Origin

Years ago, in a cattle ranch not far from here, a colorful egg was found by a lowly ranch hand. The man cherished the egg, knitted it sweaters in the winter, bathed it each night in the creek, read it tales of bravery and adventure, taught it how to properly stoke a fire. One balmy summer night, the ranch hand returned to his little cabin after a hard day's work on the range only to find his home ransacked by a group of wild desperadoes. The outlaws had destroyed everything, but most importantly, they had stolen the man's beloved record collection. And the egg? He found it shattered in the corner. Standing there in the bits of eggshell was a scruffy Portland rock band. With a gleam in his eyes, the ranch hand named it Porches. He trained it in the ways of the gun and the axe. He taught it how to wrangle tornadoes and dance in the face of danger, how to drink without a straw and punch without a fist. When Porches finally grew up, it left its home and hit the dusty trails. It headed west looking for vengeance, looking for a gang of bandits in the wrongful possession of some long lost music.