The story of this mysterious guitar's creation and purpose begins a long, long time ago....At the turn of the
century many a bluesmen took the journey to a place thought to be mythical; This was a place called the
Crossroads. From Peetie Wheatstraw, rumors of the first Sonny Boy Williamson, and the legendary Robert
Johnson, all have been reported to have taken this brave journey. There are many stories handed down from
family member to family member of people being seen alone at late night, on deserted roads in the heart of the
Rural South. Some of them seemed to return in the morning with what appeared to be miraculous "Talent" and
"ability" to play and sing the Blues........To others this seemed to come from nowhere....Only that well guarded
secret that is shrouded in mystery was that this talent did come from SOMEWHERE.
It was common knowledge in the late 1800's on Southern plantations, that after a late night trip on one of the
four all hollowed eves per year, with the right moon in its elliptical calender, Voodoo legend an Lore has it that
traveling down a special dirt road and always arriving strictly alone, that at the correct intersection one can make
"special arrangements" with a fellow who goes by that of many names, one being Beelzebub for immediate
possessions of "certain talents"------If your desperate enough for fame to find the Crossroads.
These roads are said to intersect at the exact point of the Underworld and the here and now, A Door of entrance
to meet the Father of Lies---Son of the Morning.
This place is seldom visited and it's even more rare to ever return from. Only the strongest, most skilled
Bluesmen can survive the night and events that unfold upon the naive who take their chances at quick fame and
talent given so easily by the Prince Of Darkness. One can only imagine how Robert Johnson found this place on
that unforgettable night in the early 1900's.
That mysterious story happened on a desolate Mississippi road out far, far, far, from the safety of his home. To
confront and make his "Deal" with Legba, Legend has it, Robert walked confused for miles in the dark, long,
dusty and erie dirt roads near Clarksdale, Mississippi. He was guided only by the shallow lunar rays seeping
through the forest canopy. The wilderness was silent and unbroken and as he walked searching inside of
himself for the reason and need to pursue his dream at ANY cost. Spending that hot summer night walking and
walking, lost, with two of his most valued of worldly possessions, his guitar and his Soul. Wearing his torn and
tatered work cloths from a day of working the fields, the poorly stitched white shirt, and dripping wet at the neck
line, his white shirt soiled from sweat and dust, his guitar strap loosened, hanging there as a sign of his
uncertainty in life, most likely placed there by none other than the crooked serpent "Leviathan" as a symbolic
noose hanging from his neck. Guiding him ever so close to the gallows...step by step...heartbeat...by heartbeat.
After endless walking he finally found this gateway from life to death; this CROSSROADS of the deep Mississippi
Delta. Robert waiting till the right moment before dawn for the sacred ritual and summoning of "Tempter"; The
Lord of the Underworld to make his bid, not truly knowing what lie in front of him or the actual repercussions of
coming to such an off limits place.
BEWARE what you wish for, you just my get it!!!
As he waited, his ol' Black Dobro Cigar Box guitar tilted against his leg with a false sense of security. With the
Resonator action dialed in and strings tuned to impress, his guitar was built and played by the Legendary
Bluesman "Red Dog" before it was given to Robert Johnson. Red Dog made it for one thing and one thing only,
...Cutin' Heads...ol' Red Dog knew power is nothing without control.
As time passed and Roberts anxiety rose, his trusty rum bottle top slide tucked firmly away in his side pocket
and half smoked cigarettes strode around him, he was wondering if ever at all he could live the dream of a great
Bluesman. Smoking cigarette after cigarette, much too anxious to smoke the whole length, perching under a tree
with his hat tilted to its brim, waiting with unnerving but false confidence, wondering when this almighty entity was
to appear. The beads of sweat rolling off his deep, dark skin, as the temperature of his earthly inferno slowly
rose. His heart beating restless, with a squint in his eye, and a spring in his ear at any unexplained sound in the
foggy distance.
Words can't express the frightful night he was about to embark upon. His need to understand his instrument
drove this man to make a deal........a deal no one can walk away from once entering............. That
is,............unless,.....Your able to Cut Heads in a Battle of the Axes at the Crossroads with the Devil in charge.
