Well, mama gave me my handle. The band is a different story...
I was in Saginaw, MI back in 1974 taking care of my business in a bathroom stall. While looking for something to read I found this scatched on the wall: "If you're not here to take a dump, then call this number and jump on my stump". There wasn't a number but I liked what it said. I call my band the Stump Jumpers.

I have played live. Don't like it. Never have.

Ask Al Gore coz I ain't real sure what you're on about with this question.

Who's asking? You know, that would matter. And how much. And are the girls there? And again, how much?

Chapter 1: The Early Years

It has come to this, when you reach a certain age in this business, the fans want to know all about your past and to answer the big question of who is RD McGunner?
I?m still not sure who he is, but he?s a man of great humor and reasonable amount of musical ability. I ask myself everyday, how did a dodgy sumbitch like me get where I am? Luck? Fate? Yes, all of those, but there?s also the need to entertain.
Carol Burnett once said to me, ?If you can fool yourself, the rest is a piece of cake.? I still don?t know what in hell that means. For those that are interested, here?s the life story, or at least what I can remember of yours truly, RD McGunner.
I was born to CD and Winona McGunner on a cloudy day, July 4th, 1952, the fourth of four children in Yellville, Arkansas. We were poor, barely had enough to eat, but we seemed to get by. My momma, Winona McGunner, (her nickname was Momma Wi, pronounced Y) had a hard time, as I was coming out ass first. Till the day she died she never let me forget how I damn near ripped her in half and wore her uterus out. She often would call me her ?Asshole firecracker.? Momma Wi was joking I think, but her jokes grew meaner and meaner over the years. I recall this one time, in high school; she told my entire 9th grade class that her little boy damn near killed his momma with his ass-first entry into this shitty world.
My Daddy CD (Clevon Daniel) was an odd nut, he would play weird games with me that always resulted in me losing my memory and having a sore butt. I never quite figured out how those things connected with each other.
He never had much use for me and my music, calling it ?the Devil?s plaything.? He would often joke with me and say, ?his favorite child was the one that died.?
I think the problem with my Daddy was that he was a misogynist; he hated women, he hated any criticism from a female and would beat the family accordingly every time he saw a female in the movies or on TV barking orders or giving out advice. He would rant on and on about how dangerous it is to listen to any woman who never changes her hairstyle as that definitely had Communists leanings.
Daddy worked hard most of his life, when he wasn?t drinking himself into a whiskey stupor. He didn?t seem to enjoy himself being a husband/father as he spent A LOT of his time with the local volunteer fire department. Any picture my mother took of him, he was always scowling like those people do who get their picture right before going to jail.
I don?t blame Daddy, he was a crazy old bastard that?s for sure, but he tried the best he could despite his drunken fits of rage when he would beat me and my mother and brothers. He died in 1962 while on a run to the grocery store, dropped dead right in the frozen food section. It was hard to see him in the casket with an imprint of the Jolly Green Giant on his forehead. That ole? caretaker really worked for his money trying to try and cover that up, let me tell ya.
I lost my Daddy at age 10, which was of course sad, but it gave me plenty of things to sing about. Even though Daddy hated my music, it gave me an outlet to express myself so I wouldn?t go into the nuthouse.
My brothers, AD (Alfred David) and BD (Beauregard Darren) were of not much use as they were constantly acting out their jealousies of me. They would often tease me and take a dump in my guitar. For anyone who knows, the smell of human sh*** is next to impossible to get out of the cracks of the wood of the instrument.
Ah well, I had my revenge, I would often laugh to myself when Daddy would go on one of his many drunken tears and beat my brother?s mercilessness, often to the point of Daddy falling asleep while swinging the wooden spoons. I didn?t much care for my brothers; they were always up in my business and wearing my underpants. Without much regret, they both died in a car fire in 1969 coming home from a Glen Campbell concert.
After that it was just me and my momma, which was fine by me, because by the time I was 18, my music was going real well and I would have been tired of Daddy and his ?Sleepy Games? had they continued on.
My schooling was not of much incident, the kids didn?t bother me and I didn?t bother them. I learned my lessons and that was that. I was not interested in fooling around, (girls didn?t appreciate RD at the time) if I flunked I was stuck in that town for another year so kept to my studies and sailed through school.
I played at every honky tonk, bar, dive, greasy spoon, county fair, carnival, birthday party, wedding, funeral, high school prom and backyard barbeque to hone my skills to reveal my talent.
With all the deaths and heartache, I found I had a goldmine of inspiration to work from. In 1970, after graduation, I packed my stuff and headed to Nashville. Kissing my momma goodbye was the hardest thing I ever done, but I knew great things were ahead.

