Break between jobs, sucks huge

It’s been an interesting couple of months.

Kind of like being set on fire, but not quite.

Thanks giving and Black Friday. The struggle with the gift buying thing until Christmas.

Major family blowup, the girls, the rest of the family is OK and the one to blame (mostly) refuses to accept any responsibility, as expected.

I wish I was as perfect as she thinks she is.

My truck was stolen from my driveway, dumped in the woods a half hour away. Recovered the truck, the insurance company has it, we aren’t sure if it is worth having back.

Rednecks driving your truck that they have stolen don’t tend to take care of things. “Drive it like you stole it” is more than a line in a bad movie, for some folks it’s a way of life.

They made out with a thousand dollars worth of cameras and GPS units. The truck was recovered four days later, and the local PD saw it was recovered, the “investigation” pretty much stopped. It took a month, and several conversations with station chief to get a call from the “detective”, or is that defective, I forget, and it could go either way.

My son moved to a friend’s house, and took his wide screen TV with him. I went shopping for a TV without adult supervision. I found a Phillips 52 inch HD LCD that was great. It wouldn't fit on the book case, and looked like a huge, evil mushroom sitting on an end table. The result was an avalanche of remodeling that has only just been completed. That would include some new furniture, hardwood floors, painting and tile in a bathroom, then move all the furniture.

I have taken up paintballing as a hobby.

Sometimes the only way to get rid of stress is to shoot someone.

Nonfatal, in this case, but you can’t have everything, I guess. We run around the woods in camo, shooting kids and women, getting shot in turn. It’s lots of fun, if you can stand a few welts. Like the “t” shirt says, “If you can’t stand the welts, stay out of the woods!” We have a few Iraq veterans, they are the people you watch the most, (i.e. shoot them first if you can) because they will get you, if you don’t get them.

I got my truck back from the body shop on Friday, everything appears to be OK, but we are watching closely. One result of the theft is a monitored security system in the house and a driveway alarm, with remote controlled lights to come.

The Love of My Life is having health issues, excisional biopsy coming Wednesday, this after several noninvasive attempts to determine the nature of the shadow on an X-ray. She has had several procedures done in the Shamans office that scared the mortal life out of me. All is well so far, but we have far to go. This is all preventative, or diagnostic in nature, and we hope to stay in that realm.

I have to leave for work the day after her surgery, and will be back in May. I’m hoping for a job of several months duration this summer to help with bills and the move to a motor home for work. I would actually like to get a job overseas for a couple of years and rent the house.

We'll see.

When the wind gets up....

When I moved to the coast close to thirty years ago, I had never experienced a hurricane. I have nine under my belt now, that would be nine direct hits, not not near hits or close misses.
The map of where I live, yes all those are storm tracks.
http://dragonwatch-south.blogspot.com/2007/08/now-thats-depressing.html

Needless to say, there have been some interesting quotes from people waiting for those storms.

The redneck from New Jersey-"I hope it hits here, I want to get out in the wind and feel what a hundred miles an hour is like!" This while striking a heroic (or in this case stupid) pose with his fists clenched and chest pushed out.

My reply, "Hey hero, what you gonna' do when you're out in the wind and see a stop sign coming edge on at a hundred miles an hour? Or maybe a pine cone off those Long leaf pines?"

His reply, ????blank stare???

The guys in the back room at work- "Hey, look at the window, it's bulging inward when the wind picks up!"

My reply, "Shit, see ya! I'm getting inside the shield wall!"

The Sheriffs deputy in charge of the shelter- "See that guy, (points at me) he knows what's going on, put him too work!"

Me- "Damn it!"

Me- "Boss, I need to go check my house, my wife has passed out from shock and fear in the service building."

Boss- "You can't leave!"

My reply- "This isn't a bleeding jail, hide and watch me bud!" He turned several shades of white and got me permission. I drove home and back, in a seventy mile an hour cross winds in a Subaru Brat, all was well. Except for the pinch marks in the seat and steering wheel.

