s cool, I wrote a song called Cabbage Defaced, which you can listen to by clicking the following play button. It is comprised of the notes in the words, always in order and the right amount. It’s kind of a spacey dance song because that’s all I know how to make with FL Studio.

I had a dream as I was napping that someone had been covering the roads with grease and everyone was wrecking all over the place and sliding around. I called 911 and told them about it, and then some girl rearended me with her green corrola.

She lived nearby so I followed her home and took pictures of her house and her license plate because she refused to pay for the damages.

What a bitch.

Fred climbed in through the large window behind the band to the cheers of the costumed crowd, most of whom had just come from seeing him with the rest of Cowboy Mouth at the Roxy across the street.

“Hey, it’s Fred!” Francisco shouted.

“Drums.” Fred said. “Can I play some drums?”

Mike got off the drum kit, we set up Fred’s mic, and the three of us (Fred, Francisco, and myself) jumped into a couple of tunes. Everyone freaked out.

Fred is a genius entertainer. He knows exactly how to work a crowd up and then bring them down, and then WAY up. It was a complete blast to play with him, as you might imagine it would be. After a few songs, he got up from the drums to go find a drink and take a breather, his armless Radiator’s shirt sweaty around the neck.

“It’s a pleasure,” I said, shaking his hand over my bass.

“Yeah man, you’re a hell of a player. If you know any bass players, we’re looking for one.”

“Well I’m a bass player.” I said.

He said “I know that.” in the exact way that someone would say “I know that.” if you called “Hey your lawn’s on fire!” to them as you were walking by and you stopped to watch as they were dragging their garden hose out of their garage and hooking it up to the spigot because their lawn was on fire.