I've always loved Indian music. There was even a period of my life when I thought, "I must go to India to hear this music." Then I heard how many needles they had to give you, and what kind of diseases were lurking for you over there. I decided, "Well, I'll just get the records instead." I like Indian music, and I like Bulgarian music a lot.

DM: What about music from Africa? Do you ever listen to the tribal stuff?

Yeah. A lot of people are fascinated by the rhythm, but the rhythm of it is not so exciting to me. I'm not as interested in African music as I am in Bulgarian or Sardinian or Indian music. I think a lot of people listen to African music and want to consume it in the same way that they would consume a U.S. drum machine record. That fancy constant rhythm. And my taste in rhythm goes in other directions.

MG: Didn't you attend a concert of the Bulgarian women when they came here? Did you meet them?

It was a fairly frightening experience. They take a few musicians along with them. There's a guy who plays some kind of a drum-like thing or guitar-like thing, but it looked to me like these guys were Bulgarian KGB, like they were watchdogs for the group. They had the special look, the black leather coat. And they were hanging out backstage, and when it was done, after the concert, the girls were in the dressing room. They were kind of lined up in a formal reception thing, and we got to come in and say hello, and then we were ushered out. You couldn't really have any communication with them.

MG: What about Asian music? Indonesian?

You mean gamelan music?

MG: Gamelan, Balinese, or Javanese?

That wears on me. The timbre of it is nice, but it goes on and on like a Harry Partch piece. They can play that same pentatonic thing for centuries on end. That's as close as you're going to get to minimalist music.

DM: Well, what about noh music? Japanese?

I like that. That to me is science-fiction Webern music. You know, people doing erratic grunts followed by one drumbeat and all this oddly balanced stuff. It's like points of sound in time oddly balanced, and I have no idea what it's about or what will be going on onstage, but the sound of it is something I find interesting.

MG: What about reggae?

I don't have a collection of reggae music. I like to play it more than I like to listen to it. Reggae is a ventilated rhythm. If you're going to play a solo with a lot of notes in it and your rhythm accompaniment has a lot of notes in it, then it neutralizes it. I find it more intriguing to play to a reggae background with jagged pulses and big holes in it - there's blank space, whereas the least comfortable thing for me to play to would be something like a fast James Brown band. I wouldn't know what the fuck to do with that.

MG: What do you think of Beefheart's music?

The best of it is unbelievable, and the worst of it is under the influence of some really bad A&R people at Warner Bros. But there are things on Trout Mask Replica that are unbelievable, and on Clear Spot also.

MG: Is there more from the Trout Mask period?

There are some other things. Yes.

MG: Do you think those will ever come out?

I don't know. There were things in the original sessions that he didn't want to have used. The original plan for the album was to do it like an ethnic field recording. He and his group lived in a house out in the [San Fernando] Valley, so I wanted to take a portable rig and record the band in the house, and use the different rooms in the house as isolation - very slight. The vocals get done in the bathroom. The drums are set up in the living room. The horn gets played in the garden, all this stuff And we went over there and set it up, and did tracks that way. I thought they sounded good, but suddenly he was of the opinion that I was just trying to be a cheapskate producer, and not do any studio time. So I said, "Well, you want to go in the studio? Let's go." So. . . .

MG: There's a little bit of it on the album, isn't there?

Yeah. There's some stuff off of a cassette machine that we wanted to have in there - "Dust Blows Forward, Dust Blows Back."

MG: And "The Blimp."That's yours.

I was in the studio mixing some other tapes, and the band that's playing on "The Blimp" is actually the Mothers Of Invention. The vocal on "The Blimp" was recorded by telephone. He had just written these lyrics, and he had one of the guys in the band recite it to me over the phone. I taped it in the studio, and recorded it onto the piece of tape that I had up at the time, which was my track. So, that's how that came about.

MG: And now your version of "The Blimp" is out on the re-release version of Weasels Ripped My Flesh, too.

It's also going to be on this new episode of You Can't Do That On Stage Anymore. The piece is called "Charles Ives." We used to play it on the '68-'69 tour.

DM: In your so-called orchestral music, do you have visual components going on in your mind while you're composing?

I always think of something.

DM: A lot of composers hate the idea of any sort of program element.

