Play it again, Marvin (my personal robot assistant). Hmmm… doesn’t quite have the right ring to it. Add a bit more ring. Brass ring is okay; gold is even better. That’s right — a GOLDEN RING. Don’t say we’re not worth it.
Of all the cheap gin joints in the world, she had to pick THIS one to stumble into. No, I’m not doing imitations. Far be it from me to attempt such a thing in a blog. I’m referring to our financial advisor, Geet O’Reilly. I’ve been hiding from her because she has this list of overdue accounts that need immediate attention and, well, I don’ wanna. I jus’ don’ wanna. There’s also the small matter of resources. Not a small matter, actually — a large matter of small resources, more to the point. Simply put, we ain’t got no money to pay dem bills. After almost four years of production and one disastrous interstellar tour after another, the bank is broken, the piggy shattered, the sock empty, the mattress disgorged… you think of a metaphor. (I’m fresh out.) So here I am, sittin’ in a bar, knockin’ em back…
Yes, yes… we are broke again. Break out the violins. (Hmmm… violins. We could use more violins on that track.) Right, well, you’ve certainly heard me complain about money before. I’d be the first to admit that we have a kind of chronic problem in that area. It’s like that old Italian proverb — money she’s-a hard to hold onto. Okay… that particular proverb is only moments old, in actuality. But it’s true, nonetheless. Sure, we live in an abandoned hammer mill in the middle of nowhere, paying no rent, no property taxes, no utilities, no nothin’. We’re off the grid, man. How do we keep the lights on? Innovation. One week it’s plugging into Marvin’s ion generator. The next week it might be running an extension cord from Trevor James Constable’s orgone generating machine. What will it be next week? Only next week can say (and it’s not talking).
You see, that’s why we’re all about the music and Geet O’Reilly is all about the cash. We cloister ourselves into our makeshift studio in the basement of this drafty mill and chip away at the project of the day, never 
giving a single thought to what everything costs. Isn’t that what you expect of us? I mean, you don’t want a bunch of bean counters serving up your music, do you? Of course not! You expect us to be clueless about finances; to drink away the profits and smoke away the savings; to burn through the night’s take before the night has even begun. Not only that, but you want us to be lazy, shiftless, self-destructive, and random in every endeavor. And the last thing we want to do is disappoint you.
What the hell — I think she’s spotted me over here. I need a bigger drink to hide behind, that’s the thing. Marvin! Get me a large draft. No, bring me the whole bloody barrel, there’s a good chap. Damn… Busted!
