Reno's Sexiest Band
(and don't you forget it!)
Our story is one of mystery. One of intrigue, adventure, and sometimes bitter sadness. It is an epic tale of old, about three young (and one not-so-young) musicians who rode the long hard road of injustice and the two-lane highway of destiny. It is the history of the Smokin' Franklins.
The story begins long ago, in a little town just south of Canada, in the swampy bogs of Beaumont, Texas. It was from here that there sprang forth a young man with an ear for rythm, a voice like spun-silk of gold and a lung for smoke. He spent his days panhandling in the subway for change to buy cigarettes and Spaghetti-O's. That is, until one day he picked up a beat up six-string in a second-hand store, and the first seeds of "frontmanness" were sewn. As a teen, James Franklin Skipper was a staple player at the local beauty parlor where he entertained the dried up middle-aged divorcees (insert frilly little squiggle thingie here) with his original, yet sensitve, ballads about "Cigarettes and Sherry". Skipper, or as the locals called him, "Get off my lawn you freeloadin' bastard," was quickly becoming the most famous man in Beaumont. His days of panhandling seemed to be coming to an end, then one day, the twisted hand of fate led him toward the glowing mecca of live music that is Reno. Skipper had a showdown with that wily creature called "Fame"...
On the opposite side of the country, in a rent-controlled apartment, in New Jersey, there was born a child of great talent, untold promise and unbelievable good looks. Later, dave was born, and his older sister now had a little brother. dave spent his younger years healing the sick and walking on.. no, wait, wrong bio... dave spent his youth working in a coal mine and forming strong friendships with the local retards, Jason and Bejay. Then one fateful day, while the trio of misfits were smoking from their hukah in the clubhouse in an old oak tree in Jason's back yard, dave fell from the tree and landed with a great "kibosh". tragically, dave had damaged his one and only meal ticket-- his rediculously good looking face. As he came to, dave realized that his career as a teen model would be no more, but, there before dave's bloodshot eyes and hideously mangled face, stood the vision of a bass guitar. He knew what he had to do. That very same day, dave made a trip to his friend Irk's house, stole his bass, and headed west, guided by an untold force that beckoned him to the base of the Sierra Nevadas, and a little town called Reno. dave knew nothing of what lie before him, but he was sure of one thing-- this my friends, was destiny...
Nicholas Franklin Alverson wasn't born. He was hatched in a laborotory in Southern Nevada, a little place the people like to call Area 51. Nick was the first hatchling in a governmental ploy to create genetically superior DMV employees. Unfortunately, something went horribly wrong, and Nick was "born" with only one ass. His creator, Dr. Rigid PhD., abandoned Nick in the middle of the desert hoping that the coyotes would eat him. Luckily for Nick, the field mice found him first, and raised him as their own. Nick spent most of his youth digging in the dirt of the Nevada desert, and killing and eating grubs and other small insects, but somehow, he just wasn't content with his life. Then one fateful night (noticing the pattern yet?) a huge glowing sphere came out of the blackened sky. An ominous whirling cloud and bright lights, the likes of which Nick had never seen before, descended from the midnight sky. The strange ship landed, crushing the burrow where Nick's only real family lived. A slender being, with large almond eyes stepped forth from the craft, handed Nick a blue Fender guitar, and said "EEEEOAAJOjiea;joia!!!" as Nick bit him square on the nose. Nick took the guitar, and, seeing no reason to stay with his pancaked relatives, he headed north. Not that he knew it at the time, but Nick had just begun a journey to the land of opportunity, the land of trailerparks and legalized prostitution. Yes, Nick was on his way to Reno, with his trusty guitar at his side and dreams of a brighter future in his heart...
Rob "Sluggo" Hayes banged his way into this world many many many many years ago, in a sleepy little town near what is now Kalamazoo, Michigan. His parents were proud, but there was something strange about their little boy. Rob had an affinity for beating his head into things. After years of therapy and countless hours of reconstructive surgery, Rob was able to join society. He spent most of his youth playing near the tar pits and rough-housing with his pet anglosaur. Rob seemed to be developing into a fairly normal kid, but as the years progressed and his parents and friends evolved, Rob seemed to be falling further and further behind. The neighborhood kids all laughed when he was the only kid on the block that couldn't figure out how to make fire. Rob became melancholy and withdrawn, spending most of his time in a secluded cave, and it was here that destiny found Rob. So angered by his inability to evolve like all the other homosapiens, Rob began thrashing around his cave- throwing rocks and bashing things with the bones of a sabertooth tiger- and then it struck him! Rob was a natural born drummer!!! So he packed up his belongings, said his goodbyes to his family and set off on a journey. Rob knew not where the wind would take him, nor what the future held, but he was sure of one thing- he was lost. Luckily, the rhythm in the night led Rob to, you guessed it, Reno, Nevada...
No one could have know that the paths of these four men would somehow entertwine, or that they would become Reno's Sexiest Band, but Fate had a love affair with Destiny, and the result was the four-headed bastard child that is THE SMOKIN' FRANKLINS!
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