Nashville: The Finale

When we travel somewhere interesting, we take as many photos as our Wal-mart camera can hold, with the hopes that a handful of the pics will turn out and be usable in one of our moronic postings. We're really happy when we get enough material for two postings, and when we spit out three, we're downright proud of our ability to make chicken salad from chicken shit!

So, join us on the Ultimate Party Bus for a final ride through Nashville. We'll enjoy some week-old leftovers, cold and stale until warmed in the microwave and spiced up with a dash of tabasco sauce from the RR kitchen.

Unfortunately, one meal we can't enjoy a week later is oysters. But dang, they sure taste good when fresh out of the steamer. We can get oysters in Michigan, but they cost a buck fifty a piece and come brown and moldy. In the south, you can get 'em for a quarter and knowing they came off the refrig truck last night. Deeelicious. The only downside is the next morning, when your bottom reminds you of the oysters from the night before. It's a most unholy hangover- in your lower intestinal tract.

Over at the Country Music Hall of Fame, fat Garth talks up his place in the history of country music on a wall-screen TV. This guy had the C&W world in the palm of his hand until the day he announced he was no longer Garth Brooks, and wanted everyone to call him Chris Gaines. He recorded a pop-music album that no one bought. His lame attempt at establishing an alter-ego while atop one music genre hierarchy stands as one of the biggest career mis-judgements in the history of pop culture. But when the royalty checks come every month for his songs that still get heavy rotation on country music stations, we doubt he cares very much.

One guy who never made it to the high pinnacle of country music fame was crooner Lefty Frizzel. With a name like that, it's no surprise. You could be the best singer/geetar-picker in the land, but your name has crippled your walk to fame from the onset. Everyone thinks you are a one-handed drip. For those of you hoping to live the honky tonk dream, RR will tell you the secret to having a a big-time country music career: combine the name of your favorite pet and the street you grew up on. For us, that would be Levi Kent.

If any of y'all move to Nashville and assume the name Levi Kent and make it big, we want our cut.

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