Apparently its a crime to play Banana Phone more than twice in four hours! Criminal Ukulele activity in sector 7G. Yes, folks, the 98-pounder and the Italian bearded beatnik were rolled  on by the Piazza po-po while playing subversive ukulele-type hippie music. The call came to headquarters: "If I hear one more chorus of 'Banana Phone' I'm calling security," And indeed, they did. Within minutes large, I mean elephantine, men, maybe four surrounded us. I had just finished playing my coconut and kazoo. Big Daddy was asinging and astrumming when he unceremoniously stopped our set. I looked up and the biggest, burliest, most brutal, brute said: "You have to stop, you are on private property and you are not allowed to solicit for more ukuleles here." Yes, it's true, we want more ukuleles. We even possted a sign in  one of our cases that read: "Help us buy more Ukuleles". Alas, we did not receive enough money to cover our car share costs, let alone cash for a custom Kamaka.
But hell, the truth is we were invited to play on the sidewalk for money by a local coffee shop. Okay, maybe I'm not the best singer, or uke player, but damn-it! I play a mean coconut and we didn't deserve to be treated like riffraff. So Big Daddy, defiantly turned his back on the bullies looking for them to make tracks. We stopped. Why didn't they go? When the biggest of the bunch looked down at Big Daddy and said 'Well, I am bigger than you.' I smelled a threat. It was too late for reason. I jumped on his back and started beating him bruitally. But I was just a twig; he could snap me in half. The next thing I knew, fists were aflyin', ukes were acryin' and we was a cussin.' In five minutes, we were flat on our backs, lights out. Next thing we knew we were riding home in our carshare.