This Machine Kills Teenage Boredom: Where Is It Now?

Ibanez Deluxe 59'er "Lawsuit" Les Paul Copy
Featuring a low price of entry and above average playability, this guitar was the ideal weapon in the war on teenage boredom. Some two decades before these gits were considered "collectable," this example came into my life wearing Grover tuning pegs, a brass nut, and a Dimarzio X2N pickup in the bridge and a Super II in the neck. In other words, massive ass kicking capability without the financial risk associated with domestic instruments. Artistic expression frustration soon revealed it possessed the almost supernatural ability to remain in near perfect tune, even after repeated aerial maneuvers and the associated hard landings. I had Lemmy sign it in gold paint marker in '85, but that had started to fade by the time it disappeared. It may or may not of had an "ULTRA 94" sticker between the pickups.

Unfortunately, it was "lost" in Minneapolis at 7th Street Entry in 1987. On tour with the Circle Jerks, the 59'er never made it back into the Necros van that night. Although the idea of this axe being haphazardly strummed by some 15-year old in a musty basement somewhere trying to play along with the Heartbreakers' L.A.M.F. LP is appealing, I'd rather have it back. In the slim chance this missive finds it's way to someone who knows of its whereabouts, do tell. The story alone will be worth the wait.

PS: They are called "lawsuit" models because Gibson sued-and won-to force Ibanez to quit using the "mustache" or "open book" headstock shape.
When lost, this Ibanez was in a generic case.
Circle Jerks, Necros, First Avenue, 7th Street Entry, Negative Approach, Punk, Touch and Go, Gibson, Fender, stolen guitar

O Nacho Daddy, Nacho Daddy! Wherefore Art Thou Nacho Daddy?

Why must you tempt me with bushy brow and grotesque nose? It's been years since thou left, our summer now devoid of tamales prepared in the back of a questionably modified Recreational Vehicle. Damn thee lowly health department infidel who cannot see past your distended tongue, nose ring, and curiously tiny cowboy hat.To them, your outer beauty and likely toxic paint are but a curse, an impenetrable shield to ward off those unworthy of  the product of your loins.
Oh Nacho Daddy, know that the late-night nourishment demands of Northwest Ohio/Southeast Michigan may have not gone unfulfilled, but alas, its hearts have.