Hello Dearies!

Yes, indeed, I spelled "Discordian" incorrectly. So astute of you to notice, Joey.

In fact, there is a story behind this. Back in the mid-1960's, British hair music was all the rage, so I figured I could make gobs of cash by promoting an English act. I called some of my chums in the House of Windsor, and they suggested that Cliff Richards would be an excellent choice.

Well, Cliff was considered to be the Elvis of England, a ridiculous assertation, seeing as Cliff had *two* names, while Elvis only had one. I figured with some tight pants and the proper lighting, though, some of the less intelligent youths of American might be fooled.

Anyhow, I brought him over to the United States of America for a tour. I imagined endless parties and nights of rough trade! Alas, it was not to be, as Cliff was a big boyscout. Lights out at 10 pm, even if he was in the middle of a show at that time. He was a complete bore.

Fortunately, his bass player, Teddy "Dirt Rat" Morrison, was what the British call "a go-er." Indeed, he and I spent many a night wandering the mean streets of various American suburbs and drinking anything we didn't vomit back up.

One night, due to some technical problems, the show didn't start until 9:45. I was in a panic, both because of a bad batch of shrooms, and because I worried that the crowd of expatriate Brits (the only ones who would usually show up for a Cliff Richard's concert, damn his eyes) might riot if he only played for fifteen minutes. I wracked my brain for a solution.

When 10:00 rolled around and Cliff wandered off to bed, I yelled "C'mon Dirt Rat, let's give them a taste of the future."

Dirt Rat grabbed a guitar, an instrument which he had previously only seen from a distance, and we launched into a set of poetry that I had composed while on an Absynthe binge with T.S. Eliot. Alas, Dirt Rat didn't really know what he was doing. When I berated him for playing the same sound over and over again, he stated, 'Lady, dis chord is the only chord I know." Ah, that lovely British lower class accent!

Anyhow, out of tribute to our wild nights together, I named my Canadian Ladies Club as much after him as anything.

So, let us all drink some rum in honor of Dirt Rat! Cheers!

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