Brother Rick would have you believe that our literate lefty, Peter T. the environmentalist, would somehow calm your fears that you have entered (and your daughter has been hanging out at) some sort of asylum. Rick and Peter are both Canadians which should explain a lot, but Peter also has a heron at his local marsh which he dresses up to look like Waylon Jennings. This is "symbolic" of something; what, I have no idea. Perhaps you can see it, but I can't.

Rick has problems of his own. He has three half brothers all named Reg who are an embarassment to him and he has sent them down here to work in the condom factory with some local dimbulbs named Cletus, Paw, and Buford. I don't think it's fair that all six of them are now MY problem and are hanging around my house all the time either whizzing in their boots or igniting flatulence. This is driving my wife Karen crazy and has had a bad influence on Cleigh O'Possum, a nice little guy and a Mudcat icon. Fortunately at the moment, Cletus and Paw are under the weather after drinking some of their own 'shine which they distilled through a Peterbilt radiator...I told them to clean it out first, but they don't listen to me unless I'm mad. Buford and the Reg boys are finishing up 30 days in the county lock-up for Indecent Exposure and Rampant Stupidity after I told them to go piss up a slack rope and they were found out in my front yard trying to do just that.

This place has a few other oddballs.......like Art Thieme, a folksinger of some note...well, 3 really..actually 3 chords.........Art has a punny sense of humor (yes that's punny, not funny) and recently reached the finals of a National pun-off where he submitted 10 of his best hoping one would win; sadly, no pun in ten did.

Then there's Big Mick, a big Mick who showed up at the Mudcat Tavern one night wearing a thong which he'd stuffed with a potato to entice the "Fair alison." But he had put the spud in BACK and looked more like Lassie dropping a load. Then there's Big RiB, that's Roger in Baltimore. Since he doesn't live in Baltimore, you should already see he has a problem. Then there is Joe Offer, Father Joebro, the moral conscience of our village who can also find 397 references to the meaning of the third word in the seventh line of the fifty-third verse of "Diddle My Fiddle." Or the Great El Swanno (Dave Swan)who once ruined a performance of his wife PJ by upstaging her with HIS act. This consisted of wearing half a gorilla suit and fishnet tights, playing bagpipes, and diving from a 90 foot tower, lighting a fart, and rocketing into a fireman's helmet below, filled with lime jello. And you'll meet Bert, a transplanted bloke who can't remember what it was that he can't remember. And Don Meixner....Don plays a large variety of instruments from guitar to Hammered Dulcimer, including the tiple, despite having both hands, his feet, his head, and his left nut, cut off in a table saw accident. Or Lonesome EJ.....dresses up and acts like a cheap detective while running a Radio Shack that's 497 miles from the nearest customer.

Then there are the women of the 'Cat....Katlaughing for instance. She meditates and communes with the faeries while prancing nekkid through her garden, wearing a real cat on her head. Or Jeri who gets her kicks by laying in a swamp with clams in her toes and dragonflies tickling her hooters. And bbc, Beebs, from whom you're probably safe since Vixen is too old for her son David. You don't have any younger daughters do you? If so, don't mention it to her even if she asks. Fair alison can be nice to chat with, but no one really knows since she's often in some chat room that you can't find. Helen is enamored of the harp and is getting married this month; her husband-to-be is in for some interesting tunes I'm sure as she recently paid for a sharping lever to be installed on his Willie. And Duckboots, Rick's wife, the only woman known to have been sexually attacked by a possum. I won't mention Vix, since it should be obvious that I have abundant good taste and a high sense of decorum and good manners.

But the Mucat is NOT an asylum. We DO have one we support and which has treated many members. The Neil Young Center for the Terminally Screwed, located in Montana, has been quite helpful. They also train crazed tiple bands for the CIA's efforts to overthrow the government, so funding them is never a problem. And we DO have some wonderful folks here...like Sandy and Caroline Paton who own Folk-Legacy records. Sandy is a true gentleman, stays up late, sleeps til noon, but has thousands and thousands of fascinating folk music facts...none of which he can locate...and comprehensive reference books which are sadly crumbling since the latest edition of any of them was printed in 1872. And Caroline is a sweet, talented, intelligent person who has spent much of her life apologizing for the eccentricities of her husband. Nothing odd in that at all. My wife Karen does the same thing.

Actually Mert, I truly love all these folks and don't really know what I'd do now without them. I hope your Mudcat experience is the same.

Spaw