D.B. Rielly 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.

 

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