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Thread: Message for oldfart

  1. #51

    Default Re: Message for oldfart

    Good one Swampy.........
    "Once and Eagle Always and Eagle"
    Valley, Alabama
    Fan of Erk since the 70's, Eagle Scout 1978, Georgia Southern Fan since 2009

  2. #52

    Default Re: Message for oldfart

    I'm not questioning WHAT I just read, I'm questioning WHY I read it. I just couldn't look away...
    GATA!

  3. #53
    Join Date
    Mar 2007
    Location
    Statesboro
    Posts
    23,866

    Default Re: Message for oldfart

    Quote Originally Posted by SwampEagle View Post
    I have failed time and time again to derail this thread. I, too, probably am just as guilty for keeping this thread alive by posting in it. Far be it for me, however, to impose my will on others - to this end, I shall acquiesce. In the (new) spirit of thread longevity, I, the SwampEagle present to you:

    Another Chapter from Bizzare Musings of the Sane

    May is a fine time to be in Georgia. There are okay times, neither okay nor not okay, not okay and flat out rotten times to be in Georgia. But....May and October are fine times to be in Georgia. It was the middle of May and I found myself in my favorite rocking chair, low in the toe and high in the heel, about 10 minutes from sunset. I had a glass of George Dickel and ice sweating right next to me, and my mp3 player was softly playing Merle. I didn't like turning up the sound during these few glorious moments of God's creation, where the sunset just starts to light up the woods behind my garden. I always enjoy watching this in near silence, nothing but the soft sound of the radio, the creaking of my chair and the ice melting in my glass.

    I had come home from work to find corned beef and cabbage in the crock pot, the young 'uns finishing up their final school projects, no bloody noses or broken windows to deal with, and all was right with the world. I went out and hoed my garden for a few minutes, I liked to try to stay ahead of the weeds. It never completely worked, but I felt the effort was still worth it. My garden had not beared yet, but it wouldn't be long before I would have some early squash and butterbeans.

    One thing I had in my favor was the family of mockingbirds that took nest in the woods adjacent to my garden. This was a great thing, I thought, as I started to enjoy the first taste of the sourmash in my glass. The sunset was almost nigh. I hadn't had to deal lead death to any squirrels this spring thanks to those mockingbirds. They are hell on squirrels! Crows too! Things like this make sippin' whiskey during mild May sunsets wonderful.

    You have to savor these moments. Soon evening would be upon us. This meant my wife would soon be home. She went back to work a few years ago when it became obvious that my job as a skidder operator was not "upwardly mobile". Bills have way of piling up sometimes so my wife got a job driving a truck for the concrete company in town. Most days she would get home later in the day if the weather was good, so I liked to take advantage of these moments to enjoy a bit of whiskey and watch the glorious May sunset before she came home and started barking orders. Don't mess with a woman that drives a concrete truck, she might just rollapin that head.

    Although I got to respect my wife, that don't mean that I have to bow down to her sister. Her sister always looked down on me because she thought my wife could have done better. She always thought she was uptown just because she drove a Honda Accord and my wife drives my old truck - straight six, three in the tree, no AC, no radio (been meaning to fix that......), but it's paid for. Her sister lived in town, in the next county, in a brick house in a subdivision - like that was some kind of major accomplishment or something.

    As I was watching the sun just about to hit the horizon, I thought it was probably about time for her sister to pay a visit to make my life miserable. She adored our young 'uns, but never had no use for me. When she came over, I normally would jump on the four wheeler and go to the juke joint down the dirt road apiece. It was owned by Harlon Merryacres, the fellow that owned the mechanic shop in town. His wife was Seebo Sally, who most folks thought was a witch because she wore crazy makeup, had long stringy hair - some in braids, some in locks and fingernails at least an inch and half on each finger - always painted black. But she could grow garden fresh tomatoes all year long in a little greenhouse next to the garage. She sold tomatoes and a few other herbs and gourds and other things right outside of Harlon's mechanic shop......she was also rumored to be a midwife for hire and probably had a hand in bringing about the births of about half the young 'uns born in the county these last ten years. Harlon called her "Ol' Sal" and acted like he didn't know that half the county was afraid of her, but they still came by to buy tomatoes, which she charges an arm and a leg for. Nobody knows exactly where she came from. Harlon came back from the war, took over the garage from his father and about a dozen years ago went to Vegas on vacation and came back with Seebo Sally. So, when the day is done, Harlon runs this little juke joint/pool hall down the dirt road apiece. It's just a little ol' shack with a couple half broken down pool tables and a beer cooler. I went to school with about half them boys that hang out there and the other half are kin to me, but I don't tell too many folks that. I don't go there much anymore as I can't afford to drink beer night after night and I don't want my wife putting that rollapin on my head, but....when her sister comes over to bad mouth me in my own home, that's where I normally go.

