Why, lookee here, boys. We got ourselves one-a them one-man noise bands. You like what you do, boy? You like hollerin’ and making all-a that goddamned racket with your, what’s that thing called? Little Jimmy, get me that piece of paper that came with this feller’s music… Ah, there it is, your Zoom Rhythm Trak 323. The hell is that, boy? One-a them samplers or something? Back in my day we played with bands, son. You got shitfaced with your buddies, forgot all the parts to the songs right before you played but still managed to have a good time because nobody gave a shit anyway. You, you sound like you’re wallerin’ around in broken glass while your little Rhythm Trak makes a bunch-a bleeps and goddamn bloops behind you. Ain’t how we do it here, feller. You look like a decent kid and all that, but those is the rules. So finish drinking your pop there, take your CD-R in your manila envelope and hit the highway. I mean it. I see you here tomorrow I’m teaching you a bar chord, god damn it.
–keith (Limbs Bin)