About Me

My photo
Louisville, KY
The Comedy Attack! is a bi-weekly comedy show every even Sunday @ 9:00 at Groucho's Bar & Karaoke (935 Goss Ave, Germantown, Louisville, KY, USA) hosted by Jake Reber. But who IS Jake Reber? Jacob Thomas Emmanuel Reber is a 6 year Louisvillian musician-comedian-writer-Abraham Lincoln impersonator-cartoon historian-multihypenate. You may remember him for such activities as playing upright bass, abusing language, falling off his bike and always aggressively adventuring. To contact please send 3 proofs of purchase to jacobreber@gmail.com

Tuesday, April 16, 2013

My Living Will

                Firstly, let’s get one thing straight: I plan on living forever, infinitely, until the end of time, until the collapse of reality.  Why shouldn’t I?  I’m doing pretty swell so far…

… But it is better to be safe than sorry. At least according to my dead Uncle Emmanuel it is.  Lot of good that did him, practiced good safety all his life and then one night he just didn’t wake up.  His heart stopped cold.  He was only eighty-three years young. 

But I do have some demands on the off chance I do happen to die.  I agree that it is selfish to want things of people after you stop living, but I’m on to something here.  I’m Babe-Ruthing that the next big fad in social media is DIY online Living Wills.  No lawyers, no bullshit.  Just update as you go.  Aunt Debbie pisses you off?  Write her out of the will.  She doesn’t deserve any of your…oh wait, a Passover card….from Aunt Debbie?  With a check for a hundred bucks?  

She’s back in the will.  That easy.  

                In the interest of spear-heading innovative trends in internet memes, submitted for the approval of the Midnight Society, without further ado, I present unto thee:

                                     The Living Will of Jake Reber

                In the unlikely event of my demise, the first thing you should do is raid my body for all it’s worth.  Donate all the organs, I sure as Hell won’t need them.  All of them, that is except for my intestines.

                My intestines will be used to make Bass strings, which are to be put on my Upright Bass.  I realize that gut strings are traditionally made from sheep intestine, but after a lifetime of variable bowl consistencies ranging from highly loose to diamond-hard and pelletine, I’m sure my intestines will be resilient enough to forge at least a decent ‘G’ or ‘D’ string.  Please shoot for the full set, though.  I have never heard of anyone performing this procedure but I can point you towards Germany or Japan as likely willing candidates.  No country on Earth is more depraved sexually or musically than those guys.  They’ll love it.   

                With my Bass now strung with Jake-gut strings, I will live forever in my music.  I have loved my Bass more than any woman I have ever known, but just like a woman, if I’m dead I won’t be satisfying her.  So just be sure my bass goes to someone who will only play it occasionally, if not regularly.  The strings are never to be changed, but every June 4th (my birthday) as well as on the anniversary day of my death (hopefully the same day as whenever Tom Waits dies).  Be sure to get it in the studio to record with it, so I can be some kind of weirdo posthumous carnie legend in a couple decades.  

                If I slip into a coma, don’t rule out I might return in some convoluted comic-book rebirth.  Don’t keep me on the feeding tube.  Just pull the plug; I’ll figure something out.  Captain America and Batman both died from getting shot, but they actually just went back in time and managed to fight their way out it.  Neither of those guys needed their bodies to do it so I’m not super-worried about it.  

                Nextly, never under any circumstance hold up traffic for my death.  No funeral procession.  The general population need not to be inconvenienced by some asshole they don’t know/care about dying, and I’m no better than any other asshole.  

                Just burn what’s left of my organ-less body Viking style and put my Bass in casket if you have a funeral.  Be sure to hire a band to play that will make sure to put the ‘fun’ in ‘funeral.’  And get a keg of New Albanian Elector.  Or have it Groucho’s.    

                I do not wish to be buried as I will be dead and have little use for a plot of land.  But if you want to make statue of me, that is fine.  Just don’t make it creepy like those Shriner's statues.  A child and a fez is the worst possible combination of accessories to adorn a statue with.  

               Engraved into the statue will be the following epitaph:  

“If only intelligence was measured by how much obscure music you know...Jake Reber wouldn't have been such a fucking moron.”-Raanan Hershberg

The statue will be paid for by auctioning off all my possessions that aren’t my Bass.  If I don’t amass any more wealth by the time of my death then I don’t mind if it is made of chicken-wire and paper-mâché.  Just make sure to pay the artist and tip well.  