Only Satan ain't gonna be playin' guitar.....he has the ability to manifest his evil power into the form of the most
fearsome, horrific, grueling image of man possible. When he does, arriving as a Son of the Disobedient, with
long black hair, pale white skin, a slender frame, black leather clothes, and channelling his demonic energy
through a bright red Strat bodied guitar with finer craftsmanship than Leo Fender has ever produced. He claims
the power of a thousand sounds at the twitch of his hand. His fingers act as striking matches on coarse
sandpaper, undeterred in any challenge, able to eliminate anyone who tries to defy the gravity of Satan's
bottomless pit. This entity takes the body of the Devil's henchman and goes buy the beckoning name of "Steve
Via." His skill at shredding on the guitar is effortless and anyone who trades licks with this possessed spirit, will
surely fall to the wayside as there voltage is drained from both their guitar and body......shrivelling into a
withered corpse in the ring of the Crossroads.
Those unfortunate to find them selves in this lost dimension, with lack of better judgment before coming, are in
fact now stuck in eternal damnation.
That is what became of Robert Johnson. He lost his battle, and his life. He returned from the crossroads a
"taken spirit," knowing deep with himself his days were numbered.
As history has written he was only to record 29 songs a short time later and then to be mysteriously poisoned
and murdered by some unknown source, some say it was a jealous boyfriend, but Robert's corpse knows the
"Belial" was responsible. The truth of his frightful journey going to the grave with him and his soul never to return
to him or walk the earth again, forever trapped in limbo, unable to unlatch the Gates of Hell................
DON'T Let This happen to you in your quest for MUSICAL GODSHIP.
Before Robert Johnson's life was taken, he managed to put this guitar away, It has been stored in an attic in
Mississippi till recently being discovered and offered up here on ebay for sale.
If you are a true Bluesman, the chances are great one night you might one day find yourself at those
dangerous crossroads....Now is your chance to defend against the Brethren in the heat of battle. It don't matter
if Steve Vai rips on you, Now your prepared with this instrument built with as much evil power as the wrath of a
fallen angle.
With The Hell-Hound, you'll Trade licks back and forth.... Even if Steve's riffs reach the height of their sonic
force, as the Master of The Hell-Hound you'll be able to slash back with a musical equilibrium that will squash
any tonal barrier in front of you.
Blast licks Steve's way, slowly crippling his improvisational demonic notes until he struggles with his last gasp at
striking his high stings, only to have his fingers run off the fretboard with no melodic sense. With the Dragon's
hypnotic thoughts subdued and conquered, as the Devils lead man kneeling hunched over, leaving his fiery red
guitar dangling soundless only a few inches off the floor, he will be unable to play rippin' riffs like the ones still
bursting from your guitar.
Having the Hell-hound on your short leash you can release such depth and tone to equal that of the thunder of
a thousand hoof prints charging ahead by a sadistic Mongol herd lead by the infamous tyrant Genghis Kan in
his quest for death. This guitar has such a searing, glass shattering tone, it will buckle anyone's knees with the
strength predicted only by the golden horns of Gods Apocalyptic end as predicted in Revelations, but unlike
horsemen riding from the Heavens to earth to destroy all, it's you, the one last standing, Defending the Faith.
Blazing on this guitar, clashing and slaying all who stand in your way. Success never evades you, as if a wolf
running after freshly wounded prey, knowing the kill is eliminate, felling the surge of life-force, blood on your
headstock, flesh of the demon entangled in your stings, the stench of blood soaked wood, steel and death that
rivals the notorious actions of Vlad the Impaler, you, continuing to tear into Biblical torture that would make even
George Bush surrender.
As you reach down and unleash this lethal "Dog" upon the world, your enemy standing with fear, his darkened
face, and beady red eyes, impatiently focused on the battle as it goes tic for tac between you and his guitarist,
Lucifer lurking in the bushes at roadside yelling loudly saying to you,....."How dare you think your going to defeat
me!"..... "our contract young man, you said you wanted to be a Bluesman?".....only this contract you cannot sign
with ink.
