Thirty years ago this guitar riff would have been a derelict. Just a worthless magnetic signal imprinted on a cheap dusty cassette. Now, it’s the backbone for a mega hit. Had music really degraded into this? Bob was indeed perplexed. The process had evolved over decades, but his neurons had finally hit critical mass today. He angrily switched off his radio. But what was really bothering Bob was his chronic constipation. It felt like twenty pounds of crusty boulders were lodged in his gut. Like this shitty new music, Bob seemed stuck with this overbearing blockage like a massive anchor. He’d have to find his relief and inspiration elsewhere because none of his trusted remedies were working. The airwaves were congested with AutoTuned hell and his guts were filled with years of built up waste and he was beyond desperate. A deep autumn sun began to set as he thought back to his high school days of long ago. Just then, a faint wisp of synthetic gardenia and cat urine crept into his room. ‘Fuck! Ethel’s back,’ he thought. Now he had real problems. email: [email protected] web: www.michaeloster.com