Scuzz Twittly grew up in a legendary musical family. His Pa, Floyd Twittly, was widely known as the most promising upcoming armpit fartist in all of Skankbush
County. Blessed with a great ear for music and a deeply resonant armpit, Floyd could rip out damn near any tune the other four fellas in the 8th grade could think
of. Surely on his way to the top, fate intervened at church camp when Floyd met a rude and homely, but very sexually curious young lady named Ester. Eight and
a half months later, Floyd found himself at the altar staring straight down the barrel of a 12-gauge. It was then he realized he had found true love. And over the
next seven years, Ester gave birth to eight little Twittlys, not one of them worth a damn, according to Floyd, but they each got a little piece of the Twittly musical
magic. And none of them more than little Scuzz.
At the age of seven, Scuzz won his first guitar from a one-armed Ferris wheel operator in a high-stakes game of Texas hold 'em. And little Scuzz took to that
six-string like a swarm of flies to a fresh cowpie, so much that it wasn't long before Floyd was telling Scuzz to "knock that shit off, boy, and get me another beer!"
But Scuzz couldn't give up his passion and wasn't quite big enough to kick the old man's ass yet , so he moved into the trailer next door with a retired lady named
Doris, who just loved the way Scuzz could strum things. Doris was a regular at the only venue in town, Billy Bo's Bar, Bowling Alley and Bingo Parlor. So she got
Scuzz his first paying gig there. He quickly became a local celebrity, playing for more than a dozen folks, and even more on league night. But Scuzz and Billy Bo
had a big falling out over a missing case of Pabst Blue Ribbon, so Scuzz hit the road. Doris was sure sad to see him go, but she knew deep down in her pacemaker
that the Twittly talent was meant to be enjoyed by the whole world. So she gave him a sack full of nickels from a recent bingo jackpot, and one last toothless beejay
and sent him on his way.
Scuzz spent the next several years traveling the backroads of America's heartland, playing guitar in every bar, honky tonk, watering hole and truck stop that would
have him. One night off the interstate, he met a gal named Connie May who took quite a shine to Scuzz. She was a butterface and a former freak show
contortionist, so Scuzz gladly hopped into her 18-wheeler with her two young boys, Dale and Earnhardt, and they headed on down the road. Connie May believed
in Scuzz, and being very friendly with most of the barkeeps in the tri-state area, was able to wrangle him a lot of gigs. And Scuzz turned out to be the father Dale
and Earnhardt never had. He taught them how to palm an ace, how to shotgun a beer and how to drop a guy twice your size in a bar fight with a swift kick to the
taint. He even read them Penthouse letters as they slowly drifted off to sleep. It was a special time for Scuzz, and through six glorious toll booths, he and Connie
May kept on truckin'. They shared a love for country western music. They shared a love for life on the open road. They shared a near fatal case of the crabs.
But what Connie May really wanted to share was a Scuzz Junior, and there was no way in hell Scuzz was going to fall into the same trap as the old man. So he
grabbed his guitar and jumped out of that Kenworth at 60 miles an hour, accidently landing on the spruce and mahogany body of his beloved instrument and
crushing it beyond repair.
Dazed from the fall and coming down from a crystal meth/Jack Daniels high, Scuzz limped down the edge of the highway, carrying six loose strings dangling from a
shattered fretboard, ready to end it all. Spotting the headlights from a big rig rolling at high speed, Scuzz stepped into its path. This could have been the end of
the Scuzz Twittly story. But fate intervened again when the truck driver locked up all 18 wheels, jackknifed and stopped not six inches from sure tragedy. Fighting
the urge to kick Scuzz's ass for nearly killing them both , the driver, by the name of Bufford Goldstein, instead took pity on Scuzz, being a fellow flatpicker himself.
He helped Scuzz into his cab and nursed him backed to health with a steady diet of beef jerky and cup o' noodles.
They struck up quite a friendship and as luck would have it, Bufford was on his way from Bozeman, Montana to Hollywood, California with a load of new guitars. So
they pulled a couple of them out of the back and started strumming. Bufford loved Scuzz's tunes so much he told him he should ride all the way to Hollywood with
him. Bufford had some connections in show business, and he was sure Scuzz could be a major star. But Scuzz didn't want anything to do with California or the kind
of freaks that run loose out there. Bufford told him it wasn't as bad as all that and how hot the women were and how celebrities got to do whatever in the hell they
wanted to do and that got Scuzz thinking. Bufford reminded him of the Tommy Lee/Pam Anderson video and how that could be his pecker one day. So Scuzz
Twittly dared to dream and got back in that truck. When they rolled into Los Angeles, Bufford got Scuzz a meeting with a cousin of his who was looking to make a
name for himself as a big-time Hollywood agent. And when Herschel Goldstein heard Scuzz 's music, he started thinking that his days as a Chatsworth fluffer might
finally be over. He booked Scuzz some time in the recording studio (his Aunt Hazel's sewing room), and they got to work.
Family means everything to Scuzz, so when he signed his record deal, he got everybody involved. His brother Scum Twittly played bass, his brother Boss Twittly
played drums and his brother Mongo Twittly, who had spent most of his formative years huffing diesel fuel, played with himself. Even beloved sister Sissy Twittly,
who has a legendary throat, came on to sing background vocals. Scuzz emerged from the studio an hour and a half later with his very first 5-song EP, "Yer a
Scuzz is back in the studio, shootin' music videos and tearin' up Tinsel Town, so stay tuned cuzz there's a lot more Scuzz on the way...
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