Monday, October 20, 2014

Sawed-off Shotguns

When the weather turns foul a young man's fancy turns to tinkering, so work finally resumed on the justanotherevosporty project. I mounted the poorly painted fender and tanks and cut down some shotgun pipes in preparation for some exhaust tips which are on the way.
Felt good to get back in the shop. This thing may actually come off the lift sometime soon.

Thursday, October 16, 2014

Redneck Retail

The Dollar General Store, (not to be confused with General Dollar, The Dollar Store, Dollar Tree or Family Dollar) is at the very epicenter of commerce in Jerkwater, USA. The product line ranges from food and over-the-counter medicines to clothing and furniture. With its plethora of substandard merchandise and sidewalk bargains no self-respecting hillbilly need visit Kroeger, Walgreens or The Gap.
Step inside and you're hit with the smell of poverty, EBT cards and artificial cleanliness. I once purchased a can of “Fish Steaks” for fifty cents. It was horrible, and the fact that the type of “fish” isn’t labeled makes one suspect. I have to wonder how they can catch, can and ship a product from the ocean, (I assume) all the way to Jerkwater for fifty cents when a bottle of freakin’ water is a buck and a half.
Then, I figured it out. I'm eating bait.
Could be worse though……

Thursday, October 9, 2014


I sit in front of the Doppler radar sometimes for hours, the green and yellow high-def images burn through my retina and cast shadows on the back of my mind like the burnt and grisly phantoms of Bikini Atoll. I see visions at these times. Once I saw a demon sitting astride matched Land Cruisers puffing loose cigars……The smoke and sulphur curled lazily upward, like the ethereal drift of Dick Cheney’s shotgun muzzle, and breathing heavily but fresh, like pre-wrapped salad.

Monday, September 8, 2014

Wild Thing

After repeated duck egg theft I endeavored to put an end to the robbery. The ducks themselves were picked off one by one, and the sole survivor had been mangled fairly severely, but recovered. I had lost a few chickens as well, and suspecting ‘coons I set the live catch trap and baited it with cheap Dollar Store cat food. After several nights with no luck I had all but given up when I caught a red fox. Foxes are usually hard to trap, particularly in a live catch, but this was a spring born pup and he paid the price for his inexperience.

Trapped animals will often thrash wildly, throwing themselves against the wire and steel enclosure, bloody snouts and skin rubbed raw of hide. This pup was different. He was scared, but not panicked, coolly looking at me through the wire with aloof detachment. I couldn’t bring myself to shoot the thief, and if I were to relocate him it would have to be thirty or more miles away. A fox can cover a lot of ground making his way back to familiar territory.

There is a certain, inborn arrogance among we humans. The need to tame and conquer lies deep within our psyche. As I stood there weighing my options, I determined to put him in a pen for a while and see if I could chasten his wild nature to some small degree. To own him, subdue him, forcibly befriend him. I knew it was wrong.

Donning my thickest pair of welding gloves I carefully transferred him to a small chicken enclosure I had built to house aggressive roosters. He bolted into the pen, and after quickly searching for a way out, retreated to the farthest corner. I pulled up a bench in front of his prison and observed him with fascination. A beautiful specimen in the prime of health. Large erect ears and tiny needle teeth. The fox, in turn, coiled up in the corner staring furtively at me with his cat-eyes, burning with hatred. Boring twin holes into my soul.

I checked on him often, talking softly and feeding him through the wires. At first he wouldn’t eat when I was in his presence. I’d drop some food in front of him, he’d sniff, lick his lips but kept his eyes on me. I’d walk out of his sight for a few seconds, and the food was gone when I returned. He would eventually eat, reluctantly, if I’d back away from the pen, but it was becoming clear that he would never trust me. By night, he’d piss in his water bowl and chew on his cage. By day, he’d sulk in his corner. I liked the little bastard too much to shoot him, so I started formulating a plan to get him in a cage without getting bit, for a long journey of relocation.

Turns out I needn’t concern myself with a mission of mercy. One night he somehow managed to tear up enough of the galvanized hardware cloth to slip away into the night, savvier, and a lot wiser in the ways of Man.