Me cutting one of my trees off the neighbors house in the middle of the storm.
TLOML stomping and spitting like a wet cat, while screaming at me to get off the top of the neighbors house. The words and gestures exceed my ability to describe, but I was more afraid of her than the storm.

My neighbor Bill from New Jersey, "How much will you charge me to cut up this tree?"
Me- "Nothing"
Bill- "What do you mean, nothing"
Me- "We're neighbors, I'll do it for nothing."
Bill- "Whats your favorite poison?"
Me- "Excuse me?"
Bill- "Liquor"
Me- "JD Black label"
Bill brought me a gallon.
After that when any of my non chain saw owning friends asked me to work up a blow down, I always told them "I work for Booze", I don't remember much after that.

After several hours of work with one of my big chain saws the neighbor I'm helping asks, "Do you guy's want a beer?"
Me -"Yes, please!"
As the three of us are standing in the rain drinking our beers, "Uh, guy's do you realise how stupid we look standing here in the rain?"
Neighbors- "Yeah, maybe we should come in out of the rain."

All my prayers to those on the Gulf Coast, God knows I hope all you have to remember is the stupid quotes

Red Neck Common Sense

Add this one to your favorites, common sense that comes from a celebrity.

http://www.charliedaniels.com/soapbox.htm

A lot of things have been attributed to Charlie, the kind of savvy that I see on this sight isn't one of them.

Ya'll go have a peep, I got a lot of reading to do.

Dog Stories...

I hate to copycat posts, therefore I seldom indulge in"that reminds me of" stuff. This one is just too good to pass up, my apologies to Phlegmfatale.

My sister, as recorded elsewhere, generally keeps more pets than the zoo. Cats, dogs, rats, bats, gnus, pigs, birds, 'possums, snakes, if it can be restrained to her locale and fed, good enough.

Her favorites seem to be dogs of one size or another. Larger rather than smaller. Two of her rather more memorable were Dobermans.

Dobermans in my opinion are some of the sweeter working dogs, they just seem to look at you and say "love me".

Not this lot.

They were OK when she was home, and they knew you, and it was day time. Otherwise caution paid dividends. Those dogs knew me from the time they were weaned, and wouldn't let me on the steps if she was gone. After dark I carried a gun and watched the shadows. The black dog, Somdi, charmingly named after the Voodoo Lord of the Underworld, had no markings. If he came after you in the dark, he was invisible until all you could see a wholesale lot of white teeth.

The big dog was the mother, chocolate, also with no markings, a not too petite 135lbs. I weighed her myself.

The sister and her family lived about 100 feet from the Interstate fence, in a rural wooded area. Theirs was the only house light for quite some distance. When some of the local drunks ran out of gas at her back door, they naturally assumed that the nice lady would let them use her phone.

Wrong on all counts.

My sister is not a nice lady, and if she had a phone, she would be more likely to beat you with the hand set, and strangle you with the cord. Not that was necessarily the wrong thing to do in this case.

The dogs probably saved the idiot in question a lot of pain, even though that wasn't immediately apparent. Sis has already shot two men by this time, I haven't heard about anything lately.The big dog took loud and furious exception to the man trying to climb across the fence. My sister stuck her head out the door to tell the dog to shut up, and saw the incipient chewtoy with one leg over the fence.

She immediately informed him, you are trespassing, the dog will bite, I am only required by law to warn you one time. Imagine her knowing that about the law.

Chewtoys reply? $itch, I'm 'gonna use your 'phone. His smarter friends were muttering things like, watch the dog, Man, that dog 'gonna bite!

The dog is, by now in a foaming at the mouth frenzy. She is shoulders down, feet spread, ears back, snapping her jaws like a bear trap. All in all not very cuddly. The sister said to her self "that dog is never going to get off the ground".

She told Chewtoy that she didn't have a phone, he replied the she was a blankity blank lieing $bitch and he WAS going to use it!

