Most of my readers will look at this picture and think, "Boy, Tink sure does have some weird looking cousins!!!" and then say, "Wait! That's Swedish pop music group ABBA, formed in 1972 and kicked ass till 1982!! Consisting of Anni-Frid "Frida" Lyngstad, Björn Ulvaeus,Benny Andersson and Agnetha Fältskog which if you take the first letters of their name, spells, ABBA!! Cute, huh?"

Then other readers, either too young or too old or too stoned to remember much past 12 minutes ago but can remember what they ate on July 12th, 1967 in that Chicago diner(it was toast and orange juice!) will say, "Hey! I know them! They made that movie not too long ago, Mama something! Mia! That's it!"

ABBA was so much more than a Swedish pop music group.

They were the music we snickered at while we sat down in somebody's basement and drank whatever we stole from our parent's liquor cabinet.

I think I brought rubbing alcohol which Tim, the kid voted most likely to die trying to give a blowjob to a blender, drank down without asking, 'Whatcha bring?'

We sat down in my friend Pete's dungeon of a bedroom, down in some old bomb shelter, built during the time when Russia was getting ready to nuke us but they didn't cause JFK pounded his shoe on the UN's testicles or something.

I didn't pay much attention in school.

But now the bomb shelter was made into a bedroom, all of us younger than a fresh drawn turd were sitting on the floor.

"Want to hear something horrible?" asked my friend Andrew, who, by no surprise to anyone, would come out of the closet in 1993 to the song, appropriately enough, 'Dancing Queen'.

He proceeded to play that song.

We all howled with laughter.

"Horrible indeed!" I said.

But deep down, I liked it. 

I loved ABBA.  

And they would stay in my life till I decided to kick them out.

The year was 1987. 

I was a sweet just turned 16, in love, my first 'real' girl friend, Wendie Shackle.

We had been dating for many weeks.

Yes, it was that serious. 

I made it to first base with her, if by first base is 'Seeing the inside of her bathroom with her panties on the floor!'.

We sat in her back yard, near the pool, our bodies still wet from our swim.

For some reason, the radio was playing ABBA's "Winner Takes All" and then, as if in some bad romantic comedy, Wendie looked at me and said, "I don't want to be your girlfriend anymore!" she said, standing up.

"Why?" I stammered, standing myself. 

ABBA kept singing.

"I've decided....just leave....." 

She decided to break my heart, right there, while ABBA sang. 

She had met another, a guy from another town, 'Crackpipe Henry' as the cops would call him later.

And she would be 'Ole Lady Crackpipe!'

I decided that day ABBA could suck a dead fart out of my asshole.

Then the day came as I sat in a bar/club with some of the kids who giggled in that bombshelter bedroom. 

Andrew was there.  Pete. 

Even Tim who hadn't killed himself yet trying to give that blender a blowjob, but he had come close once or twice, almost falling off an aircraft carrier once or twice.

It was Andrew who had suggested the club.  He worked there, as what, he wouldn't tell us.

There we sat, drinking our beers, laughing, remembering the good old days.

For some reason, somebody in that place has chosen to select ABBA on the jukebox.

What kind of bar has ABBA on the jukebox?

And why did all the waitresses have adam apples?

"Oh Jesus....I love this song!" Andrew said, jumping up from his seat.

"I'll be right back!" 

We sat there, still drinking our beers, and more beers, and just enough beers to forget ABBA, till...

'Dancing Queen' began to play.  And from the speakers over head we heard, "Now on stage, Dy-mond!"

And that's the day we discovered, Adam was, well 'Dy-Mond'.

Did I decide that day to reach out and embrace ABBA once more as my life's sound track?

Sure! Why not?

Every life needs one!

Good night and have a better tomorrow!