Deactivation of my Facebook account and other online identities will be the responsibility of my next of kin, as I need not be wasting precious internets with that shit.  In case of my return, I will simply create a new identity of ‘Jacob Thomas Emmanuel Reber, Version 2.0.’  Who knows, I may even add third middle name if I feel so inclined.  Depends on how many cybernetic components my body has.  

And in closing, my final wish is to have my likeness dressed as Abe Lincoln to replace the actual portrait of Abe Lincoln on the $5 bill.  He can keep the penny, as well as his $1 coin.  Even if I somehow fulfill my 8th grade superlative award prediction of, “Most Likely to Become President” and even prove myself to be a good enough one to merit my own portrait on a bill of currency, just give me the fiver as Abe and call it a wash.  

Enjoy your lives!
Jake Reber 

Sunday, January 27, 2013

The Best Places in Louisville to Fart

So this list has been bounced across a couple blogs.  But much like it's subject matter, the article just seems to remain funny no matter how long it hangs around.  Because face it – farts are funny. They always will be. Since modern women have finally admitted that they partake and, dare I say, are even fond of this national pastime, we finally live in an epoch of true equality.

We can now all fart in peace and love one another like in all those songs your parents used to listen to. So what are the premier and preferred public areas to unleash anal aromas? Where in the ‘Ville can you get away with a fart frenzy?


Nachbar: Between the jazz-wailings of VAMP or the nigh-endless loop of Black Sabbath on the jukebox, there is always a commotion at this hangout staple in Germantown .  It’s a safe bet no one will hear a toot out of you.  Not to mention the regularly-fucked plumbing makes for an easy blame.  Or any dog standing about waiting to get beer spilled on it.  Or, my favorite scapegoat is always nearest cute hipster girl in sundress pretending she likes German beer.  

 Mid City Mall: If you have needs, the Mid City mall can fulfill them all: 
-Need groceries?  Valu-Market has you covered.
-Read books?  Shelby branch library inside.  More into movies?  They've got a fine theater.  
-Need smelly old clothes?  Try the Nearly New Shop downstairs, across from Jim Cain's Gym.
-Dying to hear some Steely Dan?  The Backdoor always has the hook up, as well as food & drinks. 
-Lonely?  Eat at the Chinese "Super" Buffet.
-Need a laugh?  Comedy Caravan's there for you.
-Need a good laugh?  The lobby has a plethora of brain-dead eccentrics to laugh at.  It functions as the epicenter of the insanity, featuring a colorful cast of clown-shit crazy persons among the finest the Highlands have to offer.  Everyone is too old or far gone to realize if what they hear/smell is of their own creation or your doing.  Perhaps they just figure it's just another of their auditory hallucinations.
If you want your work to be truly appreciated head into the Teen Outpost in the library.  Your butt vapors have to compete against the thick, swampy smell of angst of the high schoolers fixated on the internet.  Circulate that stale air by breaking some wind!  Punish their snarky teenaged judgments with some ripe crop-dusting of the silent but deadly variety!    


             Heine Bros. Coffee:  Do you know what mixes splendidly with the mellow, earthy, chocolate-like, floral, smokey, citrus & nutty aroma of Heine Brothers' Coffee?  Farts.  Insert obligatory Heine joke here ________________________. 


Churchill Downs: Churchill Downs is an impeccable blend of trash and panache that makes it oh-so swell to pass gas.  You are probably dressed your best on a date just to gamble like a granny and observe simpletons.  The only food that isn’t a buffet of ribs is nachos and corndogs, which means you’ll be tooting up a storm even before the bugle sounds.
With so many horses and disgruntled, over-worked staffers it's easy to abstain blame for your assy rip.  Plus, with everyone wearing sunglasses it’s nigh-impossible to detect facial affect; your look of shame and everyone else’s look of disgust are virtually indistinguishable.  Always remember that no matter how foul your odiferous expulsion may be, it will never be the most offensive thing to happen at Churchill Downs.  Check out the infield during Derby sometime.


Chicken King: Anytime I travel or someone from another country visits, I always get always the same question when I mention I’m from Kentucky: “How’s the fried chicken?” or “Is the KFC better there?”
            Of course not!  The Colonel’s recipe is same worldwide: reconstituted chicken jelly, toenails, avian smegma and nicotine.  Not to mention those legendary eleven herbs and spices. It’s the meat of chickens that lived consuming the meat of other chickens. 
            Any lover of legitimate Louisville fried chicken knows to head down to the corner of Broadway and South Clay Street to the king of chicken: Chicken King.  It takes merely a single taste to realize that you just made the greatest decision of your life.  But you must understand that this decision comes with a highly gaseous consequence. 
The less-than-personable staff of Chicken King stays segregated behind bullet-proof glass, as to protect themselves from not only robberies but also your poots.  That means the dining room essentially becomes a gas-chamber.  Your main concern is offending any patrons, who are already disgruntled if they frequent fast food chicken joints.  Just hold your ground and take pride in your stench; the respect will be returned. 


