...but we know better!  Let's see, a blizzard between Minneapolis and Milwaukee, floods in St. Louis (but we got have dinner with our old pal Jimmy Voss at his restaurant Duff's there (this is what is called in the trade a plug - and all Dog Heads should know about Duff's, it's a terrific place), and a kind reception for us all, Mark especially, in Covington, Cleveland, Detroit (more snow), Syracuse (frikkin' cold), and Philly.  The band has been rocking, and it's a matter of taste which show you like better.  Day off now in the Poconos, and we can use it.

Which brings us to our second subject, namely, the second monthly installment of our tour biographies.  The guy you see onstage to your right with the goatee, Charucki. 

    Our monitor mixer and production boss, Charucki – like Brazilian soccer players, he goes by one name – is an international man of mystery.  Little is known of his background before the day he began working for RatDog.  His penchant for all-black clothing has been explained as a result of his birth in Transylvania, but we can’t find any proof.  Rumors abound that he once served as a spy and agent provocateur for the Freemasons, but that may be simply because he’s handy with bricks and widgets.  His skills with diplomacy are complex and varied.  Thanks to him, RatDog has played before the crowned heads of Europe.  
    But mystery is the operative word.  No one, for instance, knows where he lives.  When your humble editor requested an interview and photo session, he and his photographer partner were simply told to make themselves available.  Our front door flew open to reveal two enormous thugs, who blindfolded us and put us in a no-window van with very loud German techno music and a strong odor of cathouse and Jack Daniels.  When we could see again, we were in a psychedelic vista of superheroes – Charucki clearly has many (mostly very small) friends.  
    During the photo shoot, your intrepid reporter briefly evaded the thugs and investigated details of the apartment as much as possible, and I can inform you that the sole food in the refrigerator was a 15 pound block of Velveeta cheese – but, contrary to rumors, there were no real human skulls anywhere.
    He brusquely refused all questions, but when asked about RatDog, he snarled, “They’re a bunch of leftist Marxists and they’re bad for America.  But I do like that “Money for Gasoline” song.”
    Photos done, the thugs helped us on our way, and I can only report that the pictures do not do justice to the tokens of affection sent him by every known superhero.  Whoever he once served as special agent for, they must have been heavy.
    They had to be, since he came to RatDog – of course.