“You mean the tour date fisherman? What about him?”

“You know how he loved catching those big tours, like Eric Clapton and Sting?”

“Do I? If he wasn’t talking about netting Dan Fogelberg off the coast of Florida, it was Asylum Street Spankers in Monterey Bay. What happened to him?”

“He brought in a big catch one day, including dates for Grandaddy, Aphrodite and American Pearl.”


“Now you have to understand that most tour date fishermen would have called it a day, especially after snagging new dates for Mel C.”

“Of course. That’s a good day’s work right there.”

“But Uncle Quint always wanted more. So he headed back out to sea. That’s when it happened.”


“From what I understand, it was starting to get a bit hectic on deck. He was reeling in a net full of Single Bullet Theory dates while Luciano and Sol Y Canto were flapping at his feet.”

“That does sound kind of chaotic.”

“Then suddenly a big tour tentacle reached out from the sea and grabbed him.”

“Yow! That must have hurt. Especially those suckers.”

“You bet. His first mate told me that the tentacle wrapped itself around Uncle Quint and proceeded to bang him up and down on the deck like a sledgehammer. The mate said the dates for Veruca Salt and Mya were flying and Uncle Quint was screaming for his life. I hear it was quite a sight.”

“Then what happened?”

“Finally, the tour got tired of bashing Uncle Quint around and pulled him down into the ocean, never to be seen again.”

“Wow! That’s some story. Which one was it?”

“Which one was what?”

“Which tour reached out of the sea, grabbed your uncle and pulled him into the ocean?”

“It was The Monkees tour.”

“Wait a minute. You’re not gonna tell me…”

“That’s right. My Uncle Quint is in Davy Jones’ Locker.”

“Gee, I asked you not to tell me that.”