081413 #worm Wackin plays guitar, badly. His brow furrows up so hard, you'd like to think he was a constipated hedgehog. The way he slices at the strings, it's a wonder that guitar doesn't whip out a straight-razor and cut Wackin a new esophagus. Damn. But it's okay. His greatest musical gift is dedication, and at least one ladybug, listening perplexedly in the dark, thinks the noise of his axe must be some kind of animal. Hey, that's some kind of accomplishment. Before too long, Tontinyke will do everybody a favor, and hurl the damned guitar into the fire pit, but not until after he and Wackin are so thoroughly, mutually drunk that they start singing their own songs, and other people near the bonfire's edge begin to sing along. Now *these* songs will be really, really good.