I’m sitting in the Holiday Inn restaurant in Austin scarfing down escargot with the guitar player. We’d just finished up at Willie’s 4th of July picnic with Faron. The guitar player and I had accounted for at least a case and a half of that good ol’ Lone Star beer, of which there was a big-ass tub backstage, iced down to perfection. Two Rays were at the next table, Price and Benson. When we left we told the server to put it on Ray’s bill. No problem. We still owe a Ray some snails. Imagine that, an array of snails!
Which reminds me of the only snail joke I know.
There was this snail who got a new car, and he had a big red “S” emblazoned on the driver’s door. He was showing off, squeaking his tires, speeding past his snail friends, and one of them, obviously impressed, ejaculated, “Look at that S-car go!”