Your stellar make up, the carbon in your bones, the oxygen in your blood, is NOT what The Lion of Sin is after
........ your SOUL is what is on the line, that's your signature, that's your mark. That's the line crossed, all to
familiar to the foolish that the Devil has left quivering in his wake. You'd better be able to cut him down and not
be overwhelmed as you pass to the other side to make this courageous journey. When your battle starts, the
Devil's man and you are the only ones in the ring...Cuttin' head's...An ol' fashin' Axe contest!!! ........Yes sir, like
that ol' black man at the plantation entrance said .. "Two men enter,.... Sho' nuff', one man leave," tilting back in
his old wooden rocking chair, laughing under his breath, not knowing the power you bare with the Hell-Hound.
Now, I know there's some folk out there that would do anything to play the Blues like BB King, to feel the Blues
like Son House...to create the Blues like Charlie Parker....That's why Red Dog made this guitar, to prevent the
right person from being in the wrong place...The Inferno of The Realm of Shadows ain't no place foe' the
Bluesman....Don't be fooled by the easy allure of fame that will come to you if you partake into this one-sided
contract....that is at least, ...........if your not prepared by having the Hell-Hound by your side!
Alright, alright, if you've read this far you probably think I'm nuts, or that I saw the movie Crossroads ONE too
many times ...perhaps it's a combination of both! I snuck some Reverend Al Sharpton and Mel Gibson
Thunderdome ideas in there too !!! Hope you found them entertaining.
In this guitar I've combined art and music into an instrument that will still be here 500 years from now. You could
buy one of the one in a million guitars right here on ebay, but this truly is a One-in-a-million guitar.
Anyhow, the truth is, if you find yourself talking to the Devil, in the same room with the Devil, at the diner table
with the Devil, enjoying light and casual conversation with the Devil, or have a sharp, hot prong, tucked up
under your chin, staring down the joust of Satan's pitch fork.....what ever you do,......DON'T WHIP OUT YOUR
EBAY GUITAR!!!!! It will not help you and your situation. It will probably only further agitate him and for surly
you'll go out -----not with a blaze of glory, but rather a whimper and quick sputter!!!
Besides that nonsense, everybody knows there ain't no such a thing as the Crossroads...................
...........or is there????????
century many a bluesmen took the journey to a place thought to be mythical; This was a place called the
Crossroads. From Peetie Wheatstraw, rumors of the first Sonny Boy Williamson, and the legendary Robert
Johnson, all have been reported to have taken this brave journey. There are many stories handed down from
family member to family member of people being seen alone at late night, on deserted roads in the heart of the
Rural South. Some of them seemed to return in the morning with what appeared to be miraculous "Talent" and
"ability" to play and sing the Blues........To others this seemed to come from nowhere....Only that well guarded
secret that is shrouded in mystery was that this talent did come from SOMEWHERE.
It was common knowledge in the late 1800's on Southern plantations, that after a late night trip on one of the
four all hollowed eves per year, with the right moon in its elliptical calender, Voodoo legend an Lore has it that
traveling down a special dirt road and always arriving strictly alone, that at the correct intersection one can make
"special arrangements" with a fellow who goes by that of many names, one being Beelzebub for immediate
possessions of "certain talents"------If your desperate enough for fame to find the Crossroads.
These roads are said to intersect at the exact point of the Underworld and the here and now, A Door of entrance
to meet the Father of Lies---Son of the Morning.
This place is seldom visited and it's even more rare to ever return from. Only the strongest, most skilled
Bluesmen can survive the night and events that unfold upon the naive who take their chances at quick fame and
talent given so easily by the Prince Of Darkness. One can only imagine how Robert Johnson found this place on
that unforgettable night in the early 1900's.
That mysterious story happened on a desolate Mississippi road out far, far, far, from the safety of his home. To
confront and make his "Deal" with Legba, Legend has it, Robert walked confused for miles in the dark, long,
dusty and erie dirt roads near Clarksdale, Mississippi. He was guided only by the shallow lunar rays seeping
through the forest canopy. The wilderness was silent and unbroken and as he walked searching inside of
himself for the reason and need to pursue his dream at ANY cost. Spending that hot summer night walking and
walking, lost, with two of his most valued of worldly possessions, his guitar and his Soul. Wearing his torn and
tatered work cloths from a day of working the fields, the poorly stitched white shirt, and dripping wet at the neck
line, his white shirt soiled from sweat and dust, his guitar strap loosened, hanging there as a sign of his
uncertainty in life, most likely placed there by none other than the crooked serpent "Leviathan" as a symbolic
noose hanging from his neck. Guiding him ever so close to the gallows...step by step...heartbeat...by heartbeat.
