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Rootless


by Smiley McGrouchpants


               “There's only three chord voicings you need — ” (three fingers held up, kinda like saying “ok,” to a crowd of millions at home — or just practicing in the mirror; it's not YouTube either, it's 1989) “ — a F chord” (not “an F” chord, but “uh eff”), “a B♭ — ” (the other finger goes down, now, too, leaving the pinky — the others is holding the pick) “ — and the D-esque one.” (he smiles at the camera, not like a smirk, but like a dumbass. Grin.)
               The mirror shows this: “And you can go up and down the neck — ” (he demonstrates for a few chinky-chink exchanges — then puts both his hands in the air, shoulders ashrug, for a “what's the big deal?” look even though he has to keep from toppling over with the Fender Stratocaster across his chest and stay in mirror-frame) “ — and that's it!
               “You don't even need effects pedals! Just a Peavey amp!
               “You could play Stravinsky that way! Bach! Beethoven! The Rites of Spring!
               “But usually — ” (quietly, almost confidentially)
               “It's ‘Franklin's Tower.'
               “For half an hour.”

                                                             THE END

               “Bob! Are you coming down for dinner!”
               Mom!”
               “You don't gave a girl up there, do you . . . ?”
               Of course not!

                                                             (etc.)
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