Chapter 2: The Nashville Episode

I was 18 in 1970 and I rolled into Nashville with the clothes on my back and my lucky guitar, ?Big Bertha.? The first thing I did once I hit town was to look for a job, my money had gotten me to town and left me with only $1.50 in my pocket.
My first paid gig was at ?Mammy?s Choke &Puke?, a greasy spoon that was key to the door that opened to my destiny.
Once I saved enough money I found a rathole of an of apartment sharing room with several cockroaches and two mice. It was a real dump, but at least it allowed me to have a place to rest my head and to work on my music.
I worked my daytime hours serving burgers, fries and fried mutton while at night, I continued to write and sing my songs for anyone that would listen. It was at this time I wrote one of my biggest hits, ?You might be my brother, but I still hate your guts.? Of course it was based on my a-hole brothers who once told me that very thing- ?Thanks, bros! You lousy wretches!?
I?m getting ahead of myself as that song was barely a twinkle in my eye as I continued toil away.
Six months into my nightly sing-alongs, I met one of my heroes at the time, Jerry Reed. A fantastic guitar player out of Alabama who was riding high on a gold record he put out. Our meeting still makes me smile as it has a rather seemly undertone. As I was finishing up at ?Mammy?s? I had to take a wicked piss, as I?m doing my business, who comes in and stands beside me? Yep, Mr. Jerry Reed himself.
I remember his first words he ever said to me?..?That?s quite a peace of work you got there?? Now, I have nothing against the gays, I don?t go there myself, but hey, it?s their life and whatever hole they want, that?s their business so I was a little surprised at his remark as I didn?t think Jerry swung that way, I heard stories, but I?m no fool, I don?t believe everything I hear.
As usual I misunderstood what he was talking about. It seems ole? Jer had her me sing my song the night before and was a bit impressed. I was so damn happy I damn near pissed all over Jerry and myself. After finishing up, he gave me his card and told me to call him for a Jam session.
The next day I was nervous, sweating like a whore in church at the prospect of meeting Jerry Reed for a jam session. Once I got the nerve, I met Jerry at ?Mammy?s? and he was as nice as can be. We went to his newly purchased mansion and proceeded to rock our asses off. He debuted for the first time his future blockbuster hit, ?Amos Moses,? Although when I heard it it was called, ?Gus Moses?, it was me who told him he might want to change the name to Amos.
He then asked me what I had to offer, something different, so I played him a brand new hit that was swirling around in my head called, ?Get your tongue out of my mouth, cause I?m kissing you goodbye.? When I was done, Reed was floored, he loved it, and I think he was actually jealous as he couldn?t believe such a youngster wrote it.
We worked furiously for the next three days, only pausing to drink and take a shit. We wrote some of our best stuff in those three days, he got out of it, ?When you?re Hot, Your Hot?, Pretty Mary Sunshine? and ?She got the goldmine, and I got the Shaft.? I got, ?Drinkin, Sexin, Funin,? Snake Charmer,? and ?Go to bed with a 10 (wake up with a 2).?
Both of us were damn happy with such a creative spark, Reed offered to sign me on the spot. I was stunned, my dreams had come true! I couldn?t believe what had just happened. Over the next two days I negotiated a deal that would transport me to fames highest peaks. Of course, with such good fortune came the bad.
In 1972, I lost my Momma Wi to cancer. She fought a long, hard battle, but succumbed on the tenth anniversary of my Daddy?s death in Krogers. At 20 years old, I was now on my own. Those were some of the worst days of my life, but only later would I realize the truly awful days were still years ahead.
In an effort to help me overcome my grief, Jerry Reed offered me the number two spot on his summer variety series in 1973. Debuting on CBS following ?Barnaby Jones?, ?Jerry Reed and Friend?s Super Terrific Musical & Comedy Revue? was an instant hit. It was astounding for someone like me getting to meet all the people I had respected and admired at one time or another. From Little Jimmy Dickens to comedian String Bean, the talent that came through those doors was historical. As I was enjoying the ride, fate would again step in and allow me greater opportunities than I could ever imagine.
In 1974 after the airing of our Christmas/Hanukah Special aired, I received a special message from none other than the King of Rock & Roll, Elvis Presley! Impressed with my vitality and choice of songs, Elvis, through the Colonel, offered a meeting at Graceland. With our show in Nashville, Memphis was practically down the road, a few hours later I could not believe I was on my way to meet the most popular man on the world.
As I arrived at Graceland I was greeted by one his bodyguards, who was decked out with guns and velvet.

Beethoven. Elvis. Conway Twitty. The Clash. Morzart. Little Richard. Red Sovine. The Kinks. Chopin. Tom Jones. Johnny Paycheck. The Who. Wagner. Englebert Humperdink. Barbara Mandrell. The Stones. Bach. Robert Goulet. Charlie Pride. The Ramones. Mendelson. Slim Whitman. Freddie Fender. Television. You know, all the good stuff.

Right where I am.

Just what God gave me.

I ain't no fancy poet like John Denver but, I do have a lot to say and I hope my music in some way appeals to you in some way. Please give my songs a listen or two and I'm sure that you will find that at least some of them speak to you.
God bless you for your time.