Act 1, Scene 1.

(Two handsome men enter a barren city flat)

Devin: Hello!
Scott: Hi.
Both: We’re Anteaters & The Women Who Love Them!
Scott: We play in a Ft. Lauderdale, Florida band that has been described as Beowulfian Folk, Swamp Punk, and Sesame Street Rock.
Devin: However, all these genres are insulting to us because our music transcends definition. In effect, if one were to define our music by forcing it into the narrow confines of a genre, the individual would be offending our musical efforts.
Scott (graciously): Well said, Devin.
Devin: Thank you, Scott.
Scott: There is one hole in that explanation, though.
Devin (with a furrowed eyebrow): You’ve attracted my attention, Scott. Please go on.
Scott: Well, you referred to what we do as music. By calling it music, you demean us both. You have defined our fruitage and have, once again, demoted our efforts to a space in the dictionary, making us playthings of the Machiavellian Webster.
Devin: Once again, you are correct, Scott. Anteaters & The Women Who Love Them are like the ancient Chinese Dao—indefinable. However, indefinable is in itself a definition.
Scott: Like the Chinese, we have fallen into another metaphysical trap.
Devin: Indeed we have, Scott. Maybe it’s best if we just let our listeners feel Anteaters & The Women Who Love Them, instead of wasting words and sweet, sweet prose with descriptions.
Scott: Fantastic idea, Devin. So…distinguished listener, please enjoy the product of our instrumental labors…
Devin: …Yes, yes, yes! The final product of calloused fingers, bleeding throats, soiled notebooks, and bottle after bottle of the grapes greatest contribution to mankind.
Scott (both turning towards audience): We are your new comrades!
Devin: We are Desert Storm!
Both (enthusiastically): We are Anteaters & The Women Who Love Them! Read more on Last.fm. User-contributed text is available under the Creative Commons By-SA License; additional terms may apply.