General Santa Anna Ewing addressing his bands at his first round post-game meeting.
"Ok. Role Call. Fleetwood Mac? (Silence). The Jam? (Quiet coughing) Nick Cave? (More silence and then somebody drops something that sounds like a quarter) BAD? (Nervous mumbling) Garbage? (Some one way in the back whispers "They Gone!") Who said that?" As the flustered General looks up he notices rows and rows of empty seats. Slumped down in one chair, hat pulled over his head, looking disheveled, a sleepy Keith Richards responds, "Where am I? Where are my mates? General...what have you done to my mates? Blood transfusion, please." Then he fell off his chair.
General Ewing had no comment.
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