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Big Joe Rumpolo
 
Big Joe Rumpolo
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Item Purchased: Les Paul R8

The hombre you are looking at is the one and only guitar powerhouse, "Big Joe" Rumpolo. It was late 1969 when the Beatles were growing beards and hanging out with Ravi Shankar. Things were just not good and the band's record label was getting worried. The records execs got together at a secret meeting in New York to decide what to do about the Fab Four veering off the path of productiveness. The head honcho asked the group, "What are we going to do about these four hippies? They're not making any new music, George is flying all over India in search of his "inner cheetah" and John's laying naked in a bed with...her. Anybody have any ideas?" Nobody spoke for a minute and then a secretary slowly raised her hand. "Why don't you call Big Joe?" All of the execs looked at each other in silence. They had never been forced to make a call of such dire consequence. "Does anyone even know where he is" one exec asked. Again the secretary raised her hand. "He's reported to be in the wilds of Alaska, hunting wolverines with his bare hands. If you go up onto the roof and blow the great horn of Rootin Tootin, he'll answer the call." So, the head honcho blew the great horn and three days later, Big Joe quietly walked into the office. He had his wolverine- killing hat on and seven or eight pelts flung across his back. "I am here" he said. The head exec ushered Big Joe into the boardroom and began to explain what was happening with the biggest band in the world. He listened quietly and then said these words: "Where are they now?" He was given their location as a small practice room in the 5th floor of a New York Brownstone and a large suitcase filled with krugerrands and hundred dollar bills. "Good luck" said one of the execs and Big Joe, quiet and steely- eyed replied, "They're the ones who will need your luck." Jump forward two weeks to an afternoon in the Beatles practice room. The Fab Four are arguing about who is the best Beatle and what they should call their next record. John and Paul are yapping like two yellow dogs about who will sing on a newly written song, Ringo had fallen off his drum throne and was passed out, George was in the corner smoking cat litter with an Indian rickshaw driver and to add the final insult to all injuries, Yoko was sitting on Paul's amp. It was at that moment the the door burst open, the light blocked by a harrowing and large shadow. As the room fell silent with the arrival of this quiet behemoth, Big Joe stepped in and closed the door behind him. No one spoke a word until Yoko, making a dire mistake said, "John, is that the pizza guy?" It was as if she had thrown a match onto a gasoline- laden funeral pyre. Big Joe grabbed her and tossed her out of the 5th floor window (she would later be found hanging by her hair, which was caught in the awning of Sam's Deli and Diamond Shop). Big Joe then grabbed John and smacked him so hard, both ears were on the same side of his head. Still saying nothing, he stuffed Ringo into his own bass drum and beat Paul with his Hofner bass until it was no more than a pile of German toothpicks. He then grabbed all four of the now- blubbering Brits and put them into a big pile in the middle of the floor. Using the couch as a launching pad, he ran across the room and gave the quartet the "Big Joe belly splash of death". The room was silent with the exception of the whimperings of the limp Limeys. Big, Joe, seeing that he had whipped the four pups back into shape turned to head for the door when Paul raised his battered noggin. "What shall we do now?" he asked. Big Joe turned and simply said, "Let it Be"...