The Guys

Bill Bartell

Born young, I was raised by Tartans to be a proud warrior, fearless in battle, with a thirst for the blood of my adversary. At age fourteen I was chained to a tree outside the boerner botanical gardens and told to survive one week with what was within reach, after feasting on jazz musicians, wedding parties and the random baked sophomore from Wisconsin Lutheran high school, things changed, I found that I had been infused with different appetites.

Flash forward twenty years and here I stand every Saturday night hoping against hope that THIS will be the night all my sacrifices, the banishment, the ridicule, will be not be in vain, that THIS will be the night that I justify to my people why I turned my back on the old ways, forgoing the chance to prove myself worthy of a mate, and a place of honor in the under realm, that THIS will be the time of reckoning, when wrongs are made right, and the naysayers are laid low, mewling and cursing the womb that spat them forth, That THIS will be the night when all the gods look down upon me and I.. AM... VINDICATED!!!

Would someone please yell out Kenny G.