It was the best of times, it was the worst of times...
Our "young" (you old fart) hero was in his den of wonders strumming his guitar when inspiration struck: why play an eight string in drop G# when we could... play an eight string in drop C#?
Ever quick on the uptake, the boy wonder (you old fart) has the tuning changed in an instant, deftly adjusting the neck of the guitar as well to ensure adequate tension to avoid sounding like one bloody mess (which sounds great for a metal band name, but it really sucks when you actually sound and look like it... you old fart).
All was well until Liberace struck a power chord o'doom® which shook the foundation of the building and woke up the neighbours. A grin began and then turned into a frown as someone in the distance yelled, "You stupid ****, the intonation was off."
"Haha," said our fearless macho dude. "I'll fix that in a flash," he cried as he loosened the string tension, undid the intonation screw and slid the bridge a little forward.
But what sorcery was this? The intonation screw wouldn't go back in. It just kept spinning around, as did that model of grit and determination, frantically trying to make things right again.
But alas. that fine young lad (old fart, old fart, old fart, Nyah Nyah) was doomed.
Indeed, twas no ordinary guitar. Twas a master built guitar, forged in the custom shops of darkest Sweden where all good black metallers live in the forests and laugh and play all day long.
"Help," that James Bond-lookalike shouted with all his might. "Help!"
For while our male model was full of wit, charm and good looking, he didn't have a pair of coins to rub together to keep himself warm for the coming winter. Or pay for an entire replacement bridge (cause good things don't come in pieces).
It seemed all was lost...
But then, suddenly, at 9.50pm on a Monday, a light shone through in the darkest of hours.
"Gee, sorry, bud, that guitar is out of warranty," said a voice to our despondent hero.
Our glum chum looked up and lo and behold! Twas Ola Strandberg, the wizard who designed the wonderful piece of modern musicality.
Dazed and without his axe, that man's man was about to croak out a "Nooooooooooooooooo!" when Mr Strandberg continued.
"I'll tell you what though. You pay for shipping and I'll send you the part you need."
As tears filled that grateful knight's eyes, he showered Mr Strandberg with praise and promised to spread word of his great deed.
Mr Strandberg, a twinkle in his eye and that fine young cannibal's money in his pocket, waved goodbye with a smile and a twinkle in his eyes.
Truly, my friends, the point of this story is: there are truly heroes among us, fighting the good fight, raising people's spirits and generally kicking arse out there.
Ola Strandberg is a man who obviously stands by his product, and I for one am sure that Santa will leave something good in his stocking this year.
As Willy Wonka put it, "Thus forth shone a good deed," and I was duty bound to tell you of it.
