From: corvib@gmail.com   
      
   Not sure if I posted this...   
      
   In 1976 around early October, we scored a gig in a town called Carlsbad   
   Springs, Ontario and found ourselves in the middle of nowhere playing a place   
   called Pat and Gord's Hotel; owned by, non other than Pat and Gord.   
       
   What we found out about the town of, NO POPULATION, was that the guy named   
   Carl who found the town 100 years before, dug a well, the water was bad and   
   the town was called Carlsbad Springs. Salt water coming out of the taps. Six   
   Hundred Miles inland; salt    
   water... yum.   
       
   So, we played for Pat and Gord and almost no one else for the week until, one   
   night, we were sitting at the bar during a break watching television with   
   either Pat or Gord (in my minds eye I can't tell them apart or remember)   
   watching the news and a flash    
   came on about a prison break and the face on the screen was one ugly, mean   
   looking bastard. The bartender said "Holy Shit!" and said, "that facility is   
   just down the road! I know that guy and he'd just as soon cut your throat as   
   say good morning".   
       
   I am not paraphrasing, that's what he said. Then, he proceeded to pack up some   
   stuff and left saying, "help yourself to the bar, don't open the door for   
   anyone".   
       
   We all went upstairs, after helping ourselves to the bar per the owners   
   instructions and brought with us mic stands to help thwart any visit from   
   crazy-assed jailbreak murderer.   
       
   Funny shit   
      
   --- SoupGate-Win32 v1.05   
    * Origin: you cannot sedate... all the things you hate (1:229/2)