That's because program music is very old- fashioned, kind of like the cuckoo-in-the-meadow-from-Beethoven syndrome, but the audience consumes music largely pictorially. They make up their own mental picture, so why shouldn't the composer have a little input?

DM: So in the case of "Food Gathering in Post-Industrial America," you were trying to create scurrying sounds?

Well, when we did it, the sounds themselves were created just as sounds, but when I listened to it, it seemed to me they conjured up this picture of desperate post-yuppies scrounging just through little, you know, nubs of used Pringles and stuff.

DM: What about "The Girl in the Magnesium Dress"? That's a strange piece.

Yeah, it was made from dust.

DM: The dress?

The piece was made from Synclavier digital dust. It's hard to explain, hut when you look at the G page on the Synclavier, you'll see note names and numbers, but that's not all that lives on a track. There's subterranean information which can only be viewed when you go out of the user-friendly part of the machine and into the mysterious world of XPL programming. At that point, you can see these things that live on the track that are giving secret instructions to the machine telling it what to do. One classification of these secret instructions is something called "G numbers," which would be derived if you plugged in a guitar. They have this guitar unit that you can plug in, and besides recording the note that you play, it records a hunch of data in the form of G numbers. It's very complicated to explain what G numbers do, but they're not exactly notes. So we found a way to convert bunches of G numbers into note blanks. And G numbers occupy points in time. They indicate that something happened on the guitar string at a certain point in time. It takes a little piece of eternity and slices it up, and if your finger moved, there's a G number that says what your finger did besides just playing the note. So we converted this dust into something that I could then edit for pitch, and the dust indicated a rhythm. So what I did was take the rhythm of the dust and impose pitch data on the dust and thereby move the inaudible G number into the world of audibility with a pitch name on it. That's how "Magnesium Dress" was built.

DM: So-called serious music isn't often recognized as being funny, and even when a Mozart or a Beethoven or somebody puts in a little joke, the audience sits with a very straight face. Why is it that either composers or audiences have limited the range that they'll allow to be expressed or heard?

It's difficult to summarize audience behavior in general on a worldwide level. The audiences that I'm most familiar with are the ones in the United States, and most of them are of the rock and roll variety, and they do have a sense of humor. What I do know about the U.S. classical audience is, basically, they are not there to hear the music, they are there to see who else showed up. It's a social event more than a musical event. They will go to a concert based on whether there is a star conductor or if there is an acceptable brand-name familiar composer on the program, but most of these people who go to these concerts in the United States haven't a clue as to what's going on. The main event of the evening is intermission, where they go out and piddle around with the white wine in the lobby. One would not expect them to be riddled with humor, especially since many of them happen to be Republicans and you know how they are.

DM: Do you think that's true of a Frank Zappa audience at a premiere of an orchestral piece?

Well, that audience probably is going to come largely from the world of rock and roll. There'll be crossover people. I would imagine that in Germany the audience for this piece is going to be derived mostly from fans of the band. Those fans who like the instrumental music on the tours would be attracted to this show. The ones who want to hear "Titties and Beer," they're going to be radically disappointed. There'll be a certain number of serious music concert goers that will be there because they might have bought season tickets to the festival or something like that, but I expect that the bulk of the audience is going to be the same people that we play for at the rock shows.

DM: Let's talk about the upcoming German festival. Someone the other night described the Ensemble Modern as your new band.

I wish! One of the things they studiously avoid is having so much to do with any given composer that a composer will influence their ability to have a varied repertoire. There are other ensembles that have been welded to a composer of a certain school and wind up regretting it. And I think that their way is the best. They play all different kinds of music by all different composers, and they have a big repertoire and a busy touring schedule, and I think it would be a big mistake for them to get welded to what I do.

MG: Where did the idea of using the didgeridu and the coffee can and water come from?

Well, a long time ago, we had a contact mike that we put on a Sparkletts bottle, and we got this really close-up sound of this horrible gurgling, glugging stuff. I used it as a sample on the '88 tour in a lot of songs. So it seemed to me the idea of bubble-like sounds of all densities and magnitudes could be used as interesting source material for a composition. Because the musicians in this ensemble take everything so seriously - and I mean seriously: If you tell them to scrape their instrument or do something weird to their instrument, they don't look at you out of the corner of their eye, they'll just do it, and do it very seriously.

