Lee recently got into a small collection of the really clean stuff and when we opened this case, our jaws dropped to the floor and I had to fan the tall one because I thought he was going to pass out. It's a given that this Goldtop has a certain "upper crust" look, which means you could play it at a wedding reception or a Bar Mitzvah without getting tossed out of the building, but it's the fretboard that made us shiver and a little uneasy to even have in our possession. Heck, we even thought about taking all the 'Pauls with Brazilian fretboards and throwing them out the back door after seeing this one because of the enormous rarity of the wood that adorns it. Over the years, we have heard whispers and rumors about the rare and insanely coveted Baked Maple tree, but never actually thought that it existed. We just assumed that the stories surrounding this tree were exactly that- just stories and when we got word that one had been found deep in the swamps of South Louisiana, we were certain that it would be surrounded by barbed wire, armed guards and foamy- mouthed pit bulls. My cousin Luther is a G-13 Classified Federale, so I called him to ask about the existence of this fancy so and so Baked Maple tree and the moment I mentioned the name, he hung up on me and was in my driveway within a few hours. "You tryin' ta git us both kilt?" he squawked. I just shook my head because I didn't see the big doggone deal in all this, but he tried to shush me and when I wouldn't quit babbling about raids and Nashville plants, he thumped me on the tater with the butt of his gun and threw me into the trunk of his car. I woke up in the basement of a dormitory on the campus of the University of South Carolina (the thugs, I mean government agents must have known this would be sheer torture for me) and I knew where I was because my captors were all wearing Gamecock footie pajamas. Brilliant, right? So a skinny, bald, rat- faced, cigar- breathed stick of a punk gets up in my face and starts telling me that "there ain't no sucha thang as a Baked Maple tree, Hoss" and that I should just forget all about what I heard, saw and the fact that this Les Paul ever existed. Well, being somewhat prideful of the guitars the 'ol Tall One brings in, I started arguing about what's mine is mine and that this was certainly a free country and a combination EPA/IRS witch hunt that was trying to keep the little man down. That was it- I instantly pissed these eight or so Gamecock goobers off and just as they were about to swarm me jars of honey and fire ants, I hollered "Like a good neighbor, State Farm is there" and my insurance agent appeared with a handful of S. Carolina/Clemson tickets on the 50- yard line (they ought to beat Clemson, right?). This momentarily distracted the gaggle of idiot kidnappers and I managed to get free and scamper out of there. Now, I did have to hitch hike home because the agent will not appear twice in one day (they don't tell you that part in those fancy commercials) and my tootsies were a tad sore, but the prized pig came home with me to the 'Elkcave. So after all that horror, we have here a Classic Custom that's in unplayed condition and features the rare, unfindable, exceedingly taboo and tone drenched baked maple fretboard. Word is, if you get caught with one of these guitars in Dubai, they give you a hundred oil rigs and make you a sheik. No matter, I just so happen to like cars better than camels...