Straight from the holler.


  by "Buck"

October 19, 2005

We are in full-blown autumn here.  Took a drive up into the mountains last weekend.  It's a soul cleansing exercise…at least for a while.  There's the pristine beauty of unmolested mountains ablaze with the colors of fall.  Nature's canvas splashed with the color of the changing season mixed with the cool temperatures and crisp scent of dying leaves puts me into a Norman Rockwell kind of mood.  Then of course we screwed the whole deal by eating at a tourist trap restaurant in Marlinton, WV.  The first thing the waitress told us was that the "special" of the day was expired---since they were out of it.  So I ordered a hot turkey sandwich….they're out of that too.  So I got the 10 ounce rib eye…which wound up costing 16-dollars.  It's the only place to eat... What are you going to do?  


I've never discussed this with Jeff Kay and his Andy experiences, but I have noticed a disturbing trend with my golden retriever.  He apparently has a taste for landscaping stones.  You know those little white, decorative pebbles?  I hate those things—but the previous owner of the home had some in the landscaping—that I just left there for the hell of it.  Apparently my dog is chowing down on them.  I've never actually witnessed this…but it's quite obvious he's eating them.   There are little pebble laden piles of dogshit all over my yard.  It MUST be painful to pass smooth sandstone through one's colon.  I don't know—but it doesn't seem to be deterring him from doing it.  What's your assessment—I'm sure we have a vet or two in the audience.


So many hurricanes they're running out of names.  I guess Wilma is the last on the list—if they have anymore they'll start with the Greek alphabet.  Makes sense because they do about as much damage as a college frat party.  I'm sure folks like Wordnerd and Aileen have much better monikers like "Bitch" "Whore" "Slut" and "Mother Fucker" and an all time favorite here in West Virginia "Summabitch."  Yes, that really is a word here. 


A few things that piss me off:  Waiting in traffic, non-human telephone trees, midgets…the list goes on.


Let's have a check of the editor's perusement shall we?  Jeff Kay was reported to be shopping in an organic food store with Nancy this week and was actually pushing her cart exchanging pleasantries with all of the hippies [pass the free-range beer nuts -ed.].


How about this story.  Talk about your wedding crashers.


I recall once crashing a wedding when I was in Knoxville.  Perhaps I've relayed this story, but at any rate I'll tell it again to add depth to this pathetic essay.  I was attending some sort of affair at the Hyatt Regency Hotel in Knoxpatch in the late 1980's.  Our event required that I wear a coat and tie…which is a very RARE occurrence.  I only own one and if I'm wearing it you can rest assured that somebody has died or gotten married—and very often those are the same thing.  Anyhow, the event which we were attending was down the hall from one rocking wedding reception.  When you hear "Sweet Child of Mine" loud enough to cause ripples in the punchbowl of a neighboring affair…it's a rocking party.  My buddies pooled enough cash for a $100 bet that I wouldn't crash the party.  Fuck-em.  I walked into the place like I belonged there, helped myself to a Southern Comfort and Pepsi at the OPEN BAR!!!!!  Stepped into the receiving line and greeted the bride, groom, and wedding court.  I then proceeded to scarf down a plate of prime rib and four deserts.  Then I danced with the bride and her mother  (who was equally HOT I might add).  I also delivered a five minute eloquent oration on their wedding video that would have won awards for public speaking.  I'm sure if that marriage lasted they sit now and then and watch the video and still go "Who in the FUCK is that?????"  If you're reading this, thanks for the meal and the dance---and the $100 bucks.  I stayed there for an hour and a half and NEVER got busted.  Hindsight is 20/20, I should have gone for carnal knowledge with a bridesmaid on the premises—but it never went that far.   


One other idiotic story from college before I close today.  The disposal of the couch.  My senior year I lived in Andy Holt Apartments on the campus of the University of Tennessee.  My roommates were two other rednecks and a pussified city boy.  Three of us chewed tobacco and usually would spit right into the carpet—mostly to repulse the fourth roommate who had a weak stomach—but I digress.  The "furnishings" of this apartment were an embarrassment.  Our "couch" was literally one of those 1970's era steel and naugahyde seats in the lobby of a doctor's office.  Therefore, an old couch that my parents had stored in a bar for the last 20-years didn't seem like such a bad option.  Hell, at least it was cloth.  It didn't matter that about a thousand pounds of books had been sitting on it for eternity.  So, I hauled that bitch off to college.  The thing underwent a year of abuse like no furniture should ever have to endure.  I'm sure it had stains of tobacco spit, beer, urine, semen, pizza, and who knows what else on it.  I asked my parents if they wanted it back and received an abrupt, "Hell NO!"  So it was our responsibility to get rid of it.  Our first inclination was to set it on fire and shove it out the 7th story window to the alley below.  WVU students weren't the first renaissance men.  However, it wouldn't fit through the window.  So we carried it to the lobby, put it on the elevator….and RAN.  The next morning my buddy climbed into the elevator and the couch was STILL there being held by a pair of maintenance men.  He overheard them saying, "I found $7.00 worth of change in this thing."  The other replied, it wasn't worth it for the funk the thing was emitting.  Ah, college life…those were the days.


Buck Out

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