    I had this feeling that something was coming as I was in the cresendo of ectasy watching the glorious sunset hit the planted pines next to my garden. Sure enough......Rufus, my houn' dog interrupted the scene by telling me, "Company's coming, homeboy." Rufus is, by far, the worst houn' dog whatever lived. He just lays on the corner of my front porch, in the same spot, sleeps and (too) occasionally vents foul exhausts. He won't chase squirrels, he don't bark at deer or even bobcats that sometimes attack the few chickens my wife keeps around. Some dogs make good hunting dogs. Some good guard dogs. Some are good for companionship. Rufus is none of these. Rufus is good at wicked vapors and the occasional smart-aleck remark. Stupid dog……So, I looked up from my sunset expecting to see my wife's sister in her high falootin' Accord come to make my life miserable or one of my cousins from the juke joint come to beg case quarters that the pool table demands. But those visits don't normally rouse Rufus from his slumber......so I had a feeling that maybe Sir Doofus was coming, or even worse, Asa the evil leprecaun or Montague the armadillo might be making his return. But....as it turned out, this unwelcome visitor drove a pickup, clanking and banging as it turned off the dirt road and came up my driveway. The driveway up to the house was just shy of a quarter mile, which I always liked as it gave me time to prepare lead death to any unwanted visitors or unclaimed relatives coming to borrow money. I always kept my trusty GP 100 handy for bobcats, sasquatches and the last few sabretoothed swampguineas roaming the world and such as I enjoyed my front porch sabbaticals.

    When the truck came to a stop, I noticed it had a Chambers County, Alabama Water and Sewage Department logo on the door. The fellow that stepped out of the truck was the weirdest looking dude I believe I had ever laid eyes on. His strange appearance had even drawn Rufus' attention as he was sitting up on his haunches staring at the odd appearance of our visitor. He was wearing the uniform of a Chambers Co Alabama Water and Sewage dept employee and his namepatch said "Sally Joy". Other than his namepatch, there was nothing odd about his clothes. But starting with his hair, everything was odd about the person, if indeed you could call him that, inside the uniform. He had a traditional crewcut style haircut, but there were patches on his head where he was completely bald, as if he had the mange or something. And where there was hair, it was colored in different shades - sometimes red/orange, sometimes blonde, sometimes grey, and others brown or black. He had a face that could have been the original model for Alfred E Neuman and an Adam's apple twice the size of your fist. He was skinny as a rail, so much so that I thought about offering him some supper because he looked like he hadn't eaten in recent memory. Before I could make the offer, however, he introduced himself.

    "Howdy, neighbor, I'm from the Chambers Co Water and Sewage dept and I'm here to inspect your outhouse", he said in a friendly tone of voice. He was obviously not here to cause mischief, unlike most of my previous strange visitors. I eased my wheelgun back into the hip holster I kept hidden inside my loose fitting overall jumpers. With the side buttons undone, I could easily re-draw if the situation demanded a violent response. I explained to my guest that over here in Georgia, we had recently invented indoor plumbing and had these fancy porcelin things inside the house where you could sit and do your business without having to walk outside in the cold and rain to visit the outhouse. That being said, we hadn't had an outhouse on my property since before I had inherited it from my grandpappy.

    The look on his face indicated a severe disappointment, so much so that I really felt sorry for him. He told me about this "get rich quick scheme" he was working on - something to do with collecting Mr Hanky twins in mason jars and selling them for medical reserach or dietary supplements (did I hear that wrong?????). While I was completely horrified with the concept, I could tell that this poor individual had spent a lot of time and resources working on this. He showed me dozens of mason jars in the back of his truck he had collected from outhouses all over eastern Alabama. Now, how he found his way to my property in Georgia, I'm sure I'll never know for sure, but I wouldn't be surprised if this wasn't some plan that Asa the evil leprecaun was trying to get revenge. He was responsible for some other misadventures that Rufus and I had in the past.

    Since Sally Joy was here, I offered him some whiskey and the left over corned beef and cabbage I had saved for my wife when she got home from work. She wouldn't mind, she'd be just as happy eating a can of Vienna sausage and a fried baloney sammich. We both sat on the porch watching the last bit of the sunset while Sally was eating, probably the first real meal in a week, as I explained to him how the septic tank and drainfield worked and fortunately he was smart enough to know that it was going to be too much work digging it up to collect his "samples".

