Last weekend, I was hanging out at one of my favorite New York bars, having a good time, scoping out the scene, kickin' back a few pints and sharing some blow with my buddy Frankie. Then something happened that ruined my entire evening.

Some redneck bastard went over to the jukebox and played that damn Charlie Daniels Band song about the time I went down to Georgia. Sure, I was in a bind. My soul stealing numbers were down from the previous year, and I guess I was willing to make a deal. Yes, I bet a "shiny fiddle made of gold" against the soul of some kid named Johnny.

But I kicked his ass. I blew his weak shit out of the water. Christ, I even had a band of demons jamming with me. They rocked hard. That demon that was playing bass can't be beat. Who do you think taught Bootsy Collins and Stanley Clarke?

And, what about me? My "fiddle" playing was revolutionary. I had fire flying from my fingertips. C'mon. You think some country boy can top that? And, who do you think influenced bands like the Velvet Underground and Sonic Youth? Johnny? Please. That down- home shit may play in the sticks, but it isn't worth one red cent where I come from.

There's no freakin' way Johnny won. There had to be some Heavenly influence over the judges. I was so pissed off I was spitting fire. OK, I do that sometimes anyhow, but that contest was bullshit. That damn do-gooder Jesus had to have rigged it.

Oh well, at least I got that little bitch Johnny in the long run. Sure, he won the gold fiddle, but he knew it was a sin to make a bet with the devil. Now his worthless soul is rotting away in the fiery pits of Hell. Still, I hate that freakin' song! I'll see you in Hell Charlie Daniels. I'll see you in Hell.