Woobie Doobie. Part 1

Three good ole' boys in an ongoing curfuffle.

Ultimate Guitar

The sun seemed to have a mischievous agenda as it loomed ahead in the sky, punishing humanity for sins unknown with its unrelenting waves of heat. Such was the nature of a summer in Texas; to say is was hot would be as mundane of a statement as to say the sky is blue and water is wet. In East Texas, your perspiration would glue your clothing to your body and give you the feeling of walking through an eternally present wall of water. In West Texas, it was quite the opposite; the sun's torturous gave gave you the feeling that you cooked on impact with the sun rays after stepping outside of the shade. Central Texas, however, had the best of both, along with cedar pollen launching massive assaults on your sinuses. For a sixteen year old, with a room with an Epiphone Willshire in one corner, and an archaic Samick bass in another, it was home.

The boy in question, let's call him Anton, rested in a small clubhouse he had built many a summer back with his departed father. He sat in an ugly tessellated chair with an acoustic guitar across his lap. A boy of average height, with the brimming facial hair of adulthood gracing his face, plucked deliberately. Across from him, on an equally repulsive couch, sat his two friends: Andy and Skyler. Andy held in his arms a very old and sturdy four string banjo, which he strummed lightly in time with Anton. Next to him sat Skyler, his mandolin propped up against the couch as he packed some tobacco into a pipe resembling that of a wizard.

"Shit man, hurry up already," Anton barked at him. He seemed to ignore the order completely, and lit the pipe delicately with a match.

"There. Now I can think." With the pipe lit, he laid back down into the couch, sending an elegant smoke ring to perish in the hot air.

"So, any ideas yet?" Skyler was usually the one to get them back on track, being the smartest. He was a tall boy, with plain facial features that would suggest a much younger man. He was accurately positioned as the 'smart' on of the group.

"We need something that sounds very genuinely southern and redneckish." Anton leaned forward as he said this, his eyes darting back and forth between his friends'. "That way, when it comes time to vote, they'll want to go for the boys that reminded them of before they started drinking."

"Seems ideal," Andy submitted. "God knows nobody ever actually wins on talent."

"How nice that would be..."

"Well, if you guys ain't got nothing, I guess we better just go through our two new songs."

"Lemme finish this bowl."

They grabbed their instruments and headed into the second part of the clubhouse. Two cheap rugs were sown together (by Andy, the surprisingly coordinated while intoxicated) and laid on the flood, this was the playing area. There were three amps, with a microphone in each, laid against a wall.

"We going acoustic right now?" Skyler asked.

"Might as well," Anton replied.

"Take is easy?"

"Damn straight!" Andy blurted this our, sipped the rest of a warm beer, and strapped his mandolin on.

"Alrighty. One..two..one two three four!"

The sounds of their hummerdinkle filled the clubhouse. It was an easy enough song, provided Skyler stayed focus during the solo. They were still in the intro, smiling and laughing at each other as boys are apt to do. When t was time for the lyrics to begin, Anton stepped up to his microphone as if there were girls screaming his name and racing to throw their bras at him.

"Well I'm-a running down the road, tryin' to loosen my load, I got seven women on my mind."

Skyler swiftly stepped up to his mic. "Four that want to own me, two that want to stone me.."

Andy jumped to his and belted, "One says she's a friend of mine."

They had practiced their harmonies dutifully, and a passerby or a future audience member would easily be able to tell. They had staggered the verses in this was through the whole song, to give the impression that they were brothers in music, equally sharing their talents to make a final product. The song went as it always did, but there was a level of excitement uncharacteristic of him that emerged during the solo. He was jumping and dancing with himself through the whole thing. At the end, each let out hollers of excitement, convinced that this year would be THE year.

"You god damn sons of bitches!" This sort of speech was common when one got very happy at something. "That was fan-fuckin'-tastic! I think that's the best we ever did!"

"Shit yeah!"

"Did you hear my solo?"

"Did you see my stage jump!?"

"Boys, boys..." Andy remained stoic. "That was truly awesome...but we don't need to worry about our playing. It's fucking majestic. We need to direct our attention to the previous issue. A band name!"

Anton and Skyer groaned in unison.

"Shit," Skyler said while resting his banjo against a wall. "Well, you guys know my vote is still for Tobacco Mojo."

"And you know that I think that's fucking stupid," Anton said. "Once again, I submit: The Honeycomb Brothers."

"That's too far in that direction, man," Andy provided. Suddenly, there was a knock at the clubhouse. Anton threw his guitar into Andy's arms and ran to it. He opened the door to his mother.

"That sounded really good guys!" She was always supportive, if not a bit too enthusiastic.

"Mon, go! We're right in the middle of something!"

"Okay, okay! Just keep it up! You're sure to cause a big scuttlebutt tomorrow!"

He closed the door and turned slowly to his friends. They looked at the door with subdued curiosity.

"Boys...I think we have our name."

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