"No sleep," Steve mumbled, his chin propped on his hands. The other
members of the Mule Barn truck stop's world dilemma think tank
smelled an issue and were instantly alert. You can't save the world
if you don't have an issue."You guys watching too much late-night
TV out in the bunkhouse?" Doc asked.
"I wish we had," Steve said. "It's just that dadgummed
Three-Chord Cortez."
Three-Chord was known far and wide for his exuberant incompetence
with a guitar. Steve's boss hires Three-Chord and some others to
help on special occasions.
"His guitar playing is terrible," Steve explained, taking a sip
of coffee, "but now it's worse ... way worse!"
"How could anything be worse than Three-Chord Cortez's guitar
playing?" Dud said.
Steve looked up.
"He's singing now!"
There was a deadly hush as the members of the supreme court of
darn-near everything took that in.
"Not good?" Doc asked, quietly.
"Not good? Oh dear Aunt Sadie's chrome corset!" Steve
replied. "It's like ... dragging a milk can along on pavement.
It's like removing a guy's appendix without anesthetic. It's
like ..."
"We get the picture," Dud said.