The oboe player was blowing bubbles, and when I suggested that she take her didgeridu and stick it into a pot of water and grunt through it and blow bubbles at the same time, she didn't say, "You're out of your mind. I'm a lady. I shouldn't do that!" She got the didgeridu, and a couple of the other guys went out and got the little jug of water, and she knew that she was advancing the science of music like every player ever has, but the sound made me laugh so much I had to leave the room while she was recording it. I couldn't believe it. I'd imagined it would be fairly grotesque when I suggested she do it, but when I heard it, I couldn't stop laughing. I was spoiling the tape. I had to leave. You know, "Just do a bunch of these, and I'll come back."

We expect that it's going to be one of the more enjoyable portions of the concert in Frankfurt, because it's going to be miked through the six-channel system, so that means the illusion for the audience is that they will have the experience of sitting inside of the container of water that she is blowing bubbles into.

DM: What are some of the technical challenges of combining the Ensemble Modern with the Synclavier? Is it also going to be making some of the sounds?

There's going to be a six-channel playback of some of the material generated on the Synclavier that will be used as background for the dancers. It's about 15 or 20 minutes of the show, this piece called "Beat the Reaper." That will be reproduced from a Sony 33-24. All the concerts will have a six-channel P.A. system, and all the musicians onstage will be miked in such a way that they can be positioned around the audience in a kind of interesting spatial perspective. Plus, there's this device called "the hoop," which you can think of as a six-channel fish-pole microphone which can engulf a performer. It's a ring with six microphones around it, and each one of them feeds a different speaker in the hall. It's designed so that you can approach a soloist with this device. You can go up to a performer, put it over his head, go up and down his body while he's playing, and do all kinds of spatial tricks with it.

DM: How is the hoop operated?

A person with a strong arm and a will to succeed [laughs] will wander about the stage as I aim him in different directions. During the improvised sections that I'm going to conduct, I'll also be conducting the "hoop meister." And if I point over there, he'll go over. It's kind of like a butterfly net, you know: "Go over and bag that guy over there." And the house mixer is instructed that at those times when the hoop is in operation he is to do a cross-fade between all of the mikes on the entire Ensemble. They get faded down, and the only thing that's left in the P.A. is the six mikes inside the hoop. So you get this zoom-in effect. All the audio is focused on that one soloist.

DM: The concert is a great honor. How often is your stuff being done around the world?

Gail would know. We get requests monthly for various things.

MG: Do you say yes to everything?

Sure. There's going to be a CD of the Cincinnati Wind Ensemble, who wants to record "Envelopes" and something else. We just gave permission for that. There are a lot of requests for regional orchestras that want to play "Dupree's Paradise" or "Perfect Stranger." Usually, the things that they've heard already on a CD are the things they want to play. Usually, they are for smaller orchestras. Nobody wants to tackle the big things, because they're too expensive to re- hearse, with the exception of this orchestra in Germany that's going to be playing "Bogus Pomp."

MG: What's your best-selling album?

Sheik Yerbouti.

MG: Without re-issues? Did anything significantly outsell-

I don't think anything has outsold Sheik Yerbouti, partly because "Bobby Brown (Goes Down)" keeps becoming a hit every ten years.

MG: Do you understand why?

No. Last year in Austria it was Number One. It was Top Ten in Germany, and I think it was back on the charts again in Norway. For no apparent reason, it was back. For those of you who are ever interested in odd things that will happen in the future, we just got a request from Sweden to do a Swedish translation of "Penis Dimension" to be sung by a girl. We're going to let them go ahead and do it. The idea of a Swedish cover on that is pretty fascinating. The Swedes are odd in terms of the things that they choose to cover. Some jazz performer there in the '70s wrote words to "Toads of the Short Forest" and recorded it.

DM: Who does covers of your stuff in America?

Nobody.

MG: Are you planning to do any more touring?

Not if I can help it.

MG: What was your reaction to the Grandmothers, the old Mothers Of Invention?

I thought it was pathetic.

MG: Maybe you should do a Frank Zappa band without Frank Zappa. Just send them out on the road to play your music.

Well, there's been talk of doing that with this Zappa's Universe project that was done in New York. They're trying to organize a tour of that, but it doesn't look like it's going very well, because there's no money behind it. You can't put a band together to go and play hard music without rehearsal, and nobody wants to rehearse without getting paid, so I doubt whether it's going to happen. Probably the Zappa's Universe project is a one-shot deal. MG: But that was extremely ambitious with all different kinds of ensembles, right? What about just a rock band?

