Banjo Jo sat in his Ford holding the love of his life, Acetylene Candy. He'd won her in a Pick-Off the year before in Soddy Daisy, TN. Since then their riffs together grew sweeter than syrup. Banjo Jo knew if he let Candy do her thing, he'd take home the recording contract he needed to save his father's business from bankruptcy. He stroked Candy's strings with the sappy poison of some elusive Amazonian treefrog. If Doc Evans was going to play his sweet Candy in the key of G tonight, Doc wouldn't live to see the morning. 'Jo Jo chu chee..." Doc trailed off. "Is that a new Thai curry recipe?" Candy wondered aloud. She wasn't aware he'd been trying to serenade her with that "Sounds of the Amazon Rainforest" CD. He could have chosen many others--Sounds of the Zoo, Sounds of the Trailer Park, Sounds of the Landfill. Did he choose wrong? Doc fingered madly through his CDs while Candy took herself into the kitchen to put the kettle on. Nothing solved problems better than a nice, hot cup of tea, in Candy's opinion. When she went back into the parlor with the tea set in her hands the nice mafioso was still trying to look menacing in spite of his bad haircut. She served him, and only him, tea. "I don't wanna seem ungrateful," he said from under his Moe Howard bangs, "but I ordered whiskey." "Oh dear, I'm sorry," she answered, "but we can't serve alcohol to people who are gay. This is 1950’s America.” And with that, he stood up and cleared his throat. He spoke loud and clear “I am BISEXUAL. There’s a DIFFERENCE!” A few people turned to look at him. Ok boomer



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