Ok! Hope that works for you!

Chewtoy proceeded to cross the fence, the dobie launched like an anti-idiot missile, and impacted somewhere around the ass cheeks. Chewtoy lunges back the way he came leaving his pants behind.

There went his tough guy image!

The dog continued the destruction of laundry for some time. Sis closed the door and went to bed. Some time later the brother-in law comes home and starts saying he's going to have to beat the dog (not something I would undertake) for getting clothes off the line. The sister tells him to forget it, it isn't his pants.

Picture a confused face.

Now, I'm just wondering if 'ole Chewtoy was going commando?

More redneck stories

A long time ago I did in plant maintenance in a steel products plant. I repaired machinery and fabricated anything they needed. We were all a little ignorant and a little touchy about things that we understood every one was touchy about.

Name calling was taken very seriously, because we knew the worm on the other end meant it. I know words can't hurt you, but disrespect would lead to some one pushing the envelope until physical encounters ensued. In a lot of cases "bud nippin'", to borrow the words of the honorable Deputy Fife, was the safest approach.

I was checking some things out (that would be the blond) with one of the line repairmen, when the festivities commenced with very little warning. A couple of the, and I use the term to the detriment of the remaining southern women, "ladies" exchanged comments over their shoulders. Something about one of them being a Southern Lady Under Tension, reduced to an acronym. There might have been something about the other, perhaps a racial slur.

At any rate they turned on the instant and commenced to belabor each other with steel chair legs.

Ouch!

The repair guy and I were not amused. He looked at me and asked what should we do? I asked him if he had lost his mind, I had no intention of wandering into a maelstrom of sharp edged chair legs, or worse fingernails. He allowed that discretion was, indeed, the better part of valor, and eventually they would get tired and take a break. I opined that if we got involved, no matter what we did some one would think it was wrong. He agreed fully.

Then it got serious, one of the "ladies", again let me apologise, punched the other in the face and caused her to step back,,,, onto the trip lever of a rivet press! This little machine will smack your butt cheek into the configuration of a pancake while setting a 3/4 inch rivet in it for a conversation piece. At the rate of one per second.

That scared the hell out of me and I was thirty feet away!

Well, it is written, fools rush in! I told the other dude, "grab that one and go north, I'll grab the other and go south, remember to duck! Suiting action to words,I snatched up my victim in one arm and sprinted for open space. She instantly tried to open my head with the chair leg. I caught her hand just before I received the "New" look.

I would have to think of a heck of a war story to excuse that many stitches. Some how "A stupid little heifer beaned me with a chair leg." just doesn't bring up the proper heroic picture!

They cooled off instantly, and got that look that says " I have put the beer money in jeopardy".

We dropped those two like a hot rock and went to the plant manager to tell him what happened, and what we did, the story beat us to his office. Some one accused us of dragging them by the hair, not a bad idea, but ungenteel after all.

They were back at work the next day, best friends.

The story about me and the repair dude lasted longer than the story about the fight!

If there is ever a next time, I think I will wait to see if the rivets jingle when they walk.

Red Necks and Sawdust

A long time ago when I was young and impatient, I wanted a car. In my family there was no magic birthday that called the car fairy to drop something in the drive, just 'cause I was another day older and deeper in debt. The alternative was to go to work, again. I already had a job, and because I didn't have a life, a second job seemed to be just the ticket.

I was a dumb ass.

I talked to the boys down at the local saw mill and started in the mornings at 0700 and worked for the princely sum of $1.35 an hour, until about 1430, when I walked a couple of miles to the cotton mill for my full time job.

Some of the boys, weren't actually boys. They were hard case red neck,old time, backwoods, white trash. If they were sober, they would be on time and ready to work. They were always paid on Friday and broke on Monday. They were pretty reliable actually.

