We'd done just got back from the bank. They'd foreclosed on Daddy's ranch. I reckoned I ain't never seen a sight such as this, however. The Blood Drained Cows had littered the ranch-scape with retro, 60's garage rock offerin's of geetar-injected psychedelic fuzz. Fueled by the skillful semantics of ex-Angry Samoan Gregg Turner, this New Mexican trio was a-singin' and a-howlin' about the merits of antihistamines on "Medication (The Actifed Song)," while the drums sounded off to a tribal beat. Shucks, "This Crushing Thing" had a riddum section tighter'n maw's best clothesline, with plenty of stop-start choruses to sing along to. I ain't even gonna tell ya 'bout Turner's disgustin' lyrical ponderin's on "Necrophiliac in Love," even though the song was like a sweet desert ballad with tambourines 'n' plucked geetar notes lulling me into a sedated trance. If it weren’t for that messy ol’ carcass of a name, I’d've sworn them Cows were the reincarnation of the 13th Floor Elevators, as the cover of "You’re Gonna Miss Me" was sinfully sincere, with lots of whoopin’ and blazin’ power chords. Sheesh! Me and my pal Jethro both agreed, it hadta've been either the Chupacabras or a nasty case of them summer locusts, but whichever created the maddening shrieks of the Blood Drained Cows had done good. Done damn good.