The Lost Dudes: Volume #1

"I can tell I'm home by the way they're drivin', the pace is slow and the air is clear..." God Bless This Town, Marshall Dyllon.
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Yes, its a far cry from any Absence of Concern lyric, but it was the fame accompanying Marshall Dyllon that took Martin from us--I guess the two bands are anything but mutually exclusive.

Every dude listened to the above song and automatically thought Martin was visualizing us, even though he had absolutely nothing to do with the songwriting on MD's most- anticipated, self-titled debut album.

We oft joke of the dude that brought lines such as "WHEEY DE FEHHH!" and the timeless, "gotta go, fellas. it's beer-thirty and I'm late."

But when push came to shove, not even Martin's alpha-male Flanagan was enough to keep him from following his brother Paul to Nashville. His year and a half taste of the limelight has kept him chasing the "impossible dream" of stardom--a chore that just couldn't be balanced with the time-crunch being a dude entails. And once he met John Dre' and the boys, with their undeniably superior acoustic abilities and spiked hair (though Cray and Chandler have one tooth and nail with those guys as far as hair products are concerned), there was little we could do.

I think I speak for the entire dude nation when I say that I miss Martin. But his continued absence begs the following interior monologue--"Is my own dudedom for life? Can the other dudes vote me out with a simple majority, or must it be unanimous? Must you be an original member to acquire complete dudeness. Did we leave the bylaws at Flanagan's?"

Please, commemorate Martin, and chime in on the questions posed. And stay tuned for another exciting edition of "The Lost Dudes."