Regular readers will recall my recent spray about Pete, my accountant, https://p33d33.wordpress.com/2015/04/13/being-a-hottie-will-only-get-you-so-far/ and how he is so whipped he was scared to ask for his wife’s permission … PERMISSION! … to spend some money on a guitar he wanted. Here ’tis, and that’s me holding it.
Yep, I’m now the proud owner of a Rickenbacker. Only 200 are made each year and almost none find their way to the Land of
Oz, so these are as rare as chicken lips.
It’s a beauty. So am I, come to think of it, but there’s more to the story than meets the eye so I’m going to share snippets of it with you. Now, as it turned out the guy selling has only just moved into a house less than a block away from me, so all I had to do was stroll over and pick it up. I usually have to sit down to piss because the doctor asked me not to lift anything heavy, but the Rick was worth it.
She’s a total babe, a complete beauty, and even though I’m shit on the guitar when I plugged that baby in and smashed those strings the angels began weeping in heaven. Largely because even a Rickenbacker can’t make my playing sound good, but there we are.
This girl is a maniac. Hit those strings and love comes out. I thrashed out something by Celine Dion. Okay, I did a passable rendition of ‘Thunderstruck’, and I’ve even embedded a link to ‘Two Cellos’ doing their version. They are fuck-off awesome, but I’m fuck-off awesomer.
Anyway, I told Pete I was going to get my gear off and do a nude selfie with Rick. He laughed, but it was a nervous laugh. Fuck it, life’s too short not to casually hang your slug out when you’re in the presence of a Rickenbacker. Besides, I wiped it carefully after so no harm, no foul.
Here’s my final email to Pete before I picked Rick up.
We’re go for launch. This whole penis extension/guitar thing seems important to you so I pissed off from work early just in case I had to bust a cap in anyone at the bank, but we’re good to go so I was only mildly disappointed. Couldn’t even justify a little pistol-whipping.
Just ran the ATM out of juice on a Friday night, so it looks like everyone’s going to have to fuck each other while they’re sober tonight. The STD remedy industry is going to take an unexplained dip in it’s sales figures over the weekend.
I’m going to grab the ‘backer unless it’s obviously falling apart. If I see any obvious bad damage I’ll call you first. If not, I’ll text you that I have it.
Codewords will be “Large and attractive”. You’ll see why.
Then I’m going home to take a few selfies with the ‘backer. So I can impress the chicks with the evidence that ‘I’ have a Rickenbacker as well as a large and attractive cock. Hmmm … do you reckon mentioning the guitar might be too much information? Chicks are weird.
So, Rick safely home and selfies safely taken, I emailed Pete the photos. Then I sent him a text.
Here’s what came back, the ungrateful swine:
PD: Large and attractive.
Pete: Thanks so much again.
PD: You might change your mind when you see the email I just sent. 😀
Pete: Shit, I just saw it. Keep it.
PD: Ha! Sorry, there’s just no excuse for me.
Pete: Ewww! PD: Hey! I cleaned it!
PD: After I got down and jiggy with it. Good as new. Nearly. And I’ll be good to go again in 10 mins or so. 😀
Pete: You’re a sick puppy.
PD: Nice of you to notice.
Here’s Two Cellos. Watch them go completely ballistic from around 1:00. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uT3SBzmDxGk
So, I have Pete’s Rickenbacker. Two more nights. Oh, yeah. You have photographic evidence and a kick-arse version of Thunderstruck. It’s a good deal. Oh, and the nude selfie? I told you I get so tired of being treated as a sex object. Suffer in your shorts, or make a generous bid.