was born in the hearts and minds of lonely widows. He was raised by traveling vacuum cleaner salesmen and fed a strict diet of Cream of Wheat and Gilligan's Island until, at the age of three, he was sent off to receive his education at the I Don't Like Your Attitude, Young Man, Academy of Discipline.
Decades later, realizing he'd never be able to snatch the pebble from anyone's hand, they "graduated" him. D.B. was unprepared for a world full of choices, opportunity, reality TV, and boy bands, so he wandered – clutching tightly to the only memory he had left: the sound of a Hoover Deluxe 700. It's no surprise that he gravitated toward the accordion – and is shunned by music lovers everywhere.
So back on the road he goes. You may spot him hitching a ride somewhere, anywhere you're headed is fine. You may spot him in a deserted diner trying to look up the waitress' skirt. But one thing is certain: wherever dogs are howling and little children are holding their ears, you'll find D.B. Rielly and his squeezebox.
“If there’s any justice in the world he’ll be picking up awards at next year’s AMAs.”
– Country Music People Magazine
RT @stephenjmolloy: *German waiter draws two little dots on my plate* Me: I asked for an omelette.
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