This site is under construction by overworked Moogles The history of Zeke's Garage, presented by Artie Tempermental, the former Miss America himself.
Life's been hard; Trust me, I know.
I was born in the woods and I was raised by a turtle. My turtle mentor taught me how to use my mighty shell for defense against predatory attack. After he died, Mr. Turtle (my mentor) told me in a scary astral projection that I should venture out into the ghettoes of Manchester and form a band. I said "You're scaring me." Then he frowned and repeated his previous command. Then I said "You're scaring me" again. Mr. Turtle frowned on this and promised me he'd give me some twinkies if I went. So I went. And here I am.
I am Artie, the bassist of Doom.
I found my fellow bandmates scattered throughout the globe. The first of the three I met was Mike. While I was travelling through India searching for the lost Pankot palace -- no, wait. That's not my story. That's the story of Indiana Jones. Anyway, I found Mike one day when I was swimming through the alligator-infested waters of Manchester. Mike was riding a log raft and singing "She'll Be Coming Around the Mountain" out loud. I called out to him in an attempt to befriend one of the natives of this brand new scary world. He replied and I jumped onto his raft. We got to know each other better and he offered to show me his collection of Bulgarian children. I respectfully declined and was on my way, but not before I found out he was a drummer who was looking for a band.
The next member I found was Dave. As I recall, Dave was riding an ostrich singing "My Dear Clementine" out loud. It was then that I realized that the brothers Proulx both had an affinity for singing obscure American songs out loud. Anyway, there Dave was, riding the ostrich. I needed to catch up to him and ask him to play guitar, but I couldn't, because, as you know, ostriches run really fast. So I wandered into a nearby villa where I met a weird, one-eyed Chinese man. He offered to sell me a mogwai, but I said "No way ugly! I saw the movies, I know what can happen!" Then he offered me something cooler. He sold me some magic Chuck Taylors from him. These weren't your everyday run-of-the-mill magic shoes; these shoes could make the wearer run really fast and they served an orthopedic function. So I put on the shoes and zoomed over to where Dave was riding. The wind was fierce, so fierce that it obscured any words I tried to say. I asked Dave if he wanted to form a band. He, having misunderstood my question shrieked in terror at the thought of me stealing his hands. After several attempts I got the question across to him and he accepted.
The band was almost completed.
I found Greg in the magical bean fields of Manchester. He was dressed in the expected tribesman attire: a double breasted suit with a cumberbun and bowtie. He was holding a spear; apparently hunting season of the rare Manchester echidna had arrived. I approached him slowly and suprised him. He wheeled around, a terrified look in his eyes. He shrieked the tribesman killing slogan "Aaaaaaah! I'm going to kill you!" and lunged at me with his spear. I dodged and threw some ducks at him. They quacked with unparalleled ferocity, throwing Greg to the ground. As I stood triumphant, Greg readied himself on the ground; Greg was an earth mage and he was casting an earth spell on me. I smiled and opened my mouth, asking Greg to join the band. Before I could finish the first syllable, I realized that Greg's spell had reached its pinnacle: two enormous earthen hands erupted from the plains, pulling out a larger earthen body. As I looked in amazement, the Golem pulled himself together and bellowed. I cried like a school-girl with a skinned knee as I muttered my spell. My Chuck Taylors glowed fiercly, powering up to their maximum level. I sprinted around the Golem, zig-zagging over him to the point where he got dizzy and collapsed. He shattered into an amazing number of pieces, each one infinitesimal in size. Greg, seeing that I had beaten his Golem with magic, bowed down to me. I, having misconstrued his actions, approached with my guard completely down. Then, Greg punched me in the stomach. It really hurt. As he stood triumphant over me, I remembered one thing: Mr. Turtle had given me thw twinkies. I pulled the twinkies from my pocket and waved them at Greg. He was overcome with surprise. He snatched them from my hands with vigor and he began to eat them. Then, for the sake of balance, I punched Greg in the stomach. That seemed to do the trick: I had exorcised the demon from Greg's soul; He was no longer possesed by Oprah. He was back to regular old Greg. I whistled for my faithful platypus and he arrived. Greg and I hopped on and we made our rounds, picking up Mike and Dave.
From then, we started a band with the help of the genetically-engineered Chris Porter, whom we affectionately call "Porter." The band rocks the socks of evil-doers everywhere. We stand for truth, justice, and donuts. We like donuts.
And, to think this all came about because of the request of a floating ghost head of a turtle. Thanks Mr Turtle.
This is all one big lie. Thanks for reading.
PS - The shell part wasn't a lie. I really have a shell which I can crawl into. This site is under construction by overworked Moogles
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This site is under construction by overworked Moogles