Cpt. Picard

Over the years, I have owned and amassed a rather enormous and horrifying amount of guitars, amplifiers, and related effluvia, with varying degrees of success. There exists, in a forgotten corner of the Overhouse basement, a graveyard of sorts, where abandoned experiments, plans gone awry, and fevered dreams of sonic mastery writhe nightmarishly in the shadows....

I shall lead you on a carnival-sideshow-like tour of grotesqueness through this moldering archive. How many installments this shall be, I cannot say, as the the growth of my collection of specimens outpacing my cataloguing of them remains quite likely, indeed!

Episode One:
Icarus Takes Flight

Like the brave and foolhardy avian-clad legend of yore, I desired more than to merely gaze upon the bosom of our warm, life-giving Sol. It is my favorite planet, because 'tis so very big.

*Rudimentary knowledge of the mechanics of flight dissuaded me from the conventional approach of tying swan feathers to my arms (also, I am very lazy), so my approach to touch this fiery orb was more or less metaphorical. My Earthbound substitute? What else, but a Flying V!*

Purchased from the original Overgirl's younger brother, for something like 50 bucks (so meager a sum for ascent to the heavens!), it immediately became, somewhat unfortunately, my number one stage guitar. It came to me quite stripped, really just a couple of blocks bolted together. I set upon infusing it with whatever miscellaneous hardware I had laying around. It was, shall we say, cosmetically modified, but essentially sound. I dubbed her Goldie, and proceeded to carve her name below the bridge, but couldn't remember how to make a cursive G, so she became Oldie. Apparently a decrepit Kramer; lord knows what it originally had on it. *Some finer details:

Very possibly a Kramer. I vaguely recall the K being scratched off first, so for a time it was Ramer. Ancient Grovers kept her well in tune.

Shockingly nice neck, though I am a sucker for over-varnished maple. Never needed to touch the truss; action always low despite best efforts of crude trem bridge...

Ripped hard and loud with some hi-line Seymour-Duncan something-bucker. I do not recall what is under the piles of electrical tape, nor do I care to find out.

Apparently, it is made of actual wood. Something strange was once bolted to it's lower side. Possibly a knee rest? It sucks trying to play a V sitting down.

Functional and attractive speed-holes add aerodynamic stability while in flight. Nails above "chug" inscription serve as convenient places to cut picking hand.

Hole at upper left is actually a bullet hole, there are several on it. She grew up in a bad neighborhood, I guess. I dug out one of the slugs; looked like a .22. Also some birdshot in the back from when I shot her with a 20 gauge (from like, 80 yards, so no biggie). Our relationship was... ...strained...


It is true, I do heart milk!

She is not a beautiful object to behold, but earned much praise with her, um, personality. Her future is not certain, but like the Phoenix, Oldie shall some day rise from her ashes anew...

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