One of the lower tiered individuals was a red neck's red neck. In the months I worked there, I never saw him wear shirt or shoes. As far as I know, he never bathed, I didn't know because I saw the signs and stayed upwind. He was tanned as brown as a nut. He was also the only human I've ever seen off bare at a saw mill wearing only khaki pants, no shirt, no shoes, no gloves. Think how far and how fast a six foot saw blade can throw pine sap and splinters.

The saw blade I mentioned is six feet in diameter and has hand set tungsten carbide teeth. That means the teeth are about an inch in length and held in place with a half moon cam the same size.

The average sawyer knows he is paid by how much he can saw in a day. He doesn't care about much except slabs and boards coming off the mill, and saw dust piling up somewhere.

Most mills will not accept trees if they come from a house lot. There is just to much chance a sprog has driven nails into a tree. Chance? It's almost a certainty. I've probably driven a keg or two of nails into trees myself. What do you think a nail struck by a carbide sawtooth about 4000 times a second will do?

Sparks come to mind.

Then the teeth get loose. Then they fly out,,,,,at about 450fps.

Our hero was working under the shelter that covers the mill, and occasionally he would hear a sound like a hornet near his head. He thought nothing of it. I can't imagine how he expected a hornet could be heard over the scream of the blade as it chewed through logs. Soon enough one of the "hornets" impacted an overhead board and our hero heard a "whop" and looked up to see the tooth embedded in the lumber.

The boy turned as pale as a sheet and sat down. I don't blame him. That's pretty close to dieing. He was gone for the next several days drowning his sorrows I expect.

Or perhaps getting his nerve back.

It's a hard life,,,you can have it.

It's been tough to post lately, I guess everyone has those times. There are lots of stories that come to mind, however, motivation doesn't come with them.

The Redneck Phd. Stories I have written, I feel show a side of some people that the average person will never know. Lots of yuppies like to call folks from the country red necks, because they're different in dress and experience. I bet if you called AD a red neck he'd hand you your head or insult you so artfully it would sound like a compliment. Call Lawdog a red neck, and the old hairy eyeball would be enough to make you stop and think. Call me one and I'll say thanks and go on my way laughing at your ignorance. Most people have never seen a real Red Neck on his home turf, if they ever do, it'll likely scare them so bad they'll feel faint. Country doesn't mean red neck.

The sadly departed red neck in the following story was awarded his RedNeck Phd. Posthumously. Funny how many of those there are.

We called him Big Hairy, you can spell that however you like. It's not his real name, just a fair description. He was about six four and ah…. unkempt, unmown perhaps. Long hair, long beard, both white, saggy jeans, dirty tee shirt and a faint (mostly) aroma. Think Treebeard with a stagger. I hate to say it but Hairy was a drunk and a trouble maker.

He would work at about anything through the week, but come the weekend he was sure to drink till the money ran out, and he had no credit.
He was working on a bulldozer for a local company. All they gave him to work with was worn out tools that tend to slip off and make you bang your knuckles. He was swearing and raving at some reluctant bolt when he decided to take a breather and talk to a friend of mine. He stalked over and offered an apology in advance of his next effort. " I just wanted to tell you that if you see something shiny going across the sky, it'll be this pull bar, and the next thing you see will be me running after it to bring it back, it's the only one I have." Hairy had a sense of humor, he could laugh at himself. He wouldn't invite you to join him, but he knew he was messed up.

I met him on several occasions both social and professional. I've pulled him out of wrecks, gone to his mothers house because of his depression, and transported him from one facility to another. On one occasion we tried to get him to take is meds, it worked because he took the whole bottle. We checked and all he got for the effort was a severe case of the trots.

He was involved in a wreck, not and accident, a wreck, it was inevitable. He was brought to the ED and put in a trauma room, where, as with most drunks, he got defensive. He was sure something bad was going to happen, because it always did when he was at fault. The staff at good ole' Stump Water General Hospital are almost family. They are all caring professionals. One of the nurses was trying to get some basic info from Hairy and he raised his fist and threatened to hit her. I was nearby and was obliged to warn him, if he hit the nice lady, I would tear off something the Doctor couldn't sew back on. He put his hand down and kept his eye on me until he was released. He could be reasoned with, you just had to put it in terms he could deal with.