Old Louisville: Simply being outdoors in this neighborhood is a health hazard.  Heavy clouds of poo-gas engulf the entire area, seeping outward towards surrounding areas like syphilis.  Maybe it’s because Old Louisville is purportedly one of the most haunted places in the U.S. of A.  It could be lingering traces of ectoplasmic activity wafting into your nostrils.  Or it could be that the plumbing of 150 year-old houses were never meant to withstand the volume of shit created by four-apartments worth of college students.  Nothing you could produce from your butt could ever come close to the awful stench of this shitty neighborhood. 
The fact that the University of Louisville, duPont Manual High school, and Noe Middle school are in this vicinity is like a metaphor for the educational system.  My advice: wait until the St. James Art fair and fart on a busking musician.  They may not like your tip, but they will appreciate that someone noticed them at all. 

Tuesday, December 25, 2012

Dr. Seuss Explains Hipsters

Dr. Seuss Explains Hipsters

            The other day my mother asked me what a hipster was.  And I really didn’t have a good answer for her.  I’ve never fully understood what exactly a hipster is myself.  And I assert that no one really does.  The word has become devoid of any true meaning. 

            The Urban Dictionary has 347 entries trying to define the word.  Nearly every single one is negative.  As far as I can tell the most standard definition of hipster is someone who exhibits all the properties in a person you don’t care for. 

So I turned to the one man who explained most everything to me as a child, from environmental conservation, to the dangers of cold war-era arms race, to the benefits of proper hygiene.  A man who was brilliant enough to award himself a Ph.D. without wasting his time studying in school to earned one: Dr. Seuss. 

So without further ado, I present unto you,

Oh me oh my!
Say, hey there hip guy!
Can you explain to me
Just what it is that you be?

You like to create new labels
As fast as you are able
Just what is it that you be?
Aside from living irony

Are you a geek, or are you Emo?
“No, I’m just a VoVeek, one who’s post-PoMo”
Oh which way do you go so?

You buy nice beer but prefer Pabst
“I quite enjoy the quality lapse”
If you ask one for some gum
They will tell you “I have none, chum!”

In the coffeeshop with a Mac
Typing out Facebook cyber attacks
“Your work is shit
You’re no Bukowski
go sew three faux-Clojees
and read real poetry!”

In the thrift store
Buying more
And more and more!
Just how much can she afford?
With her daddy’s cash; does she do chores?

Striped socks
And indy rock
Pumping through a vintage Vox!
Too much noise on the block!
All the pounding sounding deranged! 
Terrible synths and too much flange! 

…okay so maybe Dr. Seuss has been dead a little too long to understand either.  Who knows.  I guess there is only one other word malleable enough to match ‘hispter’ in terms of nigh-meaningless insultitude: Fuck. 

Fuck Hipsters...I guess.

Sunday, December 18, 2011

Pokégirl Trading Cards

Straight from the dark halls of Indiana's Rustic Frog Gentleman's Club, as advertised in Louisville's LEO Weekly tabloid, now bring the action into your own home!  The first wave of Pokégirl Stríppermon cards are here just in time for the holidays! 

First off the deck is Care Bear!  A normal type Pokégirl, her card says she loves to eat walnuts, chestnuts, cheese, and milk.  Just like an actual bear!  Her special power is Trickery, so watch out if you bring any pic-a-nic baskets to this game.  Or to the club.

When not dancing at the Rustic Frog, Kiki loves watching MMA fights.  That's how she got her name, from her fearsome kicks.  Unfortunately, that's about all the offense she can mount as she never gets off of the floor.  Not because of her background in Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu, rather because she is usually blackout drunk.

Next up we have Luscious! Watch out for this beauty, as she possesses one of the deadliest combos in all known forms of combat.  First she TACKLES you to the ground (causing 10 HP damage) then she fires her dreaded POISON GAS.  Usually into the mouth.


Dreamer is a master of mind attacks.  She knows exactly the right things to say to get inside of your head.  To defend against these cerebral assaults, just bring up her father.