After endless walking he finally found this gateway from life to death; this CROSSROADS of the deep Mississippi
Delta. Robert waiting till the right moment before dawn for the sacred ritual and summoning of "Tempter"; The
Lord of the Underworld to make his bid, not truly knowing what lie in front of him or the actual repercussions of
coming to such an off limits place.
BEWARE what you wish for, you just my get it!!!
As he waited, his ol' Black Dobro Cigar Box guitar tilted against his leg with a false sense of security. With the
Resonator action dialed in and strings tuned to impress, his guitar was built and played by the Legendary
Bluesman "Red Dog" before it was given to Robert Johnson. Red Dog made it for one thing and one thing only,
...Cutin' Heads...ol' Red Dog knew power is nothing without control.
As time passed and Roberts anxiety rose, his trusty rum bottle top slide tucked firmly away in his side pocket
and half smoked cigarettes strode around him, he was wondering if ever at all he could live the dream of a great
Bluesman. Smoking cigarette after cigarette, much too anxious to smoke the whole length, perching under a tree
with his hat tilted to its brim, waiting with unnerving but false confidence, wondering when this almighty entity was
to appear. The beads of sweat rolling off his deep, dark skin, as the temperature of his earthly inferno slowly
rose. His heart beating restless, with a squint in his eye, and a spring in his ear at any unexplained sound in the
foggy distance.
Words can't express the frightful night he was about to embark upon. His need to understand his instrument
drove this man to make a deal........a deal no one can walk away from once entering............. That
is,............unless,.....Your able to Cut Heads in a Battle of the Axes at the Crossroads with the Devil in charge.
Only Satan ain't gonna be playin' guitar.....he has the ability to manifest his evil power into the form of the most
fearsome, horrific, grueling image of man possible. When he does, arriving as a Son of the Disobedient, with
long black hair, pale white skin, a slender frame, black leather clothes, and channelling his demonic energy
through a bright red Strat bodied guitar with finer craftsmanship than Leo Fender has ever produced. He claims
the power of a thousand sounds at the twitch of his hand. His fingers act as striking matches on coarse
sandpaper, undeterred in any challenge, able to eliminate anyone who tries to defy the gravity of Satan's
bottomless pit. This entity takes the body of the Devil's henchman and goes buy the beckoning name of "Steve
Via." His skill at shredding on the guitar is effortless and anyone who trades licks with this possessed spirit, will
surely fall to the wayside as there voltage is drained from both their guitar and body......shrivelling into a
withered corpse in the ring of the Crossroads.
Those unfortunate to find them selves in this lost dimension, with lack of better judgment before coming, are in
fact now stuck in eternal damnation.
That is what became of Robert Johnson. He lost his battle, and his life. He returned from the crossroads a
"taken spirit," knowing deep with himself his days were numbered.
As history has written he was only to record 29 songs a short time later and then to be mysteriously poisoned
and murdered by some unknown source, some say it was a jealous boyfriend, but Robert's corpse knows the
"Belial" was responsible. The truth of his frightful journey going to the grave with him and his soul never to return
to him or walk the earth again, forever trapped in limbo, unable to unlatch the Gates of Hell................
DON'T Let This happen to you in your quest for MUSICAL GODSHIP.
Before Robert Johnson's life was taken, he managed to put this guitar away, It has been stored in an attic in
Mississippi till recently being discovered and offered up here on ebay for sale.
If you are a true Bluesman, the chances are great one night you might one day find yourself at those
dangerous crossroads....Now is your chance to defend against the Brethren in the heat of battle. It don't matter
if Steve Vai rips on you, Now your prepared with this instrument built with as much evil power as the wrath of a
fallen angle.
