Ahem. Okay, the story is actually a little less dramatic than that. The genesis of the Funkabilly Playboys, like so many other wonderful things in life (beef jerky, for example) was an accident. Literally. Bongo was in rehab and he inadvertently threw up in Chuck's cell. This naturally enough caused Chuck to hurl. And they discovered an amazing thing: they were both in the same key.

It was, as poets often say, a magical moment.

Knowing that their destiny was to form a band, they realized that a crucial component in the attainment of their goal would be to find actual musicians who would join them. It would not be easy and they fully understood this, because actual musicians possess skill and knowledge and wisdom. And instruments. Actually, the instruments are probably the most important part--the rest of that stuff is simply annoying.

In any case, they soon discovered Mike and Tim and Scott. As luck would have it, music has much in common with pinball. Or not.

And so coagulated, the band began to distill its unique blend of music and photosynthesis. But one thing eluded them: the band would need a worthy name if they were going to succeed, if they were going to test destiny, if they were going to get paid. They had the funk. They had the billy. But something was missing, even after Scott found his wallet. Once again, fate smirked on them: Tim went into the bathroom and (after a lot of pounding on the door) emerged with a magazine. And he had the solution in his hand.

The rest, as poets often say, is history.