It was a dark and stormy night on the Year of Our Lord Nineteen Hundred and Sixty Six that began the creation of my being.   Deep in the bayou of Lynn, Massachusetts became the epitome of all that is impure, or at least somewhat not totally good. Through an improbable circumstance that was the combination of dirty water, spilled whiskey, a bolt of lightning, and the broken remnants of an Elvis LP, there came a sphere, an egg that became the perfect balance of ingredients that lent themselves to the creation of a life form that would have no equal. Humanity has never been the same. After I had hatched from the egg, life was not easy.   I was taken in and raised by a family of raccoons until I was 18 years of age, but at that time was ostracized from the nest for refusing to wear that stupid bandits mask that is the trademark of their heritage (I always was a rebel). Naked and hungry I lived as a vagrant for the next seven years, wandering the streets of Norwell, MA, foraging for food, and sometimes working odd jobs to buy suet and acorns to feed seemingly never ending hunger. It was at this point, while digging through a Kentucky Fried Chicken garbage bin, that I found a discarded ticket to see AC/DC at the Boston Garden.   I felt a calling, and went to pursue the one thing in my life that could somehow bring me pleasure. Over the din of the Marshall stacks I could have sworn I heard a voice from the heavens (or was it) speaking to me and telling me to unite with the greatest rock experience ever to be witnessed by mankind, and forever tour and meet with the glory and honor that befalls all great rock stars. Since they weren't available, I decided to unite with the members of Didn't Planet, and create the second greatest rock experience ever to be witnessed by mankind, and tour once in a while, and meet with the marginal glory and honor that befalls all has-been software salesmen posing as wanna-be rock stars. With the assistance of my vintage 1978 Les Paul Deluxe, I have committed myself to piloting this vehicle through the wretched, jumbled masses that are most cover bands to provide, for you exclusively, the best musical extravaganza that money can bribe. I'll see you all at the next gig.