With The Hell-Hound, you'll Trade licks back and forth.... Even if Steve's riffs reach the height of their sonic
force, as the Master of The Hell-Hound you'll be able to slash back with a musical equilibrium that will squash
any tonal barrier in front of you.
Blast licks Steve's way, slowly crippling his improvisational demonic notes until he struggles with his last gasp at
striking his high stings, only to have his fingers run off the fretboard with no melodic sense. With the Dragon's
hypnotic thoughts subdued and conquered, as the Devils lead man kneeling hunched over, leaving his fiery red
guitar dangling soundless only a few inches off the floor, he will be unable to play rippin' riffs like the ones still
bursting from your guitar.
Having the Hell-hound on your short leash you can release such depth and tone to equal that of the thunder of
a thousand hoof prints charging ahead by a sadistic Mongol herd lead by the infamous tyrant Genghis Kan in
his quest for death. This guitar has such a searing, glass shattering tone, it will buckle anyone's knees with the
strength predicted only by the golden horns of Gods Apocalyptic end as predicted in Revelations, but unlike
horsemen riding from the Heavens to earth to destroy all, it's you, the one last standing, Defending the Faith.
Blazing on this guitar, clashing and slaying all who stand in your way. Success never evades you, as if a wolf
running after freshly wounded prey, knowing the kill is eliminate, felling the surge of life-force, blood on your
headstock, flesh of the demon entangled in your stings, the stench of blood soaked wood, steel and death that
rivals the notorious actions of Vlad the Impaler, you, continuing to tear into Biblical torture that would make even
George Bush surrender.
As you reach down and unleash this lethal "Dog" upon the world, your enemy standing with fear, his darkened
face, and beady red eyes, impatiently focused on the battle as it goes tic for tac between you and his guitarist,
Lucifer lurking in the bushes at roadside yelling loudly saying to you,....."How dare you think your going to defeat
me!"..... "our contract young man, you said you wanted to be a Bluesman?".....only this contract you cannot sign
with ink.
Your stellar make up, the carbon in your bones, the oxygen in your blood, is NOT what The Lion of Sin is after
........ your SOUL is what is on the line, that's your signature, that's your mark. That's the line crossed, all to
familiar to the foolish that the Devil has left quivering in his wake. You'd better be able to cut him down and not
be overwhelmed as you pass to the other side to make this courageous journey. When your battle starts, the
Devil's man and you are the only ones in the ring...Cuttin' head's...An ol' fashin' Axe contest!!! ........Yes sir, like
that ol' black man at the plantation entrance said .. "Two men enter,.... Sho' nuff', one man leave," tilting back in
his old wooden rocking chair, laughing under his breath, not knowing the power you bare with the Hell-Hound.
Now, I know there's some folk out there that would do anything to play the Blues like BB King, to feel the Blues
like Son House...to create the Blues like Charlie Parker....That's why Red Dog made this guitar, to prevent the
right person from being in the wrong place...The Inferno of The Realm of Shadows ain't no place foe' the
Bluesman....Don't be fooled by the easy allure of fame that will come to you if you partake into this one-sided
contract....that is at least, ...........if your not prepared by having the Hell-Hound by your side!
Alright, alright, if you've read this far you probably think I'm nuts, or that I saw the movie Crossroads ONE too
many times ...perhaps it's a combination of both! I snuck some Reverend Al Sharpton and Mel Gibson
Thunderdome ideas in there too !!! Hope you found them entertaining.
In this guitar I've combined art and music into an instrument that will still be here 500 years from now. You could
buy one of the one in a million guitars right here on ebay, but this truly is a One-in-a-million guitar.
Anyhow, the truth is, if you find yourself talking to the Devil, in the same room with the Devil, at the diner table
with the Devil, enjoying light and casual conversation with the Devil, or have a sharp, hot prong, tucked up
under your chin, staring down the joust of Satan's pitch fork.....what ever you do,......DON'T WHIP OUT YOUR
EBAY GUITAR!!!!! It will not help you and your situation. It will probably only further agitate him and for surly
you'll go out -----not with a blaze of glory, but rather a whimper and quick sputter!!!
Besides that nonsense, everybody knows there ain't no such a thing as the Crossroads...................
...........or is there????????