    I went inside to get some more ice, as besides the supper, Sally had an appitite for my whiskey as well. I didn't mind - I felt sorry for him, after all, and he didn't appear to be a bad person. As I opened the front door to go inside, I thought I heard him strike up a conversation with Rufus. Now this was odd, as Rufus typically ignored everything and just laid around sometimes offering smart aleck remarks, usually aimed at me, stupid dog..... When I came back outside, Rufus was turning in circles as dogs do right before they lay down and Sally was thanking him for some favor Rufus had apparently offered him. Sally quickly finished his drink and jumped back into his truck and tore down my driveway, turned left onto the dirt road and headed for the highway, about a mile and a half down the road.

    "What in tarnation did you do?" I asked Rufus, as my guest left in a hurry and in a most improved mood that I was pretty sure not related to the good meal he had just had. "I gave him directions to that sister-in-law you love so much, homeboy. I told him that all he needed to do was to ring her doorbell, have handy an empty mason jar and ask her for a stool sample. And all he had to do was to keep begging and she'd drop trou and pinch it off right there into the jar with him holding it".
    At first I was not exactly sure how to take this, but the more I thought about it, the more I decided that Rufus wasnt necessarily the worst houn' dog whatever lived. When he finished describing to me his instructions to Sally Joy, he had already finished his circling and had laid precisely back in the same spot and was nearly asleep. Just as he was falling asleep, he broke wind, long and hard. After about 15 seconds, I heard some small animal out the planted pines shriek in terror and die.
    OUR WRITER IN RESIDENCE, SwampEagle!

  4. #54

    Default Re: Message for oldfart

    Quote Originally Posted by oldfart View Post
    I'm not questioning WHAT I just read, I'm questioning WHY I read it. I just couldn't look away...
    You read it because you knew who Swampy was referring to as his visitor. Names were changed to protect the innocent.
    "Once and Eagle Always and Eagle"
    Valley, Alabama
    Fan of Erk since the 70's, Eagle Scout 1978, Georgia Southern Fan since 2009

  5. #55

    Default Re: Message for oldfart

    Also, I knew you would take no offense - as none was meant. It was good to actually write something fun again. I haven't done that since writing that little thing about the gastate space lesbian coaches.

    I was actually in your neck of the woods this past Thursday, in the big city of Lafayette. Lafayette has one of the best little Mexican places - Monte Alban.

  6. #56

    Default Re: Message for oldfart

    Quote Originally Posted by SwampEagle View Post
    Also, I knew you would take no offense - as none was meant. It was good to actually write something fun again. I haven't done that since writing that little thing about the gastate space lesbian coaches.

    I was actually in your neck of the woods this past Thursday, in the big city of Lafayette. Lafayette has one of the best little Mexican places - Monte Alban.
    i hear that Monte Alban is very good. It is the one Mexican place that we have not visited as of yet. We have been to all 3 in the Valley/Lanett, the one in Roanoke, and the one south of Valley in Beulah.
    "Once and Eagle Always and Eagle"
    Valley, Alabama
    Fan of Erk since the 70's, Eagle Scout 1978, Georgia Southern Fan since 2009

  7. #57

    Default Re: Message for oldfart

    It is unlike most Mexican places, while still good, seem to all buy from the same food distributor giving them a "chain store" feel. Monte Alban is not like that - it has more of an authentic feel.

  8. #58

    Default Re: Message for oldfart

    Swampy be careful when you travel further north up 77. There be bloodinhale vigorouslyers on the lose. Vampires

    http://www.al.com/entertainment/inde...-life_ala.html

    Edit...........Man E22 work changing system takes a simple 7 digit word and replaces it with a 20 digit word.
    "Once and Eagle Always and Eagle"
    Valley, Alabama
    Fan of Erk since the 70's, Eagle Scout 1978, Georgia Southern Fan since 2009

  9. #59

    Default Re: Message for oldfart

    Never go up that way up 77. I have taken 431 up to Roanoke and cross over to Franklin on my way home sometimes. I used to have a small deer lease just south of Franklin.

    I'm surprised the population would support a community of vampires. Usually, they tend to more populated areas so as to:
    A. Provide a broad range - there's an optimum vamp per sq mi recommendation, but I think it's less than 2
    B. Easier to "hide" their crimes. Too many bloodless victims with a pair of tiny holes in the carotid would = jig is up, I would think

    Smaller towns like Penton are usually less tolerant of "outsiders" so I'm surprised - but then again demographics are rapidly changing, even in places like rural Alabama.

    Not much nightlife in Penton, either. What does one do after supper? Sun goes down, you go out, feed on some hapless fool disconnecting his harrow from his tractor, and then what? It ain't like you can go to the movies (they're ain't none), probably can't even get high speed out there so that rules out Netflix. That's how vampires get into trouble in these small towns. After feeding, they go and mix it up with them lycanthropes. Next thing you know, you got a turf war going on between two gangs - vampires on one side, were-hogs on the other. Each one trying to corner the market on pentagrams and O negative.

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