CHEZ TED
We Visit The lair of The Dog.
The CREEM Archive presents the magazine as originally created. Digital text has been scanned from its original print format and may contain formatting quirks and inconsistencies.
IT WAS TOO GOOD TO BE TRUE! Why wou Id the friendly but home-loving hounddog himself let us violate his home, his hearth, his ... French provincial doggie huts, in the middle of a three-month lay— (as it were) off?
The lavish spread laid out in the woods for us!
Woodchuck au Nuge . . . ragweed salad . . . sheepdip shortbread dripping with creme de virgin titmouse . . . r washed down with tumblers of domestic Michigan moose
juice. Little did we realize that Ted was just fattening us up as the piece de resistance of this forest feast.
Ted had just heard that Canadian geese were going to be a few weeks late, and his stockpile of caribou burgers was going FAST (Paco's a p-i-g). What better way to thin out the pathetically underpaid ranks of rock magazine hacks, who would most certainly perish in the cold months ahead?
As fate would have it, they took notes! A full account was scratched out on the back of a Detroit-bound Vernors delivery truck, and rushed into publication in time for next month's CREEM. Read their poignant tale in January's issue and weep.
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