Wuse de fuke is up with this?

Howdy. Sisco, here. This here's my brand new blog, Wuse De Fuke. It will cover meandering commentary and thoughts about life, music, the news, politics, snakecharming, my songs, train rumbles, the blues, death, mystery, books, drugs, boozin', owl hooting, hawks flying, my dogs, horses and horse farm, a busker's view of the world, depraved hobos, preachin' the blues, late night philosopher fucks, records, jazz, de woiking class, foke music, high plains sighers and drifters, firearms, the crabs and shrimps, vocal styling, Michael Hurley, Jeffrey Frederick & The Clamtones, The Sensitivos and Freaks what both include my good old buddy Dave Reisch, Holy (and Unholy) Modal Rounders & tribe, clan or whatever you want to call it -- my pal Dave Lightbourne says, among many other things, that it's a karass -- and so on into the wee, quiet hours when you's alone with the stars and sweet sadness of it all and there ain't a goddamn break you can find, anywhere. The whole stinking mess. You want it? You got it. Right here. Free. Someone else is paying for it. That's the American way. I'll be making posts in the mornings from here on out, partners. See you on the lost highway.

Get a grip.

The hell you say.

You talk about!

I need a drink.

You always need a drink but I'm sick of your moochin' ass.

Hey, you know things could be worse. The chow's hot. We're not taking any incoming.

Things can always be worse but I'm still sick of your moochin' ass.

Wuse de fuke, partner. The black flies is out. Always the black flies, no matter where you go. I'll die with the black flies pickin' my bones.

That's right, Sam. Tell 'em you'll see 'em come morning and shut your piehole.

You heard the man. Out.