Margarita, it's a little illiterate alliteration by a mate by the name of Master Gadget Master. Who by his own account was, on a Sunday the sixth of September of '78, shanghaied by The Band Of Buzzards to serve aboard The Ship O' Fools. A surlier ensemble of scurvy seafarin' scoundrels and assorted scraggly street scum he hadn't e'er seen the likes of b'fore or since. R!

Let me set the stage by introducin' the crew's compliment. Let's see, at center stage there was the skipper, Scarecrow The Insignificant, scratchin' and sawin' on his instrument of choice as if possessed by some supernatural spirit receivin' intravenious of LSD. By his side was Cosmic Gypsy Sea Dog, a sneering, snarling, savagely astute visionary of surgically precise six string strumin', nothing to sneeze at. Next was Artis the Spoonman, boasting the singular most astounding display of utensil manipulation ever witnessed. A not to be missed amazingly seismic percussion spectacle to be sure. And last but certainly not least, Space Bass, well versed in the classics, a symphonic treasure chest, studied and schooled in the production of lush tones and lustrous tunes. Sure to please the most discriminatin' palates. R! They could seduce Mister Jolly Roger's skull and crossbones clean off its staff, slick as you please, an' set 'im to shimmyin' the skeleton shuffle right b'fore yer eyes. R!

But that ain't the half of it m' dear though I'm not so sure if you're really interested in the whole sordid tale.

Reggie, it was a dark 'n' stormy night, Miles