I admire his pluck and determination. I weigh 190 pounds and can’t separate that wire with my bare hands, but at fifteen pounds he shredded it enough to escape. I probably haven’t seen the last of him. I managed to educate him, and the long cold winter is coming and he knows exactly where several plump, tasty hens sleep.

Thursday, August 28, 2014

Tuesday, August 19, 2014

Wednesday, August 13, 2014

Where has all the Teflon Gone?

Pictured are two nearly identical Teflon pans. The one on the right is about twelve years old, on the left, a brand new one. One might ask regarding the pan on the right, where did all the Teflon go? Sadly, the answer becomes quite clear when simple physics and basic logic are applied. There's only one place it could be. All that Teflon was ingested by me over the course of years, subtly seasoning my fried eggs, and sausage with its deadly contaminant.
Fragments of this insidious material are lodged within my body, doing incremental damage to internal organs every day. Or possibly, a legion of tiny, synthetic fluoropolymer (had to Google that) particles wait in the deep recesses of the digestive tract preparing to enter my bloodstream, and mount a full frontal assault on my central nervous system.

Maybe it already has, which might explain the tremors, drooling and some other things.

Oh Teflon, with your flowery promises of non-stick cooking and easy clean-up, you are a wicked deceiver!

Thursday, August 7, 2014

Tuesday, August 5, 2014

Hog Wild

Why doesn't anyone call Harleys "Hogs" anymore?

Always had an affinity for hogs, both two-wheeled and four-legged. When I was a young, too poor to afford the two-wheeled variety, man raising a family on a meager income I always raised and butchered a few hogs for the freezer.

Monday, August 4, 2014

Nigerian Princess

Sometimes I fancy myself a Nigerian Princess sitting upon a throne of jackal skeletons and wearing a flowing robe of stone-washed Cape buffalo hides. There'd be be eleven pigmy house servants hand-feeding me seedless grapes and a pair of matched hyenas tethered to my bedpost. Balanced upon my regal head would be a five-gallon bucket of latex house paint and a pasta strainer, because my posture would be impeccable and my nipples in a constant state of stimulated readiness.
Sometimes, on the other hand, I just sit alone in the dark, drinking warm beer, and wondering if I left my phone in the truck.

Friday, August 1, 2014

The Road

Gay, Michigan 2008
Flamingo, Florida 2004
Naples, Florida 2006
Mitchell, South Dakota 2007
US 52 West Virginia 2008

While others embark on their journeys, I'm reduced to remembering past trips. Maybe September?

Tuesday, July 1, 2014

Jěrkwătər Sunrise

As the sun rises over another Jerkwater morning the faux Studebaker will rest comfortably in the shade of the leafless maple.
In the distance a baby cries as mother sets down her cigarette and lowers her dirty tube-top to suckle the next generation. 

After all, children are our future.

Monday, June 30, 2014

Small Town Amərįkå

Sorry for my blog negligence.  As we approach Independence Day I present a tidbit from my beloved Jerkwater.

Friday, June 13, 2014

Classic Popeye Video

In the continuing study of Popeye, I present this video for your approval. In this episode our hero sails into port on a captured whale, mast shoved forcibly down its blowhole, no doubt subjugated out on the open ocean with bull whips and lashing rope by the Master of the Seven Seas. Popeye docks his vessel and proceeds to purchase a bouquet of flowers as he sets out to rendezvous with his longtime love interest Olive Oyl. In this episode the temptress is a seductive pole dancer working the Tijuana whorehouse district, performing the erotic “Dance of the Twin Spittoons.”
Walking boldly down the mean, back streets of some third world hell-hole, he fears no evil. A bushwhacker’s bullet bounces off the back of his head and drops to the dirty sidewalk, ineffectual and impotent. One of the locals dares to leer at him from behind a door and promptly loses his f@#kin’ teeth. Even without the spinach bolstering his confidence, Popeye is brash and audacious. The quintessential, swaggering ugly American.