I Just Posted Five Minutes of Some Guy Fixing Donald Fagen’s Fender Rhodes on My Blog

That was it. That right there. That’s it. That was me posting like five minutes of some guy fixing Donald Fagen’s Fender Rhodes. But it’s just, like, some guy. It’s Donald Fagen’s Fender Rhodes. He’s not Donald Fagen. He’s not Donald Fagen at all. Not even a little. I don’t even think he’s the guy that fixed Donald Fagen’s Fender Rhodes. You know, the 1973 Fender Suitcase 88 that Donald Fagen owns. He was just hanging around handy, ready to play it for no reason. Me? I was alive and walking the Earth in 1973, and now I hear a Fender Rhodes of that vintage needs fixing. I mean, I couldn’t drive, or drink beer, or anything, but I was alive. I couldn’t drive and drink beer, either. Either one, or both together. For those of you younger than Donald Fagen’s Fender Suitcase 88, driving and drinking hasn’t always been a crime. It used to be an activity. Now it’s worse than Hitler. And Hitler couldn’t even play the Fender Rhodes, so I’m not sure why I brought it up. He did have some 88s built for him, but they were anti-aircraft guns, not electric pianos. They were a little heavy in the bass register, as I recall. The anti-aircraft guns, not the pianos. The pianos sound just fine in the bass register. Well, they do after you fix them. If they’re old, I mean. If you fix them because they’re old, and then play them, even though you didn’t fix them, and you don’t own them, they sound good anyway.