Also belonging to the Physic type of Pokégirl, it's hard to tell if Drowzee is heavily meditating, or just dead. Her confuse ray is effective against enemies of all types and herself.

Essence gained her name from her unusual odor. She is a level 7 weed type Pokégirl, meaning she only works sporadically and survives mostly by leeching of others.

Coming up next to the stage we've got Candi!  Like her card says, she clearly loves circular objects.  Wanders the streets looking for change, often forgetting about the wads of bills hidden in the crack of her ass.

Jynx is the newest addition to the Rustic Frog line-up, and is unlike any girl the club has ever seen!  Her Doubleslap attack can....ah fuck it, the racism is killing me here...let's just wrap this up with:

Santanna used to perform under the moniker of Ariel until she used her ACID attack a few too many times.  Ever since she has believed that she is actually Hispanic guitar hero Carlos Santana.  Her special Poképower is COWARDICE, as she perceives her left arm as a devil serpent and continuously hears the drum intro from "Smooth" on loop in her head.  She spends most of her time grating her teeth and nervously scratching the area where her eyebrows once were.

Tuesday, December 13, 2011

The List of the Most Terrifying Musicians in Louisville

It’s no secret that Louisville has a plethora of awesome musical talent.  My Morning Jacket, Cheyenne Mize, Tim Krekel and Jimmy Raney but a few upstanding notables.  Delve deeper into the mysterious underbelly of Louisville’s music scene and you will find so many infuriatingly talented musicians it’s startling­­--soul-crushing talented motherfuckers who blur the line between genius and insanity.  Here’s what our expert panel of musical cowards constructed as the Most Terrifying Musicians in Louisville:

#13-William BentonBehind the bar of Seidenfaden’s, slinging bevs to an unsuspecting populace lies one of Louisville’s great musical minds.  William Benton is one of the last of dying breed of guit-fiddle desperados.  The man plays the guitar with a toy laser gun, for Christ’s sake.  A melancholy presence, if provoked he’ll regale you with tales of worldly travels and vintage professional wrestling.  He’s a being sensitive enough to hear a Quail’s fart as though it’s a sonic boom.  Always be careful around a man who actually uses a Fender Jazzman to play jazz, is all I’m saying. 
Member of legendary ensemble of Louisville past, Lucky Pineapple, these days he helms his own project Cat Casual and the Holy Midnight  and sidemans consummately with a slew of other groups. William was last spotted on Baxter Ave resurrecting dead Earthworms back to this mortal plane with a Goddamned Squire Acoustic.  Unreal.   

#12-Nick Layman:  “He wears a dress, how terrifying can he be?” That precisely why you SHOULD be afraid of him.  Mr. Layman is the local definition of giving absolutely zero shits.  The range of ability with which he is able to convey just how little he cares about you or your long-term hearing is staggering.  Initially a localized Dave Grohl/Keith Moon lovechild on drumbos, these days he can equally fuck up your Christmas on guitar, synthesizer bass, or anything he can get his hands on.  
Can he play the trumpet?  No.  But will that stop him?  You bet yer ass it won’t.
Working best as sideman alongside countless Louisville staples such as The Blackbirds of Paradise, Pleasure Boys, The Cut Family Foundation, Future Killer, and especially as a duo with his wife RayGun Layman who is also a card-carrying BadAss herself, and will make an appearance on this list as soon I gather enough gumption to update and write more regularly.  Nick has spearheaded numerous new projects lately, ever the overachiever, highlighted by the mucho-confrontational Free Jazz explorations of Recreational Nukes, who boast themselves as, "Louisville's most Punk outfit.  Don't believe us?  Book us."

#11-Charles Rivera: Sometime in January 1987 an unsuspecting male Spaniard and gringo woman collaborated to create what would become the modern guitar shaman that is Charles St. Jorge le Deaf-Aids de la Salle Frippeno Rivera.  It is said that as he burst forth from womb to Earth, as he struggled for air through newborn cries his tiny baby-like fingers were already moving in major pentatonic patterns.  Charles followed the usual progression of musical tastes for a youngling: from Garth Brooks to Iron Maiden to John Coltrane.
Primarily Charles is known for two things: continually redefining what living in the moment can truly entail, and running with an entourage more powerful than all incarnations of the nWo combined.  He also gained notoriety in the late-aughts when musicologists and audiologists agreed upon a new standard of measurement to define his playing: “A...ah….fuckton of notes” according to official music spokesperson Jerry Tolson (citation needed).  Charles’ style of no-holds-barred slobber-knocker music is said to have similar effects to eating human meat in the Canadian wilderness, thus earning him his nickname of ‘The Jazz Wendigo.’ He remains almost as hairy in even the form of a man

