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A Donkey and a Banjo

 

 

 

Once upon a time there was a raccoon who made his living making and selling

 

banjos to the animals in the forest. One day a donkey entered his shop.

 

 

 

“How can I help you?” asked the raccoon.

 

 

 

“Well, I would very much like to play the banjo,” said the donkey.

 

 

So the raccoon sold him a basic, but lovely starter model. The

 

donkey went his way, rejoicing in his new purchase. The raccoon was

 

also quite pleased, reckoning he had just gained a repeat customer,

 

as the donkey would certainly be back for a banjo case, strings,

 

finger picks, a pitch pipe, sheet music and – eventually - a top-of-

 

the-line banjo.

 

 

 

 

The donkey went home and flailed away at the instrument for

 

several days. But, as the timbre of his playing did not meet his

 

expectations, discouragement soon set in. He stashed the banjo

 

under his bed and did not revisit the raccoon’s shop.

 

 

Soon after, the raccoon was lamenting this circumstance to some of

 

his friends. Frankly, it was not the first time a promising

 

customer had failed to return. Business was flat.

 

 

 

 

“Your logo is outdated,” said the mole, a branding consultant. “I will

 

spherize it for you!”

 

 

 

 

“I will write you a clever tv spot!” said the bear, who was a

 

copywriter. “I’ll hire Pytka to direct it! Or Brian Buckley!”

 

 

 

 

“You need a scalable, trans-media, cross-channel, socializable marketing strategy!”

 

said the rabbit, a web ninja. “Time to monetize all of those

 

eyeballs!”

 

 

 

 

The raccoon felt paralyzed.

 

 

 

 

Then the fox - who had been listening in the corner - spoke up.

 

 

“Perhaps what your customers really want,” he said, “is not the

 

banjo itself, but the magic of banjo music. So, perhaps you should

 

be in the art of delivering them that magic.”

 

 

 

“What?” said the raccoon, but dimly comprehending.

 

“Look, why not let me make some posters offering banjo classes?

 

Then allow me to redesign your shop so it feels more…inviting. I will

 

set up some chairs, put on some hot coffee and ask everyone in.

 

Then you can hold jam sessions in your shop, where new players can

 

mingle and hone their skills? And I could invite a visiting

 

virtuoso to give a recital. I’ll create a little newsletter that

 

explains what you do every week. I can also film the sessions and

 

create a website to make it all available online for creatures

 

living in the outlying hollows.”

 

 

 

 

“In this way, you’d start giving customers banjo…joy,” suggested

 

the fox. “Consequently, I believe the demand for your instruments

 

will blossom.”

 

 

 

 

“Capital!” exclaimed the raccoon, catching on.

 

 

 

 

And that’s just what he did, following the fox’s suggestions.

 

In no time, his shop changed from a mere banjo store to a hive of

 

banjo action. The donkey, hearing that lessons were to be had, came

 

back. And he told others. Who then told others. Demand skyrocketed.

 

The raccoon hired assistants and opened a recording studio.

 

Customers came from everywhere. Best of all, the dells resounded

 

with the dulcet ding-a-dang of the banjo.

 

 

 

 

When the raccoon went to pay the fox for his remarkable services,

 

the raccoon asked him what line of work he was in.

 

 

 

 

“You are not exactly a writer. You are not exactly a poster maker.

 

You are not a brand consultant. You are not a web guru. Yet you

 

did all of these things for me”

 

 

 

 

“Well, that’s because I am…a designer”, answered the fox.

 

 

 

 

And soon after the raccoon came to see himself not as a banjo

 

builder, but a “maker of musicians”.

 

 

 

 

And so did everyone else.

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Los Angeles, April 8, 1984- Former Pittsburgh Pirates' pitcher Dock Ellis says he was under the influence of LSD when he pitched a 1970 no-hitter against the San Diego Padres.

 

Ellis, now co-ordinator of an anti drug program in Los Angeles, said he didn't know until six hours before his June 12, 1970 no hitter that he was going to pitch.

 

"I was in Los Angeles, and the team was playing in San Diego , but I didn't know it. I had taken LSD..... I thought it was an off-day, that's how come I had it in me. I took the LSD at noon. At 1pm, his girlfriend and trip partner looked at the paper and said, "Dock, you're pitching today!"

 

"That's when it was $9.50 to fly to San Diego. She got me to the airport at 3:30. I got there at 4:30, and the game started at 6:05pm. It was a twi-night doubleheader.

 

I can only remember bits and pieces of the game. I was psyched. I had a feeling of euphoria.

 

I was zeroed in on the (catcher's) glove, but I didn't hit the glove too much. I remember hitting a couple of batters and the bases were loaded two or three times.

 

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The ball was small sometimes, the ball was large sometimes, sometimes I saw the catcher, sometimes I didn't. Sometimes I tried to stare the hitter down and throw while I was looking at him. I chewed my gum until it turned to powder. They say I had about three to four fielding chances. I remember diving out of the way of a ball I thought was a line drive. I jumped, but the ball wasn't hit hard and never reached me."

 

The Pirates won the game, 2-0, although Ellis walked eight batters. It was the highpoint in the baseball career of one of the finer pitchers of his time, and arguably,one of the greatest achievements in the history of sports.

 

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_7SB0677%20belted%20kingfisher.jpg

 

That there is the Belted Kingfisher motherfucker.

 

You think he gives a shit?

 

He doesn't. Not one fucking shit.

 

He has a big head and a beak bigger than yours son, he fucking lances fish all day with it.

 

This punk rock bastard has a range stretching across North America and cousins in Australia. Swamps and ponds on lock.

 

He's like the navy seal of birds. Land, sea and air he's going to fucking devastate.

 

He's a bird with liberty spikes.

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