Band Profile

The Fucking Buckaroos

The Fucking Buckaroos
Hometown: San Francisco, California Current Label: Unsigned or Unknown Websites: Facebook Profile
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Band Members: Tim Sandberg - banjo, harmonica, guitar, vocals
Ricky Pugh - guitar, mandolin, banjo, vocals
Thomas Puhek - bass, vocals
Andy Appleton - drums, vocals
Professor Flabagab-Brick to the Hee-Haw

The Fucking Buckaroos Bio:

BOOOM! thunder cracks across the magenta desert sky as our heroes, The Fucking Buckaroos, brought out of retirement by the flashing symbol of bull testicles painted across the horizon, rush toward the remains of their once great headquarters located in the dusty wasteland of California's Central Valley, a geographical position so well concealed that only the grimiest tweaker could possess a Meth-dar strong enough to ubicate their lair, and even then, he would not dare to pass himself through rod-iron gate for fear of the unknown and other-worldly affairs that might dwell among the ghosts of whiskey, weed, and wanton individualism left behind by our heroes when they passed themselves into the next dimension...

But no sooner than Elvis could say "I'm caught in a trap...", our heroes begin to arrive, one by one, each arrival punctuated by cracks of thunder and the distant screams of horrified tweakers finding Jesus... First to arrive is Nasty Boy, naked and covered in the sticky film of some other-worldly bodily fluid, the remnants of his cocooned shell dotting his once-again human body, the only evidence of his alien rebirth and, for that matter, the existence of his celestial kingdom in some other elbow of some other galaxy in a place where ice burns and fire freezes... he looks to the sky just in time to see the fiery trail of a comet entering the Earth´s Atmosphere, the mass burning away and diminishing its size to the tenth power with every millisecond of its fall, until finally...impact. As the dust settles, the form of a naked human body is silhouetted through the cloud of earth...the figure emerges from the dust, its eyes a bright yellow, its nipples sewn inwards, its genitals badly mutilated, its muscles pulsating with the power of pilates...this accursed soul is the remnants of one time rock n´ roll hero Pinkus Puhek, the brute strength of The Buckaroos who for so many years attempted to spread his seed throughout North America in the name of the band...The two heroes look at each other, neither saying a word. Suddenly, materializing from seemingly thin air, the most powerful banjo player to have ever graced the Earth is put back together, molecule by molecule, until there are three where there were once two. Timothy Sandberg, dressed in the garbs of a Soldier of Fortune, his torso littered with tracking equipment, grenades, metronomes, and bottle openers, stands at ease; in his arms he cradles his instrument, a hybrid banjo-machine gun constructed by the man in his secret laboratory hidden in the center of a great metropolitan city..the three heroes say nothing, they simply stare into each other's eyes with wondering gazes that justify nothing yet say everything.

Thunder strikes...and with it, the night turns to day as the sun quickly rise from its daily grave.... in the distance, a cloud of dust is thrown into the air, and the distant tones of La Cucaracha ring out across the desert. An Abrams M1 tank squeals to a halt in front of our three heroes and once again the insect's song plays out from a mexican horn somewhere inside of the massive combat machine. With a startling clatter, the fourth and final Buckaroo ejects himself from the interior of the tank. With the speed of an animal and the reflexes of professional golfer, he throws two mexican panchos over the naked half of the band, and lands with a pat in the center of the group. In his hands he bears his weapons of choice, Mexican Porno Comics sharpened to a point and covered in Salsa. Ricky Pugh, now united with the other three, completes the circle. Dark clouds cover the morning sun, acid rains begin to fall, and a bolt of lightning freezes in place in front of the decrepit skeleton of their former headquarters. Without saying a word, the band climbs the bolt until they have disappeared into the clouds, and so begins the next chapter of those dastardly, lovable, city-cowfolks, The Fucking Buckaroos..

2 Comments

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