Evidently someone wants to keep Rob Neville off the GBFT website. Those fat cats from Camp 7 are engaged in a shameless and transparent coverup. "Nev" played balalaika and slide whistle on "Fuck! I Can't Get My Guitar In Tune!," and pounded on a sheet of aluminium with a runcible spoon on "Shut the Fuck Up You Loser." But you won't find him in the liner notes. You won't find him signing autographs at the mall. And you won't find him on the GBFT website. Perhaps a bit of history is in order: In the aftermath of damning reports from multiple credible sources of illicit liaisons between Rob Neville and Rojo in the walk-in of LEO's 706, Plastic Age self-dismantled themselves apart to the chagrin of their creditors. The Berts, Rob & Al, then formed an outfit (tight with frills) for the Harvey Milk Memorial Conjoined Twins and/or Co-Dependent Passive-Aggressive Roommates Battle-o-the-Bands, which won honorable mention in a field of two. Second place, in a departure from tradition, was awarded to a stray cat that wandered by. Ro-Nev,

I have absolutely no recollection of this individual, Rob Neville. Of course, I've always been a bit of a drinker.