See, and isn�t that just like me to start with a lie. This story is not about a man named Jed, it is about a man named Freshtone. (I allowed him to devise his own pseudonym, and that�s what he came up with, so you may address all concerns to him.) I got the story directly from him, and he swears it is true. As for me, I will relate the story exactly as he told it, with the addition of one lie, for dramatic effect.

First, let me introduce Freshtone. Do not be fooled by his quiet manner, not that you can see him right now, but still. He is a good friend, a stellar guitarist, and very big on the trash talk. He will come to your house and in the process of admiring your new guitar, casually bust into arpeggios you could never duplicate, and as he hands it back, rag on you for not adjusting the intonation correctly. Freshtone is the primary reason my band plays out in public. He happened by a rehearsal one day and invited us to open for his band, a simple act that precipitated the white-hot flaming fame tsunami we are currently riding. So if I occasionally seem to be raking his personality over a very hot bed of coals, know that I have at heart a healthy dose of respect and gratitude for all he�s done for us.

Freshtone tells outlandish stories with a dead-pan, slightly put-upon air, as if he cannot himself believe what he's saying. He reveals layers of detail very gradually, so it is difficult to discern the level of truth by the time you get to the end of his highly embroidered tales. Nevertheless, he swears that the following story is true.

The story involves gambling, drinking, strippers, hookers, a taxi ride, cash, business credit cards, a drive through the desert, a sushi buffet in Lake Havasu, and Jeff Beck.

It was innocent enough: two guys on a business trip to visit a vendor�a reputable company in the middle of the desert, where the labor is cheap. Freshtone and his associate, who we will call Gary, roll into Laughlin and check into a fabulous resort hotel. �I think they blew the place up the day we left,� Freshtone commented, although he didn�t say whether the explosion was due to something he had done.

Here�s more of the story in Freshtone�s own words (mostly):

�We check in (into separate rooms, which will become important later in the story), hit the ATM, and start drinking. This is when things take a turn. Gary is on fire, he is the luckiest bastard I�ve ever met. He just can�t lose, he�s mocking the dealers, he�s harassing the pit bosses, telling them he�s gonna take all their money. They had a look on their faces like it could happen. Now, we�re not talking tons of cash here� I mean it�s only like $1,000 that he�s won. Nothing, in Vegas, but we�re not in Vegas, we�re in Laughlin, where a thousand dollars can buy pretty much the whole town.

�So, Gary decides he�s had enough, and goes to cash out. When he gets to the cage with his chips, the lady has to pick up the Red Phone for approval (and remember, we�re only talking about $1,000). So, they run us out of the hotel because Gary won the monthly payroll for all the dealers. I should have known what was coming next when he asked to be paid in $1 bills.

�At this point I�m hungry. Gary has vowed not to eat during the entire trip (alcohol and cigarettes, he says, sustain him best while in the desert). He agrees to come along and watch me eat.

�We walk down the �strip,� which is about a block long, and find nowhere to eat, so we decide to go back to the hotel and eat at the restaurant there, or so I thought. We hail a cab and Gary jumps in front, then proceeds to tell me he�s kidnapping me and we�re going to a strip club, the nearest of which is across the border, in Arizona. By now, I�m basically in tears [Heh, heh� pussy! � Ed.] because I�m so hungry, never mind the fact that we are technically on a business trip. Gary tells the cab driver he can decide where we go, and after a stop for Red Bull and vodka, we�re off to the strip club with $1,000 in singles.

�When we get there, the place is scary. Even Gary has second thoughts, but he tells the cab driver that we're going inside and will pay him to wait for us. The driver says no, but Gary hands him $100 in singles and tells him he�s coming in to party with us. The guy says something about his wife being pissed and blah blah blah, then he�s in. Now, we are partying in this strip club with our cab driver and throwing Gary�s money all over the place. We blow through all the cash, plus Gary hits the ATM a few times.

�After about an hour, I�ve had my fill. The cab driver�s cell phone keeps ringing, and it�s his wife. He�s done for. Gary, on the other hand, simply WILL NOT leave. I�m left with this decision: Stay and look after my coworker, or leave him to die in this strip club.

�I left.

�I get back to the hotel, proceeding to puke on the casino floor as I�m walking to the room, and then pass out. I wake up to banging on the door, and I mean banging. I hear, �Open up! They�re gonna kill me! Open up, open up!� and look out the peep hole to see Gary with some chick and a toothless dude. I chain the door, open it, and ask what�s going on. The woman goes, �Your friend had sex with me for money and he cannot pay.� Gary starts screaming, �They�re gonna kill me! They�re gonna kill me!� Oh yeah, and Gary is soaking wet, in his jeans and all, like he just jumped in the river or something (never figured that one out).

�So, I shut the door, go into the bathroom where we had a tub full of ice and a 12 pack, grab two beers, open the door, and hand them to Gary, saying, �YOU�RE FUCKED.� And shut the door.

�Then, I hear this bang, and Gary had thrown the bottle against the door. It shattered everywhere. Now, the hooker and pimp were getting scared. They start running down the hall, and Gary throws the other beer at them as they are running.

�He goes to his room and passes out.�

And� that�s where I�ll leave it until tomorrow.

Star of the day. . .Irina Lazareanu