He always drifted from one job to another, everything from mechanic to commercial fisherman. Down East we have offshore boats that go out for a week or two at a trip for reef fish, Snapper, grouper, sea bass and some real deep water fish like golden tiles. I don't think any locals would have hired Hairy on their boat because he was known to have issues. A couple from out of the area hired him cause they didn't know any better. All went well till Hairy got into the beer. I never heard much about that night, I will guess the conversation turned to his life and times or his family. He got pretty upset and decided his life was to much trouble or too bad to live. Some time in the night, forty or fifty miles at sea, Hairy went over the stern and swam away in the dark. Obviously he was never found.

Hairy didn't have a lot going for him, neither did he have a lot against him, what he seriously lacked was judgement. Good choices would have made his existence bearable.

Uber Redneck

I have written several stories about some of my friends with more than a little of the characteristic blush around the collar. I have to admit I am related to a few as well. Most of my paternal family are coal miners, entrepreneurs (shiftless), and in some cases incarcerated felons. The majority have a flirting relationship with common sense, untinged by the slightest hint of restraint.

One of my cousins is among the impressively departed, because he made a few misjudgments. His judgment wasn't always the best anyway.

Early on he tried to hang (current usage for the expression) with the older crowd, that would be me and some of the cousins. We didn't get him hurt, rather, we inspired him to excel by doing things we wouldn't dream of. He got his fanny whipped so often he didn't even notice anymore. His Mom got considerable exercise erasing our influences, mostly upper body, but some good cardio as well. That means she beat him until she was out of breath and too tired to whack him again. Not to fear, he was too hard headed to pay a lot of attention to that sort of thing.

Most every mountain boy dreams of going out of the mountains, to anywhere that's far away. He was no exception and eventually slipped away to join the Army. He had seen all the recruiting posters that show beautiful facilities at Ft. Carson, and knew it was just the place for him. No one told him who would be doing all the upkeep at those places. This was in the late seventies, all the poster shots were like real-estate photos, everything looked a lot better than it was.

He signed up, and likely got his first hint of a swindle when his Basic bus stopped in front of his new home, and he was greeted by a large angry man in a flat hat. That’s a tough day, I don't care who you are. He persevered and managed to esca,,, graduate from training.

Very soon the trouble began. The trouble included several article 15, nonjudicial punishment, assessments against his pay. Though I was never told about them, I suspect some correctional custody stays for the tail end of his military career. He decided the military wasn't for him and went home. Call it AWOL, or desertion, it's the same thing. One you are getting shot at, the other you're not. At that time the Army didn't expend a lot of effort to get you back, so his vacation was extended, considerably.

Eventually someone realized he was a fugitive until the situation was resolved, and made a call. The MP's showed up and hauled him away for a couple of weeks, then sent him home. The resolution was a discharge with no benefits. Employers in that part of the sticks couldn't care less which kind of discharge the military gave you, it didn't effect your lousy pay anyway.

He got the job of his dreams, being underpaid on a strip mine. Even his pleasure over this step up in the world couldn't motivate him to get out of bed and go to be productive. His car pool (truck pool?) was of like mind, and these boys would be so late the rest of us would just call in sick and stay home. Being the people they were, they would try to get there as quick as they could, to save having to explain to the boss.

I wonder if that few extra winks were worth dying for, probably not.

On the morning of their shuffle (sprint?) off to the next life, they were way late. The driver/pilot had a big block Ford pickup and an IQ barely escaping single digits. The roads in the mountains near their job is crooked enough to make a Nascar driver pee his pants.

I learned to drive on the same roads as Junior Johnson and some of the old drivers. I've never been known for my restraint behind the wheel, and those roads scared me!

