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The only thing that I regret about my life is that I never was in a punk band. I think I’m a bit too old and tired to be in one now, but if I could be in one, I would name it Tragic Mullet.

I think that’s a fine name and being that I see tragic mullets quite a bit, the name would be quite appropriate as we do have our share of hair faux pas here in Hoots including on yours truly. Our mullet should not be confused, however, with a bottom-dwelling fish which is also a mullet. Those kind of mullets are dangerously close to being catfish even though the only thing they have in common is their affection for being near mud.

As you know if you read this blog, I have an irrational fear of catfish.

I guess my branding would be one of a raccoon, in the last stage of rabies, holding on to a guitar shaped like an ax.  Of course, the raccoon would be wearing sunglasses, because all emblems of rock/punk sensibilities need sunglasses. We learned of this through the MTV years when ZZ Top reigned supreme and MTV actually played music. Not only would the raccoon have rabies, but he would also be drunk because this is rock and roll.

It is a shame I was not more fearless in my younger years to achieve this lofty goal. I would not be the lead singer of Tragic Mullet. I would be the bass player, although I have no music ability. I don’t think that really matters that I can’t play bass. I could wing it.

I would also learn how to breath fire like Gene Simmons, because I do believe that is a marketable skill. Instead of being called Dr. Love, I would be known as Dr. Mullet.

Tragic Mullet would have most likely only had one hit before everyone in the band went into rehab. A fiery and expletive ridden version of Danke Schoen would make it to #57 on Billboard which would be our claim to fame.

Even in my fantasies, my lofty goals aren’t too lofty, are they? But for that six weeks of punk domination, Tragic Mullet would have been awesome (in my mind at least.)

Now excuse me as I yell at children to get out of my yard.