It's not easy to put together a rock band for any purpose. It's more difficult to put together a rock band to play hard music, and the hardest thing of all is to get a band booked into any venue with a promoter who is not sure he's going to sell tickets. Although I think there might be a market for such a band, you would be doing a lot of arm-twisting to get promoters to put up cash to bring it out. If there's a name attached to it, that name being somebody who is coming onstage, there's a whole different marketplace, but if it's just Band X going out to play the tunes of. . . .

MG: But what about some of the great players who've played with you? I'd think people would come out to see it.

I think people would come out to see it, but you have to convince the promoter. He's the guy who has to put up the down payment.

MG: Because it seems as if the venues that you were playing got bigger and bigger and bigger over the years.

Yeah, but I think it had partly to do with the fact that I was going to be at the venue. I mean, if I'm not going to appear at the venue, then I'm not sure that they will stick it in a big venue.

DM: Did you just grow to hate touring?

No. I just got old and ill and not prepared to put up with any kind of travel. Traveling for me is really very uncomfortable, especially in the United States since they have this ridiculous law about no smoking in airplanes. It's an uncivilized way to comport yourself on a trip, so this event in Europe was really a special thing just to go do the six concerts or whatever it's going to be over there.

MG: You mentioned that you'd discovered in your archives a large number of hours of music recorded at the Fillmore East in 1970 or '7l.

I didn't realize the volume of releasable material from those tapings: the album Playground Psychotics, which will be coming out later this year. . . .

MG: You said it was a surprise how much musical material you have. Have you listened to everything you've recorded?

No. I've got reels of tape in the vault that still have the original silver gaffer's tape from the night that they were stuck in the box at the end of a gig and haven't even been opened. Virtually the entire 1980 tour, which was recorded eight-track, is untouched by human hands. The '73-'74 tour with Ruth, and Chester, and George Duke, the bulk of those tapes from the United States and Europe, they're all four- tracks, are untouched.

MG: What about the band with Jean-Luc Ponty?

That was '72. There's a few tapes of that. That's also four-track.

DM: Did you record almost everything you did on tour? Every night?

Starting in 1969, Dick Kunc, who was the engineer on some of the early albums, built this little James Bond suitcase recording apparatus. He built a briefcase. He took a couple of Shure mixers, and packed it all in there, and we had a Uher, about this big, 7-1/2 ips. He accompanied us on part of the U.S. tour that year, and would sit in the corner of the room with earphones on and try to do a mix on whatever we were doing. I mean, it was impossible, but there are tapes. The first volume of You Can't Do That On Stage Anymore was mostly that. Those kind of tapes from the 1969 band. When we did the Pauley Pavilion recording, I had just bought this Scully four-track, and that was the first of the four-track recordings that we did. We recorded four-track for, I guess, ten years, nine years. Then we went to eight-track in 1980. Then we went to a single 24-track machine packed in a box in '81. In '82, I bought the Beach Boys' mobile truck, and put a pair of 24- tracks - in fact we had three. One as a standby, in case the Ampexes blew up, and we used that for a couple of years. In '84, I bought the digital 24-track, and we did a tour and recorded that 24-track digital. And in '88, I had two 24-track digital machines, and we did 48-track live recordings.

DM: Do you have a good memory of what's good from each of those tours?

I used to, but I don't think about it much anymore. I used to know the name of the gig, and what song was good on a certain occasion, and I used to be more involved in it, but I'm reaching the end of that phase of my interest in music.

DM: So, after the German event, you don't necessarily want to resurrect some of these good performances?

It's hard to find a reason or a market or a logic to package it, with the conclusion of the You Can't Do That On Stage Anymore series. That was always promised to be six volumes, and it's done. The two remaining live-like objects that will be coming out, Playground Psychotics and this other thing called Ahead of Their Time, which is the '68 band. I don't know whether there's gonna be a market for anything more than that.

MG: I think there is a market for anything. Earlier in your career it was much easier to play your whole catalog, in order, and now, as you're releasing more of the stuff from the old years, I have to go back and revise my ideas about what you were doing, because you're throwing in more pieces of the puzzle.

