by The Slithering Solicitor (Atty. James F. Malloy)

Given the Bacchian way I've spent the month of August, it was even money whether I would run out of brain cells or ideas for this column first. I'm happy to announce that the results of the race are in - it's a tie! A synapse or two must still be firing, however, because I'm beginning to get the first faint glimmerings of an idea.

Picture this: it's summer, love is in motion, you're in a big field, it's raining, you're muddy, there's music playing, and your senses are, shall we say, artificially enhanced. Noooooo, you're not on Max Yazgur's farm during the summer of love, you're forty minutes outside of Scranton, PA at the Malloy family farmhouse for the first annual SNAKESTOCK.

Not since the 1969 festival exactly twenty-five years ago has such an outstanding lineup of superstars been assembled. Check out this list of headlining entertainers: John "The Beast" Beisty, Gerard "Fart Quack Quiz Poo" Fitzgerald, Chris "Hardwhistle" Hardart, Brian "Blaster" O'Keefe, Walter "Russ" Maloney and Brian "Eggs" Leahy.

Opening the show were the less recognizables but no less entertaining Chris "Sweetness" Pegg, Phil "Dough" Pegg, The Courageous and/or Foolish Michelle (Phil's girlfriend), Jim "Bob Daddy Otis" Terrell, Ed "I Wish I Could Remember His Last Name" (Gerard's buddy), Jeff "Head Butt/Butthead" Nichols and Steve "Outback Jack" Shoner.

Hopping up on stage for the encore were a group of Scrantonians whom I had paid $10 each to pretend they were my friends from home, including Tim "ET" Holmes, Paul "PC" Cottone, James "Jimmy Tal" Talerico and Tom "Ookie" Kennedy. (Several members of the Malloy family made a brave showing and managed to get in and out before the serious buffoonery began).

Having beaten the semi-humorous Woodstock joke to a screaming death, let me move on to tell you the great moments from the weekend. I gave everyone thorough directions to Stately Snake Manor, and all arrived safely; of course, Beisty forgot to bring the directions, so O'Keefe and I had to talk his group in from the highway on a car phone like air traffic controllers ("Looks like I picked the wrong week to stop sniffing glue").

Upon arriving at Plisken Farm on Friday night, the first of two kegs was tapped and the fun began. After a few cocktails on the porch listening to Beisty and Eggs pluck a few tunes (I seem to remember massacring a Buffet song around this point), we humped the keg up to the volleyball court under the lights. High points included Gerard grunting at the absolute top of his lungs every time he touched the ball, a la Monica Seles, and Phil Pegg crying out the following in an atrocious British accent as the better part of both teams scrambled into the woods to relieve themselves at the same time: "Yes, and now, the storied urination break at Snakestock, more famous even than strawberries and cream at Wimbledon."

At the crack of dawn (okay, 10 AM) we broke out the shotgun and a couple of rifles. Although the shooting came and went without incident, I have no doubt that our very lives were in danger for a short time. Come to think of it, maybe I should have taken a head count after we were done.

We next sent four foursomes through the short but well maintained Red Maples Golf Course. It's only nine holes, which left Jimmy "Back Nine" Beisty with no room for his fabled comeback, but a good time was had by all. I must officially declare myself the winner, however, because I had the most points at the end of nine holes. The softball game was to be next, but the rain - oh yes, the rain came. In buckets. Perhaps some of you remember the cool collected, even-tempered way which I reacted to the adverse conditions. ("How can you do this to me?" I screamed at the heavens.) Still, it did clear up for an hour or two of great keg softball. I'll never forget the sight of O'Keefe sliding headfirst into home, out by just a split second. There was also an exciting play at third, but I don't want to bring up a sensitive subject. (Hey John - I was safe under the tag. HA!)

I'm running out of room, so I'll just tell you that the jam session on guitar that night was incredible. Holmesy, Jimmy Tal, Beisty, Sean, etc, led by the magic fingers of Ookie delighted the beer soaked brains of all concerned. The boys were even kind enough to let me live out a few rock and roll fantasies of my own.
Let me close with this thought: due to Gerard's proclivity for taking off his pants when buzzed, I've now seen him naked more than I've seen myself. That, to me, says it all. Later.

Editor's Note: If someone doesn't send in a contribution ASAP, next issue might feature an article about Snake's trip to the hardware store to buy a new mulching blade for his lawn mower!

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