The girl led us to a closed door near the stage, and knocked. The door opened to Di, holding her ever-present clipboard, and a smiling Abe, standing behind her.

“Hey, everybody,” Abe said. “I’m glad you all made it here safe and sound.”

“Us, too,” Buckington said. “It would’ve sucked if we crashed and died in a big ball of fiery explosions. Nice shirt you’re wearin’ there, Abe. Did some woman make you wear that silky mess, or is that your own bad taste?

...

“We’re about to open the doors,” the Opry worker said. “So if you’d like to take your seats, we’ll get started really soon. Show me your tickets, and I’ll show you to your seats.”

“Only three of us have tickets,” Buckington said. “The Bewbs and Mr. Fartz here. The rest of us are in the front row, I was told, and Doobie over there brought his own chair, so he’s good to go.”

“How is that possible?” the girl asked, checking her paper. “Are you folks the Butt’s?”

“I’m the only Butt here,” Buckington said. “The rest of these people are my friends. Cosmo called you guys, and made all the plans for tonight.”

“Buckington Butt,” the girl said, searching her memory. “Are you the Billionaire Barfer, and the Bully, too?”

“And the Billionaire Badass,” Buckington said, grinning. “You can’t forget that one, cause it’s my favorite.”

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