1: rough take of an allegedly humorous song about Jesse James. This one is a hit with the bursting outdoor crowds at the Fort Ross Store, who especially like the audience participation element, which is not represented on the recording, which has so far produced a sentence groaning under a multitude of subordinate clauses, so why not add another and then interrupt the expected punctuation? Anna Kolouthia, where have you been? I’m sure you can figure it out and sing along at home, folks.

Jesse James:

2: demo of the vocal part of the first installment of Road Safety Jingles by the Stillwater Cove Live Musical Conspiracy, or whatever it winds up being called. This is only the beginning.

Use the Turnouts:

Here are the official, hysterically accurate lyrics of “Jesse James”

Well, the Outlaws of old,
They were famous, they were bold.
And they all obtained the famousest of fame.
But the famousest of names
In the Outlaw Hall of Fame
Was the famous name of a guy by the name
Of Jesse James.

Now Jesse James was born
On a war-torn, forlorn morn
In the abject lonesome state of Mis-sou-ree,
Where, as might have been expected,
He was adversely affected
By the awful, gruesome things that he did see.

So, like, one time, for example,
They trampled on his Grample
And they tried to hang his Grammle from a tree.
And if you had seen his mamma,
That alone had been a trauma.
And he prob’ly could’ve used some therapee.

Now from such a horrid start, he
Went to swillin’ straight Bacardi,
And whene’er he was to parties, he was rude.
He gave everyone a hassle
By behaving like an asshole.
Jesse James was a real screwed up dude.

Screwed up dude.
Screwed up dude.
Jesse James was a real screwed up dude.
He probably had rabies
And he bullied little babies.
Jesse James was a real screwed up dude.

So he joined a group of haters
By the name of Quantrell’s Raiders.
They were famous mutilators in the land.
They just rode around horses,
Sore abusing all their forces,
Having fun and amputating people’s hands.

Oh, but what that war was over,
Jesse sat down to discover
What might be the skills and assets he’d accrued.
“Of such things you’ve not an ounce, sir,”
Said the local high school counselor,
“Jesse James, you’re a real screwed up dude.”

Screwed up dude.
Screwed up dude.
Jesse James was a real screwed up dude.
No, he couldn’t get a boot in,
‘Cept for lootin’ and for shootin’.
Jesse James was a real screwed up dude.

But there was this famous writer,
A professional benighter
And inciter of the feckless multitude.
He corrupted public mores
With exaggerated stories
Of the glories of this sorely screwed up dude.

You see, they had this strange obsession
With insolent transgression
Since their late bid for secession went to seed.
They desired a concrescence
Of their violated essence
Which they found in Jesse’s grim and lawless deeds.

So all the people gave him thanks
When he robbed their stupid banks
And abolished all the value they’d construed.
He was a pure instantiation
Of social alienation,
Better known as a truly screwed up dude.

Screwed up dude.
Screwed up dude.
Jesse James was a real screwed up dude.
Although he never did get busted,
He was awful maladjusted.
Jesse James was real screwed up dude.

Screwed up dude.
Screwed up dude.
Jesse James was a real screwed up dude.
He gave everyone a hassle
By behaving like an asshole.
Jesse James was real screwed up dude.