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1961 Fender Champ Amp

Champ Amp
I was watching T.V. the other morning like I normally do with my trusty cup of coffee, thinking about my impending day of world domination when all of a sudden, this reporter started saying something that peaked my interest. As I recall, it was something pertaining to nervous people and their need for their "wubby", or their pets, if you will on plane flights. Well down South, we damn well know that dogs are indeed man's best friend (duh) and that sent my mind into a tizzy. Me? Well I do have dogs- I have two them. One is an elderly female with a face like a two-year-old. She is a shy and unassuming, 6 lb baby with a knack for getting your ass out of bed earlier than most roosters would even think about. The other one is a scrappy, 10 lb male who is all "man". If you stand still long enough, he'll pee on you (that kinda male). Since my dogs are in no shape to travel with me, I thought about this dilemma and the closest thing I have to an E.S.A. or Emotional Support Animal is Raymond. So I went on to get me some certification from the U.S. Service Dogs Administration to legally have Ray accompany me on flights. The criteria were simple:

"Depression, anxiety, panic attacks, mood disorders, bipolar disorder, PTSD (post-traumatic stress disorder) and other emotional/psychological conditions."

Depression and anxiety? Check. Panic attacks and mood disorders? No problem- I've got them too and I'm thinking this is a shoe-in. If I need Ray to go to a show in Costa Mesa, California, he'll have a free plane trip. Of course, he'll have to lie on the floor and pant a bit, but we, as a company need to save the duckets. I sent off for my kit, filled out the paperwork, included three Pupperoni box tops and patiently awaited my "official" U.S. Service Dog certificate that would allow me to travel with my very own personal Emotional Service Animal. Much to my surprise, for $149.95 and the box tops, they indeed sent me the official paperwork, complete with a gold seal (that certainly meant it's "official," if you will). Flash forward two weeks and I'm in line at Delta, fixin' to board for parts unknown with Ray in tow. "Tickets please," the flight attendant smiled. I smiled back and handed her my ticket and of course, my official paperwork with the gold seal (once again, very "official") for my E.S.A. The ticket taker took one look at him and said, "Sir, that isn't an animal." I said, "Like hell he ain't. You should see him after a couple of shots of Jagermeister and you would think differently." Nevertheless, they (Delta, that is) wasn't having any of it, so I had to leave Ray back at the terminal with a bewildered look on his face. I know, you're thinking "What in the world does that story have to do with this amp"? Absolutely nothing except for one thing: The story kept you here to see what happened to Ray, didn't it? As for the amp, it's in good used condition and straight, of course (you are dealing with the 'Elk, you know) and you do not need a certificate from the U.S. Service Dogs Administration to take it on a plane. These small boxes of tone have been responsible for magical recordings for decades- just ask Billy Gibbons. As for Ray? Well, last I heard he's still at the terminal in the Flight Deck Bar and Grille and I hear he's a hit with the ladies. It must be the bows or could be the leopard print collar that brings out the women's primal instincts. Just can't never tell...

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