One of the arguments against putting out that old material is that there's not that many new titles that could be extracted from there. If I were to release that material, it would just be yet another version of "Pound for Brown" or yet another version of "Trouble Every Day." For live performances, there's a limited universe of songs with titles. What there is of a unique nature is that on every occasion, there would be some improvised something or other that would happen during the show that would be a one-off deal. You would have to do a lot of gathering to collate that stuff, and put together albums of songs that exist of only one kind. The '74 band did a lot of that.

MG: One of the things I like about the albums that are just a single concert, it's like, oh, that's a document of what you experienced that night. I really liked that. Although maybe you can edit the best songs, it's been a pleasure for me to hear entire shows.

That to me is excruciating, because when I've listened to those, it's hard for me to imagine one show that had so many good things in it that you'd want to release the whole show. There are always mistakes. With live stuff, you want to optimize the sound. You also want to optimize the solos. You've done a tour for four months, and you know that on a certain night, a certain song is played really, really well. It's a shame not to take that version of it and edit it in into the thing. I just think since it's all live, what's the difference whether it came from the same building or not?

DM: Do you miss playing the guitar?

Maybe a teenie weenie, teenie tiny, weenie weenie bit, but generally not. Every once in a while I might want to pick it up and play something, but, you know, it hurts. Just manipulating lt.

DM: Your calluses.

Yeah.

DM: Marshmallows.

Yeah.

DM: You can get those back.

Yeah, but it takes months to really develop and get your chops up to the point where you can say, "Hey, yeah, I'm a guitar player again." If I had to, I could pick up the guitar and play some kind of solo right now, but I don't know whether or not I would like to have it stored for future consumption. I mean, you can do instant entertainment to amuse your friends or baffle people on the moment, but compared to some of the things I've done on tape that I think are really good, I'm just so far away from what I was able to do when I had some skill. It's disappointing, and I hate to do things half-assed.

DM: Do you ever to listen to your old guitar work?

A few things, yeah. I'll listen and go, "How in the fuck did I do that?" 'Cause I just really have no idea how to do that.

MG: Are you going to play guitar at the festival in Frankfurt?

They want me to, but the logistics are very difficult, because in order to do it I'd have to bring a guitar roadie. I'd have to bring all my armaments, and it would mean I would have to eat up part of their daily rehearsal schedule to do a soundcheck for a fuzz-tone guitar, which is not something that is a pleasurable sensation for anybody. We're on such a tight schedule, the way the concerts are set up. We're going to need every minute we can just to make the P.A. work and get the acoustic instruments balanced. The other thing is that the expectation level would be so high. If I walk out onstage with a guitar, then people will expect me to do something worthwhile, and here you've got this fantastic group playing, and then this has-been guitar player walks up and goes [imitates weak fanfare]: "Ta da."

MG: I have a feeling that members of the audience wouldn't go, "Ugh, a has-been."

Well, in Germany it's different. First of all, it's a very critical audience. Second, we've played there so much, and it seems like everybody in the country bootlegged the shows. They know what we played when we were there. We have some very dedicated fans in Germany, and I'm sure, without being malicious about it, they would listen to what I was doing and just know that it wasn't as good as what I used to be able to do and then, in the typical German fashion, would reject it.

MG: You sang "Sofa" in German.

We learned it phonetically. The translation was done by a girl who used to be our babysitter. She was from Munich, and apparently not a very good translator. People look at what it means in English, and then listen to the German words, and they've told me that the translation is laughable. And then they tell me what it really should be in German, and it's unsingable.

MG: They ought to be appreciative. Did you ever sing in any other language?

Dutch. All we had to learn in Dutch was just about a paragraph's worth of this one song, and the audience was so amused that anybody would attempt to do it. That particular tour, I tried to convince Mark and Howard that it was a good idea to learn these things phonetically, because most American groups, if they go and play in another country, make no attempt to communicate in the native language, and I thought it would be a worthwhile gesture and probably a groundbreaking thing to do. In fact, in Germany, it was groundbreaking, because I had reports afterward that people in Germany who were musicians who wanted to do rock and roll had never considered that their language would work for rock. I didn't realize that they weren't doing rock stuff in German. If they did rock, they would be doing bad phonetic English rock lyrics.

DM: In terms of future recordings, is it going to be the German event and possibly Phaze III? Is that happening?

