Yeah, fine. You got me. Just call me a bone-smokin' commie. I, too, own a pointy guitar. It needs a fret-job and new strings, but since I didn't pay anything for it (another Bogtrotter gave it to me by way of repaying a loan), you won't hear me whining.
It's a no-name axe, but those non-descript-lookin' pickups roar like a rabid bull with his nuts caught in a barbed-wire fence.
Thanks to the wife for shooting the photo this morning. Tá grá agam duit, mo mhuirnin. (Although tomorrow, I may very well be sighing "Níl aon tóin tinn mar do thóin tinn fein," or perhaps even "Kiss my Erse." Get it? Yeah, that was a horrible pun, even by my standards. Heh, heh heh....)
And speaking of horrid puns, the tui fa line in my last story was one such. The Chinese art of massage is called tui na or tui fa, which closely resembles the word tuifa, which, in the Okinawan dialect, is the term applied to the weapon called a tonfa in Standard Japanese.