Memphis

Tim rockn' out behind the wheel.

The warm glow of Memphis.

The morning after Memphis, cozzzzy.

Gabe on pee-pot patrol.

Mikey goin' monkey.

Bubby doesn't know where Nick went wrong.

The pictures for Memphis got erased by accident, but as you can see by the face paint we put on in preparation our night was best described as a fierce tribal battle. We wandered down Beale St. until we found a blues hall that rocked us with a band named Delta Saturn. Delta Saturn was more than meets the eye with a saucy saxophone, a cowboy lead guitarist, an old leathery base player that looked like a fossilized cave women, a huge drummer, and a 7o+ yr. keyboardist who played like he was still 15. There were a lot of people asking for spare change but we told them we spent every penny on diesel but would gladly sing them a song. They were sorry to find out we had horrible singing voices. We also saw the famous Gibson guitar factory, got a peek at the Coyote Ugly bar which was empty, and drove by the hotel room where Martin Luther King was assassinated. The picture on the front page of the news paper Bubby picked up on the way out of town was of a black man who had clenched a nomination for the presidency of the United States, Barrack Obama. We went to Graceland, but the memory of the once crowned king of rock 'n roll, Elvis Presley, now would have cost nearly $50 a person. Thats enough for a full tank of blue bird go juice...sorry Graceland we have places to be.