"Some 'pacas stand tall
but it really doesn't matter..."

OK. Consider the previous entries. Then consider a possible rhyme.

"Romantic shots of cute ones
chewin' on roses..."

What might that inspire in a body a-comin' through the rye?

"Pictures of alpacas
in provocative poses..."

What else did he see?

The diminutive one bristled as he told the tale of how he used his mouse to guide his cursor toward the address bar and clicked; how he typed the glorious letters—one precious stroke at a time: i-l-o-v-e-a-l-p-a-c-a-s-.-c-o-m; how his heart fluttered with anticipation as his right ring finger hovered over the return key. What would happen if his finger fell? What would he see? What would he feel? He closed his eyes. His finger dropped like a guillotine blade; it chopped his sense of what's good and decent into impossibly small pieces, elevating Depravity to the role of dictator of his soul.

His eyes, however, were still closed.

Many philospophers might argue that nothing—including whatever rendered on his computer screen once he pressed the key key*—existed outside the realm of the elf's self as long as his eyes were closed. He had broken no laws; he had not chewed up and spat out the morals instilled in him over his thirty years. Yes: his parents were good people, taking the time at every turn to instruct their son in the spirit of Christ. His innocence—as long as his lids kissed—remained intact.

Oh, but Temptation is a shrewd salesman. The dwarf opened his eyes. He was taken.

What did he see?



* Not a typo: one's an adjective, one's a noun; they're word dopplegangers!

How about a bit of background for the uninitiated?

Bangers and Mash was a young band, travelling here and there in order to stake its claim in the pantheon of Celtic rock. Our five at the time: Shawn (guitar), Caitlin (fiddle), Seth (bass), John (drums), and Scott (vocals and your not-quite-humble narrator). We'd cram ourselves into Seth's bound-to-break-down van (oh, I miss the rusted wheel wells, the unsafety belts, and the dashboard lion--the king of the road!) and hurtle through time and space toward some unsuspecting pub owner and his patrons. Sure, Seth had a penchant for braking a little late, but he never failed to get us to our destination in five pieces. (That's a good thing, duh!) We had, therefore, nothing to fear outside of our conveyance. Inside the unhappily upholstered barreling box, however, we had plenty to fear; see: our own roaming gnome of a guitar player was known for his releasing foul pheremones, often of the "silent but deadly" variety. "Dude! What did you eat?" Don't get me wrong: he certainly had redeeming qualities. Why else would we put up with his all-too-frequent flatulence? He could play the guitar--no doubt about that. He had a fresh batch of hats, which he wore admirably. But he also had a strange habit: one he revealed while trapped with the rest of us in Seth's van, while we sped toward Portland, Maine. Certainly, he expected this story to remain with us, within the thin walls of the van; what happens on the road stays on the road, right? Unfortunately, I'm not one to hide shiny gems when I come into possession of them.

During a typical Bangers and Mash discussion about animal husbandry, Shawn innocently enough asked if any of us had seen a late-night commercial--aired, supposedly, on ESPN--for a website: www.ilovealpacas.com. He explained the premise of the website and revealed that he had visited the site because he "had nothing else to do." He claimed that the site--through pictures and testimonials--promoted alpaca farming, promising healthy returns for an investment in the Andean pack animal; the creature's hair is valuable, no doubt: it's used for blankets, hats, gloves, scarves, etc. I, however, saw his explanation as a cover story of sorts. Let's look at the facts:

1) a guy
2) late at night
3) the internet

Enough said.

There was something he wasn't telling us. I made it my mission to get to the bottom of it. I would not leave that van without the truth--or without my take on the truth.

More to come...

Yes: it's true! The world-famous Alpaca is back and he's more Celticly insane than he's ever been! Exciting news: LiveJournal has been chosen as the exclusive outlet of the Alpaca's inane ramblings and the updates as provided by the members of Bangers and Mash. Feel free to make yourself an LJ friend; that way, you'll never be out of touch--you'll be but a click away from the Alpaca. Also, feel free to leave a comment or two when the spirit--or the Alpaca--moves you. The more interactive this journal becomes, the better!

WARNING: Due to the fact that there's absolutely no redeeming value to what you'll find posted here, reading about the Alpaca could be detrimental to your health--mental health, especially. Once you start, however, you might find it difficult to stop. (This sure as hell sounds a lot like smoking, come to think of it. In that, please don't attempt to smoke the Alpaca or any alpaca-related materials/products.) If you haven't already been diagnosed as Celticly Insane, continued reading of and/or participation in this particular journal may move you closer and closer toward full-blown Celtic Insanity. If you find yourself laughing, giggling, chuckling, and guffawing; if you find yourself thinking or dreaming about the Alpaca as anything but a useful pack animal, please seek professional help.

Please check out the following links for more information about Bangers and Mash, Long Island's own Music for the Celticly Insane!

Diary of a Bandman (Bangers and Mash Journal) and Bangers and Mash (Official Bangers and Mash MySpace Page)

Again, thanks for coming by. Be sure to come back every once in a while--especially "if you find yourself alone and you don't want to leave home. Just go online, it ain't no crime."

Not yet anyway.

Scott, BAM