#10-Chris Fitzgerald: Chris can be seen around town eating invisible sandwiches while making sweet love to the upright bass.  At first glance there’s nothing inherently frightening about him or his silky smooth melodic bassings; you probably mistook him for Chris Elliot.  That’s because Mr. Fitzgerald is nothing less than a cerebral mind-fuck on par with the fact Hannibal Lector is a concert pianist.  Starting out fresh-faced as Rush-loving guitarist, he then ditched that noise to play classical and jazz piano for 11 years.  After a brief tenure as a bass guitarist on the wedding circuit, he then found the rainbow bridge to Valhalla whereupon Odin called him to rule the realm of the upright bass.  It is written that somewhere in his labyrinth of dendrites that he also possesses skills on French horn (better known ‘round these parts as the Freedom horn), oboe, kung-fu, and knowledge of why Klingons stopped looking like spray-painted white dudes.

#9-Craig Wagner: Craig is so epic and perfectly Aryan that it’s best to use the German pronunciation of his surname, sounding ‘v’ in place of the ‘w.’ He does things with his fingers that can best be described as miraculous.  In 1997 doctors at Jewish Hospital formed a sex cult dedicated to worshipping his hands, which inspired film director Stanley Kubrick to make “Eyes Wide Shut.”  He is sort of a guitar-shredding version of the film Gremlins: at first the sounds he makes are sweet and he’s cute as a button (sporting a freshly-knit sweater and White Castle coffee), but just when your guard is down the inner demon unleashes a Fippertronic wall of treble at you.  He’s virtually too powerful; even as a sideman he steals the show.  You can literally cut out everything except his solos and the music only gets better. 

#8-Dick Sisto: A Buddhist priest, radio DJ, educator, farmer, and jazz vibraphonist, Dick is certainly no stranger to getting worked hard.  You can catch him every weekend at the Seelbach hotel; the mellow ringing of his vibes are like a hot blast straight in the ear with an Orgone cannon.  Dick produced a son and voice-sake in acclaimed actor Jeremy Sisto, who is the only actor manly enough to portray both Batman and Jesus (besides that other guy).  Though he is known for being a little gruff around the edges, Dick plays very well with others.  Just as long as they can effortlessly sync up with his ability to keep perfect time.  He often teams with jazz guru/pianist Harry Pickens.  If they ever to add drummer Mike Hyman they could create the pinnacle of giggle-inducing jazz trio names: The Harry/Dick & Hyman Experience.
#7-Steve Cooley: The Guitar Emporium is Louisville’s musical Cave of Wonders.  You may feel as though you surely must pay a toll for beholding such splendor.  That toll comes in the form of the tart interrogation of banjo/guitar hobgoblin Steve Cooley.  Of course, you’d be a tad sour too if you lost the banjo spot in New Grass Revival to some hack named Béla Fleck.  Though Steve may be initially intimidating in demeanor, if one proves himself worthy he shall reveal the kindness and wisdom of the guitar ancients.  However, that doesn’t make his prowess on anything with strings or his Gandalf-like appearance any less daunting.   

#6-Ray Rizzo: I remember my first time seeing the Java Men play at the Pour House, now known as Club 21 (aka Club Stab-N-Run).  I thought Rasputin had returned and declared Mortal Kombat on the drums.  Remember that Muppet Show when Animal duels Buddy Rich?  If you combined both of them into a singular rampaging man-beast, he’d still need a neck tattoo to appear as feral as Ray.  Balancing his time between Louisville and New York, the best chance to catch him these days is at The Rudyard Kipling, where Ray is probably performing in at least two of the bands playing at any given performance.  Unfortunately, the only live videos I could find were with Days of the New…I’ve heard many things about Travis Meeks, but he’d have to be truly crazy to fuck with Ray Rizzo

#5-Will Oldham: Also known as Bonnie ‘Prince’ Billy, also known as Palace Music, also known as ‘The Rutherford B. Hayes of Rock,’ also known as the only person you’ve probably heard of on this list.  With such bizarre film credits as a cop in the fifteenth chapter of R. Kelly’s epic poem 'Trapped in the Closet,' the gorilla trainer in Jackass 3D, a beaver in Adult Swim’s Squidbillies, and hanging out  in a Kanye West music video with Zach Galifianakis, it is no small wonder why he may leave you unsettled. 
He is uncategorically insane…perhaps even incategorically unsane.  You have no idea what he’s capable of.  Even he has no idea what he’s capable of.  In addition to sad songs, Mr. Oldham/Billy also posses a penchant for appearing out thin air.  Whenever you are alone in Louisville and feel the chill of an otherworldly presence through your being, it’s often just Mr. Oldham’s beard gently caressing your neck as he kisses your soul.  He’s the only man alive who plans his days less than Bill Murray.

