“You broke my fucking string again, man!  That’s twice this week!”  Seven had been a bit edgy as of late.  He had his reasons.      
“Shit, I’m sorry,” Adam replied with a smile.  It was hilarious to see Seven get angry.  His whole life he hadn’t been able to get rid of his stereotypical Mexican accent.  Imagine Speedy Gonzalez getting angry, but with a slightly lower pitched voice.  He even looked like Speedy.  He had a round cheeky face with a small round nose, and he was short as hell.  I think he was about 5’3.  He looked like Speedy Gonzalez, Cheech Marin, and any other Mexican stereotype you can think of.  Just toss on a poncho and sombrero and give him an acoustic guitar and we were set.  That’s what he was for Halloween last year – a Mexican.  He was our greatest running joke and he loved it.  Except when he’d get mad and we couldn’t take him seriously.  “I just thought it sounded a bit out of tune,” Adam added about the guitar.
“I’m the fucking guitar player here, I decide when Selma is out of tune and when she isn’t, ok?!  You don’t touch Selma for the same reason I don’t touch your fucking skins, because I’m not the drummer and you’re not the guitar player.  Now I can’t even jam cuz I left my strings way back at home.”
“Well shit Seven, why the hell did you do that,” I interrupted.  “What’s a jam session without the lead guitarist?  We might as well just pack it up.”  
I should’ve known better.  I should’ve kept my mouth shut and just let the two kick the crap out of each other and get it over with.  
“What, so now it’s my fucking fault?!”  Seven felt like he was being accused of a crime he didn’t commit.  “If our bitch of a drummer could stay sober for more than twelve hours straight, maybe we’d make some progress once in a while.”  He sat and slumped against the basement wall with his knees bent supporting his elbows palms supporting his forehead and ducked to his left just in time to avoid getting hit by the flying beer can, but couldn’t avoid getting drenched by the beer inside it.
Now I was floored.  “Shit man, I have to live down here, Adam!  Now my basement is gonna smell like your worthless cheap piss beer.”
“No worries, man.  Just lick the shit up, it’s still good.  Here watch, I’ll do it first.”
Seven shook his head in disbelief.  “Adam, you’re good for absolutely nothing.  Half the time you can’t even fucking keep the beat cuz you’re drunk off your ass.  Do you want to be our Dave Mustaine?”
To this Adam made his regular reply of telling Seven to go eat a taco.
Just as Seven and I were about to feed Adam his own ass, Milkshake finally stepped in, yelling “Everybody calm the fuck down!  This kinda shit happens every week and you guys never learn, you never learn!  Every week somebody fucks up our jam and every week we pack up our shit early and leave.  But we come back the next week and give it another shot.  Are any of you fools in any particular rush to get famous?  Cuz I’m not.  I just wanna jam and chill out with my boys.  And if we can’t jam, well then let’s just chill.  So everybody just chill the fuck out!!!!”  This is why Milkshake was Milkshake.  Because he was fucking smooth as hell.  He was even better with the ladies.
Everybody apologized and we packed our shit and headed to the O, our local pub.  When the waitress brought us our pitcher, we raised our glasses and toasted “Ooooooh, yeah!” in our best Macho Man voices.  
Seven let his glass fall to the table like it was a load of bricks and slumped his body over.  “I’m sorry bout today, guys.  It’s just that Karen’s been driving me fucking crazy lately.  I haven’t been able to sleep in like five days.”
Seven and Karen were already married and had a kid, little Tricia, and had another on the way.  They had Tricia when they were seventeen and married shortly after.  Seven was the first to have sex and then some.  He was the first to get laid, get high, get his licence, and of course get married and have a kid.  It was like he was in a rush to grow up or something.  The only thing he didn’t do first was get drunk.  Adam was born drunk.  Literally.  
“It’s cool, Sev,” Milkshake assured him and patted his back.  “We’re here for you, man.  Just don’t come to us with a bag of shitty diapers and we’ll help with whatever we can.”
Adam felt a bit guilty about his actions that afternoon, but he didn’t apologise, because then he wouldn’t be Adam.  Instead he bought the next pitcher.
Seven nodded his head to Milkshake’s comment and thanked everybody and sighed just before downing about a half of his glass.  “So anybody got a name for the band yet?”
Everybody looked at each other.  Clearly the band name wasn’t on the top of anybody’s list of priorities.  Seven had Karen to think about, Adam was too busy getting drunk, and Milky and myself, we always had pussy on the brain.  So in the midst of the silence I spoke up and suggested Oh Yeah as a name after all the long nights we’d spent at the O.  But I was shot down by Milky because he argued that that was our thing and our thing alone.  It was sacred and was not permitted to be said by anybody else.  The others agreed and we were back at square one.  
As we proceeded to get drunk, the name thing magically disappeared into the very deep reaches of the back of our minds.  Whenever we’d go to the O after practice, the drunker we got, the more enthusiastically we talked about our lives after we made it big.  The conversation always inevitably turned in that direction.
Adam always went first because he was the drunkest so he had the most absurd wishes to make.  “I’m gonna fucking fill my pool with fudge and watch a couple of big titted chicks go at it.”
Milky looked at him and smiled.  “That’s beautiful, man.  Fucking beautiful.  I’m going to buy my folks a new home.  A new home back home.”  His head waned back and forth as he said this and swayed more and more until it finally came crashing down on the table.  “And I’m gonna fuck Halle Barry.”
My turn was next.  “You’ll have to take sloppy seconds buddy, cuz I have first dibs on her.”  Milky didn’t even lift his head to reply.  He was done for the night.  “And I’m gonna buy a fucking alien, man.  My own E. motherfucking T, man.  It’ll be out of this world.”  I laughed hysterically at my own joke and stopped abruptly to look at Seven.  “Well?”
Adam blurted something out even before Tony could think of something.  “He’s gonna buy some tacos and call it a day.”  We all laughed out loud and let out a sigh in unison.
I looked at him with a drunk smirk on my face and said, “Adam, you are the most racist Jew I’ve ever met, man.  I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
And that was how we spent our days.  Until it all changed.  This is a chronicling of the best rock and roll band the world never got to see.  We are So Far So Good.