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Where We Been At?!

An editorial by OG, Head Douchebag

Where have we been for the last month or so? Have I got a tale for you…

It was late September. The leaves had begun to show their autumnal hues and the thermometer began dipping below 50. It was not uncommon to wake to find a layer of frost on the still-verdant lawn. Once again, Fall had come to the Midwest. It was on one such morning in late September that I was alerted by RRC’s administrative assistant that I had a visitor. “Who is it?” I said, through the steam of the cappuccino I was sipping. “He says he’s a courier and he needs to see you personally.” she replied. “Okay, send him back.”

I watched through the glass walls of my office as what appeared to be a bicycle courier strode briskly down the hall toward me. He opened the door and asked “Are you OG, creator and editor of Rock And Roll Confidential?” I replied “Yes. Yes I am. How may I help you?” His lip curled into a half-smile as he pulled a sheaf of papers out of his bag and slapped them onto my desk. “You’ve been served.” he said. I picked up the papers and glanced at the cover…”Served for what?!” I sputtered, but the door was already closing and he was halfway to the elevator by the time I looked up.

“CLASS ACTION something something” the headline read. A class action lawsuit against RRC. Ain’t this a bitch? “Cathleen,” I said over the intercom, “Get Spradlin on the phone immediately. We’ve been served with some horseshit lawsuit and…” “…and you can’t make any sense of it.” she interrupted “…Right!” I said, somewhat rattled.

Through the years, Craig Spradlin and I have developed a symbiotic relationship. RRC gets in trouble and Spradlin gets us out of it. In exchange, I pay him. I pay him a lot. He’s worth it, though. Our record is a testament to Spradlin’s ability. RRC – A Whole Bunch, Angry Band Dudes – Zero. Spradlin has swatted every spurious lawsuit that we’ve tossed his way out of the park. He’s the Barry Bonds of litigation, only without the steroids, shrunken genitals and winning personality. Angry Band Dudes hate Craig Spradlin more than they hate last call.

I met Spradlin that afternoon at some old-school leather-booth bistro close to his office. When lunch is on my dime, he likes to drink Glenmorangie and eat Porterhouses as big as skillets, the fuck. “So? What’s the story on this suit?” I said, watching the hostess’ ass as she sauntered back to the stand.

“Well, it’s a class-action suit on behalf of what you like to call ‘Angry Band Dudes’ across the country.”

“What cities?”

“It doesn’t specify, but the firm bringing the suit is from Albany.”

“I knew it. I knew those upstate fucks were trouble. I knew it’d be either them or those cocksockets from Columbus.”

“Oh, they’re in there, too.”

“Figures. So, what do they want? What’s the complaint?”

“They say you’ve caused irrevocable damage to their respective ‘scenes’, whatever that means, and that, through your actions, you have prevented them from ‘making it’ and have deprived them of a living.”

“Are you fucking serious?! So it’s all RRC’s fault? Like we’re some sort of red menace floating over their city, preventing their shitty bands from fucking ‘making it’?! As if they’d somehow ‘make it’ if RRC didn’t exist?! Talentless degenerates! Feckless hacks! Every one of ‘em!”

“Settle down, pal.” He said, scanning the dining room nervously. Bald heads poked up over the banquettes like prairie dogs.

“Sorry. So what do we need to do? How quickly can we get this tossed out?”

“I’m not one hundred percent sure we can, buddy.”

“But we’re covered by U.S. Copyright law. It’s iron-clad!”

“I think so, too, but if these guys get a sympathetic judge…well, we won’t think about that right now. What we need to concentrate on is the pre-trial hearings, I’m going to call these shysters in Albany and find out exactly who they’ve got in this class. Then, we’re going to pick ‘em apart like pulled pork.”


To Be Continued...

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