We're planning two CDs of the German event, or material generated by the German event, or material that involves me and the Ensemble Modern, whether it includes things that were recorded last year, or some combination thereof. And Phaze III, which now looks like it's going to be two CDs. Those are the things that are on the drawing boards now, plus The Lost Episodes. The Lost Episodes is all the unreleased studio cuts, volume one. MG: Let's talk about your ideas about time.

Well, I think that everything is happening all the time, and the only reason why we think of time linearly is because we are conditioned to do it. That's because the human idea of stuff is: it has a beginning and it has an end. I don't think that's necessarily true. You think of time as a constant, a spherical constant -

MG: - in which -

- everything's happening all the time, always did, always will. . . .

MG: So this coffee cup -

- was always full, and always empty -

MG: - and it's always being drunk, and it's always being heated. . . .

And it's always being thrown, and the guy was always painting it, and so on and so forth. Everything is always.

MG: Why does this empty cup make sense to me?

I don't know.

MG: You know what I mean, though?

Is that a Zen question?

MG: No, why do I go, "Oh, I have already - the cup that I drank no Longer appears to be full."

Well, that's because it is not full at this particular version of -

MG: Our perceptions?

We're dealing with time in a quasi-practical manner. We have devised our own personal universe and lifestyle that is ruled by time sliced this way, and we progress from notch to notch, day by day, and you just learn to meet your deadlines that way. That's only for human convenience. That, to me, is not a good explanation of how things really work. That's only the human perception version of how things work. It seems just as feasible to me that everything is happening all the time. And whether you believe your coffee cup is full or not is irrelevant. It's like - here's another way to explain it. What something is depends more on when it is than anything else. You can't define something accurately until you understand when it is.

MG: When in time.

Yeah, when is what. Without the perfect understanding of when, you've got nothing to deal with, see? 'Cause you analyze that cup of coffee a little bit earlier, and it's full. In a few minutes, you'll kick it over, and it won't even exist anymore. The state of the cup is determined by when you're perceiving it.

DM: Which means that the future has already happened.

Yeah. And the reason why I feel so strongly about this is, you know, this is one of the better explanations for why people can have premonitions, because instead of looking ahead, they're just looking around. You don't have to look ahead to see the future. You can look over there.

DM: That was going to be my next question. What limits our perceptions of other things or other times or the future?

I think you devise your own limits for your own personal convenience. There are some people who wish to have limits, and they'll invent as many boxes for themselves as they want. It's like, you know, men invented armor. They wanted to protect themselves from the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune and so forth. And people do the same thing psychically and psychologically. They build their own armor. They build their own rathole, whatever it is. And they choose their existence. Whether they do it consciously or whether it is helped along by a government or an education system, somebody is helping to shape this imaginary box you live in, but it doesn't have to be there.

DM: Then what are the limits to our being able to understand what the whole purpose of any of our lives is?

Well, why do you have to? I think that when is a very important thing, but "what the fuck" is also a very important thing to ask. Just keep asking, "What the fuck?" I mean, why the fuck bother? See what I mean? The important thing is, deal with the when. When will open a lot of shit for you. "What the fuck" really makes it easier to deal with it when you understand the when.

DM: You sound like a very mystical but common-sense guy, because you've always talked about the common-sense solution as always the best solution to anything, and yet this is very mystical.

Why is it mystical? Can you understand that when is important? What's mystical about that?

DM: Well, not just that question so much as the idea that time is a Moebius vortex -

No, the shape of the universe is a Moebius vortex. I believe that. Time is a spherical constant. Now imagine a Moebius vortex inside a spherical constant, and you've got my cosmology. But when is very important.

MG: How does music composition fit into that?

It's just something that you do. You know, I can do it, so I do it. You can draw cartoons and so you do it, and you can make people laugh and you do it. And that's what you do. And if somebody tried to keep you from doing it, you'd kill them, wouldn't you?

MG: Yes. See, I judge the universe by pencil mileage.

That's a pretty linear kind of thing. And the callus on my finger. I used to get that when I wrote with a pen. In fact, this finger right here has a permanent dent right in that bone from just holding that nub of a pen, and going [choking, struggling sound] like with those little dots, and now I get cramps in this arm from holding my thumb like this to do a certain move on the keypad to make the Synclavier do something. But in the larger scheme of things, what's a little nub in your finger or a twisted thumb? So long as somebody gets a laugh out of it, what the fuck?

F Z