Part Seven! At last, Gentle Reader(s)—here it is! I have relocated to Ink South for a break from chilly Santa Fe, though seeing as how it has been The Winter That Never Was out West it's actually a bit redundant. Yes, it is warmer in New Orleans, but not by a whole lot. We do have that nutty carnival thing going on at the moment though, so that's something. This installment of the TRC saga finds the boys launched into the unknowable mysteries of post-gig nocturnal Wichita—sort of a Lynch-ian type late night scenario... minus any backwards-talking tap dancing dwarves or mysterious teen queen murders or anything like that. Actually, there's no Twin Peaks resemblance whatsoever, but hopefully you'll read it anyway. Until next time...

Gear: Can’t live with it, can’t live without it! Ye Olde Matador Bar & Lounge has its share of Gear: A DVD/BluRay player, hundreds of movies, a rack full of amplifiers, crossovers and EQs, turntables, mixers, speakers, a sub-woofer, and cables—LOTS of cables. The Gear rack originally contained a professional dual CD player but I don’t think it was ever used and it went the way of the dodo bird years ago. Much of the Gear is covered in a thick layer of greasy bar dust and grime and I generally try not to touch any aspect of it that I don’t absolutely have to touch. Cesar set all the Gear up and all concerns and requests are best referred to him.

A brief hiatus, Gentle Reader(s), for Goth Night (every third Thursday) and a winter storm and Your Humble Narrator is back in the saddle at Ye Olde Matador Bar & Lounge for another inimitable evening of signature DJ Inky toonage. The second winter storm of the season—this one of intimidating strength and size—is bearing down on our little mountain town and Katia and I are hoping that the fevered anticipation of being snowed in for the weekend is inspiring folks to come out and lift a warming beverage before the fluffy stuff flies.

A bit late, perhaps, Gentle Reader(s), but here at last is Part Six of the TRC saga. I've been somewhat distracted of late, I will admit, by the distressing state of both world and national affairs and it requires some effort to restrain myself from spending half the day poring over the newspapers (I typically peruse five no less than five). Here, perhaps, is a bit of welcome distraction for both of us. Chapter Six steps aside, briefly, from the Cretins tour schedule for some philosophical musings on the road life and the penurious state of Ink's affairs at home in the Dook City. I hope you enjoy and please, don't just look at the damn Contact page (I can actually tell when you've been looking!) and use the damn thing to tell me that I am delusional and should hang up this misguided project forthwith. Or otherwise. I await with bated breath. Check back in a couple of weeks for Part Seven.

‘History, Stephen said, is a nightmare from which I am trying to awake.’ - James Joyce, Ulysses, 1922

A New Year. A new beginning. A moment for reflection, a moment for change, a moment for—dare I say it?—optimism? Optimism—imagine that! A commodity in dangerously short supply in cynical times such as these in which we live. Be that as it may, DJ Inky returned to the Matador to kick off 2026 and—Praise Be On Most High—beloved Katia has returned as well! If that ain't a good thang then I don't know what is.

Here we are, Gentle Reader(s), deeply in the depths of the Holidaze Season. With another Christmas now safely behind us a new year beckons, full of potential and uncertainty. What shall become of us, one and all? Impossible to say, of course, but I'll remain hopeful as is my nature. As a parting gift to the year that was I offer forth another installment of the saga of The Road Crew. In this chapter the Cretins put their best foot (feet?) forward for the good people of Wichita, KS, and manage to recruit a few more fans to their cause, whatever that might be. A small victory, but a victory nonetheless. Let us hope for the small victories in 2026, and perhaps a big one once in a while, just for yuks. Fond regards to one and all! P.S. - Rumor has it that DJ Inky will be returning to the Matador on 1/1/26. Stay tuned!

As we rejoin the Road Crew for installment Numero Quatro the Cretins prepare to hit the stage for a club gig in lovely Wichita, Kansas. Beano searches for the perfect snare drum sound, the Goof and Ink reminisce about the lovely dumps they've played, and the convoluted back story of the Cretins is at last revealed. Love it or hate it, keep those cards and letters coming in, Gentle Reader(s)—unless they're 'cease and desist' letters, in which case please contact my solicitors at the firm of Dewey Cheatham & Howe. Thank you.

Seems that the festive season is nigh upon us, Gentle Reader(s), and herewith I offer you some respite from the turkey and the football and the lip-sync parades and the dish washing and the caroling and Black Friday madness and all manner of holiday stuffe that rolls around at this time of the year. You will find that this section is longer than the preceding two as we commence a deeper dive into the internal dynamics of the Cretins and the rather fraught background of the Goof. The Cretins are revealed to be a complicated band with differing objectives and philosophies despite being but a trio. Perhaps that's the way it always goes: I suppose even a solo act can be beset with internal conflict and tension, depending on the particulars of who's involved. The Cretins are no exception and the stage is set, as it were, for the band's excursions into the dark heart of early 1980s mid-America. Buckle up and please don't hesitate to weigh in with your thoughts via the Contact page on this very site. Stayed tuned for Part Four, scheduled to drop in the second week of December.