Here's where it all takes place, very large area, can't hear the music from one end when you are at the other. The West Stage is the big stage, the A team bands. East Stage is much smaller. Wonder which one we're at . . .

Show time. We're backstage, behind the East Stage, after an hour long walk from the car parked miles away due to the huge crowd. Eli and the Lost Creek band are already here, they are way behind schedule we won't go on for another hour, we didn't have to rush to get here after all, so it's kill time backstage till the performance . . .

Ready to go, been ready since six thirty when I woke up. Still in good shape considering the miles long walk from the car, carrying all the gear, so I'm able to visit with friends and pranksters and skypilots come to chat and share stories. . . .

Here's M.G., listening to a deep convoluted question from a person who has been waiting for this moment, not to worry, M.G. will fill the bill with the pertinence required . . .

And now the greater palaver, with Rebecca and Freddy getting the word from the stage announcer, a Bozo looking on, it is time to get it on, so come on, Lost Creek, get on the stage and start playing, time's a-wastng . . .

Suddenly, without warning, Lost Creek is called upon and they respond quickly, taking their places and going into song while Lost Spontaneros wait in the wings for the call . . .

Eli Babbs on bass, Lee Taylor on sax, Dave Sobel (can't see him here but he'll be in the DVD) on B3 organ, Brad (same with him) on drums, and Ocean on guitar and singing: I'm a hog for you baby, I can't get enough of your love . . .

Then Eli does the intro: and now for your edification and delight, all the way from 1969 Woodstock, those Merry Pranksters doing Los Spontaneros, we march on, full bore, tromboning, the bozos the dancers, the accomanying singer Kapn Ken launching into the nasty rap . . .

 They say I'm a screwup
they tell me to shut up
I know I'm a screwup
I won't shut the frig up
they think I'm an A hole
I tell them stay in school
he says he's street cool
nothing but a cool fool
let stupidity rule
uses his sex tool
to screw up the gene pool
sits on his backside
pokes holes in his thick hide
a free fall back slide
a dime bag carnival ride
cell phone
stuck in his ear
coming through
loud and clear

In the land of the fat
mother hubbard
is queen
eating garish food
off the TV screen
a bikini top
and spandex bottom
talk about big buns
my gal's gottem


fat fat
we're too damn fat
fat fat
we're too damn fat

fat people
playing beer pong
don't spill a drop
at the truck stop
pinball, donuts
hot showers
trucker roadies
cut-off jeans
and low cut tops
muscle tees
and hip hugger pants
fire up reefers
forty foot flames
cover the dames
water over the bridge
wind under the skirts
a can of tuna
pops open

fat fat
we're too damn fat
fat fat
we're too damn fat

 angry fans
scream for a hit
go hit your
motherthumping neighbor
breaking the
decible barrier
with his leaf blower
up alongside the head
see how he likes
that one-hit decision

the ancient
dance of death
unveils itself
in the dusty plains
ever hear about
congresspeoples kids
blowed up by the IEDs
bright blooming
rat a tat
screams of the dying
villages bombed
to smithereens
ever been
to smithereens
a tawdry place
anything goes
wolves howl
for your hide
what ever
happened to mercy

fat fat
we're too damn fat
fat fat
we're too damn fat

 oxycotone will get you
through the rough spots
then the rapid descent
with S shaped turns,
battered rims
a flat tire
the driver has
the gearshift
jammed in his mouth
rats invade the pantry
men in ski masks
storm the balcony
a skunk explodes
noxious fumes
kills your sex drive
loin-clothed women
leap across
the checkout counter
brain eating zombies
out of control
zonked on drugs
fiddler crab
look for a walker
drool down his chin
he's so crooked
he puts his hat on
with a monkey wrench

fat fat
we're too damn fat
fat fat
we're too damn fat

They've had enough of this negative shit. Shouting SHUT HIM UP BEAT HIM UP, the dancers and bozos and singer and drummer and musicians pummel KapnKen to the floor and whale the hell out of him until . . .