The boys were trying to make an impression, being fashionably late and all. They made an impression all right, into a bridge abutment. The driver lost control, if he was ever in control, on the last curve before the turn into the site. The truck with its unhappy occupants sailed from the road bed in a high trajectory through a stand of large Poplars, cutting six of them off at ten or so feet above the ground. They hit the above mentioned bridge across the Clinch river and knocked it off the foundation.

People this was a concrete bridge built to carry coal trucks!

Don't try this at home!!!

The truck was compressed around the bodies so badly they couldn't be removed. This was in the days before a Hurst Tool was more than something on TV. Several hours and the careful application of hydraulics and chains, considerable retching, and no doubt some painful memories, the boys were extracted. The service was closed casket.

My Dad was in the fifth wave at Normandy, and at some point in recon, got the undertaker to open the box.

He said it was pretty bad, I'll take his word for it.

Nature or nurture, or does it really matter?

In the continuing introduction to "Rednecks I have Known", (or is that Red Necks I have Knowed?) I will move on to one of the patriarchs of the clan. Dufus is the stepfather of my longtime friend. Killer, gambler, drunk, pedophile possibly, and all around dangerous man. Dangerous because he will never back down, unafraid or stupid, take your best guess. Considering he gets his butt whipped every time the rodeo starts, I know what I think.

Dufus is actually a very personable type, friendly to a fault, unless there is alcohol, or a dissenting opinion involved. Then, my suggestion would be to have your gun in hand, I don't know, nor care to find out how good he is. I do know he has killed five men, maimed three, and survived five years incarcerated at the age of sixty. It is interesting to note that he is the better of the mothers marriages.

He and his family have regular get togethers on weekends, and sit around to discuss who is going to jail next, or how they intend to lie their way out of some charge or other. My friend is always found sitting in a corner so no one can get behind him or approach unseen. He is one of the craziest people I know, and he's not comfortable.

I feel as though I have told you that these icons of their community are only interested in mayhem. Nothing could be further from the truth. They enjoy fishing, hunting, camping, and sports that they can bet on. Why a few years ago they completely fished out a trophy trout stream, with dynamite. Never missed a single fish.

The hunting, they need to be a little more careful, felons are not allowed to own guns. The solution to this really minor inconvenience is to have the women folk buy them for the boys to borrow. They don't read well, so sometimes they will forget when the season ended, or when it begins, or limits. For reasons known only to them, the Wildlife Officers are "out to get them", and silly as it seems actually enforce the game laws.

These are the folks who would rather pay a dollar for a beer than twenty five cents for a light bulb. If you get an education then you are "upity", or a know it all. Their education is mostly practical application of the law, from the receiving end.
The remainder was from Dufus, as an example of "proper manly behavior.

A few years ago I was teaching my Ex to shoot a hand gun. I had acquired a hand gun of the caliber she was required to qualify with and had it touched up for accuracy. I handed it to Dufus and asked him how he liked it. He inspected it and allowed it was pretty nice. Then, not to be out done, he pulled a two shot derringer out of a back pocket, and asked what I thought of it. I took it carefully, as there was no doubt it was loaded, and asked "How do you unload this thing?". He showed me and unloaded the weapon. I looked it over, and tried to cock it to try the trigger. The hammer wouldn't stay back, so I asked him "How do you cock it?". He watched me fiddle with the hammer for a second, then his face went slack in shock. His illegal concealed weapon, that he carried because he might need it, didn't work. You can trust me on this, the crowd he ran with, he was going to need it sooner or later.
In a hushed tone he said "I guess I need to take this back to the man I got it from."

Yep, reckon you should.

All of Dufus children, natural or by marriage, with one exception, are felons. The one who isn't,,,,, I have spent hours at a sitting talking him down off the ledge, so to speak. The only exception worked for his education, and made a success of teaching school.

So, did Dufus example, the environment, or something hard wired in their heads make these lazy ba$t@rds criminals?

I'm thinking we should cut them open and find out.

At least they wouldn't be in the gene pool.