#4-Jacob Duncan: If you search Jacob Duncan on Youtube, you are met with two options: One is an amateur professional wrestler (from Louisville’s own Ohio Valley Wrestling) and the other is the world’s first saxophone playing Redwood Tree.  While both men exude daunting (perhaps gratuitous manliness), only the horn-wielding Nachbar staple truly inspires both awe and fear.  You may have found yourself there on a Wednesday night after Jacob had roared apart both time and space. 
The 6’9” bearded behemoth makes an alto saxophone look like a plastic toy.  But the most horrifying part of it all is he is so nice --like, so nice you’re willing to give your sister up for marriage just to gain him as family.  So nice you have to wonder if he’s just lowering your guard before he rips your femur straight out of your leg, whittles it into a flute and composes you a ballad.  Then he’d sign the royalties over to you and build you a birdhouse.

#3-Steve Good: With a breast-pocket full of pens and socks climbing up his calves towards his khaki shorts, Steve Good looks just like your dad.  Or like he got kicked off Sesame Street.  He could be the previously unseen face of Mr. Pipe from the Ren & Stimpy Show. That, on top of the fact he played with Donovan, must mean he’s fairly harmless…
However, the Ut Gret/Liberation Prophecy mastermind conjures wicked air sculptures on his many woodwinds.  His tone is the sonic equivalent of your family being held at gunpoint.  He blows minds so hard the US government has assigned a four letter classification to all of his audio recordings: JFKO.  Rumor has it he ritualistically tortures his saxophone to keep it in check.  From all accounts, he never uses the front door to his house.  

#2-Mike Hyman: Mike, together with Jason and Ray, form the Holy Trinity of Louisville Percussoids.  However, Mike Hyman is unequaled by man or beast in raw testicular fortitude.  The imposing drummeister is fear incarnate for musicians and innocent bystanders alike.  When touring with jazz legend Joe Henderson at only 17 years old, and was affectionately referred to only as El Diabolo e Phobos la Chupacabre.  Roughly translated, this means: “Evil Tyrant of Time and Bringer of Dripping Loins.”  This was long before he adapted a steely-eyed glare and bulldog build as his signature look.  Mike can’t even listen to music anymore, as none exists that could possibly satiate his rage.  So he chooses to make eyeglasses to the sounds of nature by day and drum like John Bonham on ballads by night.  When Mike plays at the Nachbar, it doesn’t smell bad from the faulty plumbing, rather from everyone simultaneously shitting themselves.     

#1-Sonny Stevens: Virtually the perfect sideman, Sonny has worked with everyone from Dixieland bands to the noisiest free groups.  However, most people know him as, “that guy I don’t stand near in the Nachbar.”  Good luck finding a photo of him where he isn't completely shrouded in darkness.  He’s like a gritty reboot of Robin Williams as a bassist powered by the Dark Side of the Force.  With every note plucked the souls of fallen Jedi past flood from his body, even in the dead of winter.  Even his shadow is terrified of him.  He can most often be seen feverishly anticipating telepathic musings from the drummer in a manically-obsessed daze, or chugging Red-Hots beside his truck.  His instrument is over one hundred years old, but no one truly knows how old Sonny himself is.  His hands are powerful enough to crush time, yet gentle enough to crush hipsters.  Legend has it that after gigs he spends his nights bounding across the shotgun rooftops of Germantown, black cape flapping in the putrid Louisville air.

BONUS-Jason Tiemann: Jason makes grooves so dirty they have boogers stuck to them.  He is a drummer in high-demand for many reasons, most of which involve him striking down with furious anger upon them skins.  When not murdering the drums, Jason can be found murdering grass and driving a monster truck with his yard service.  If not occupied with drumsticks, his hands will always be holding a Bitburger in the left and a whey protein shake in the right, which he’ll then proceed to drink like Stone Cold Steve Austin.  The only thing that could make his shredding more impressive is if he finally found a gig where he didn’t need a shirt.