Ramblin's... Get 'em here

Well, I ain't lettin' 'em fly at my place. I'm savin' my best for JarHead palace. My best probably won't be good enough, but hey, when your 40+, you get used to that line. Probably in a similar way to a 3rd week BT Marine does in boot camp. Except without all the hollerin' and push ups.

If I offended any Marines with the JarHead term, I eternally apologize. I did not mean any such thing. JarHead was a local term I had to enquire about because, I did not get it either at my age. I spent many of my summers in Norf' Calina close to Jacksonville and had a grandmother who spoke her mind and was the antitheses of politically correct. God bless her soul. She taught me some damned good lessons growin' up.

It's true, you can rip a crabs arms off while pinnin' it down in the bottom of a tub with a six and a half ounce co-cola bottle. One at a time. I've seen her do it. With extreme prejudice. She threw back those cokes like I do Budweisers's so there was never a lack of coke bottles layin' 'round. Arms in one tub, bodies in the other. Now that's segregation...

She looked after us youngin's really good now. Candy, cokes, cakes, to our hearts desire. She was one hell of a woman. What the hell, she wasn't payin' the dental bill though.

Lord knows, I don't know when she took time to pee. I do know when she farted though. She'd whip my ass if she knew I was writin' this. When I get to heaven, which, lets be real here people, take a vote, which of you really thinks I'm goin' there. I'll get lost in the titty bar on the way up. Trust me on that one.

Anyway, back to the fartin' thing. After the day was done, everybody would be bedded down. I'd be in the "middle bedroom", mom and dad in the "front bedroom", grandma and grandpa in the "back bedroom". It'd get quiet. The sun takes it's toll on a body. It wasn't the Walton's. There wasn't no 'night grandpa, 'night grandma, etc, etc, etc. Granddaddy would rip one off. And he was spent. Next thing your heard... Man, I ain't sure how to describe this, but grannie would squeak two or three out. As a kid, I knew it was a fart, but, I didn't know what to compare that sound to. Now at an advanced level of stupidity, I do, it sounded like cats copulating. No, I don't think it was "that" kind of fart, just a regular pass wind thing that had an odd sound to it. Once that was over with, it was nighty night time. Cheese biscuits, grits, oatmeal and bacon in the mornin'.

I don't know where this "Dreams of Sugar Plums danced through his head" horseshit came from. Damned Yankees.... I want a cheese biscuit now, and I ain't lying...

Back to crabbin'. Granddaddy worked his truck stop. He owned it. He used to let me work there when I was a kid. That was hellacool. I could eat and drink my ass on. Yeah, I mean on. They didn't have microwave ovens back then. You put your cheeseburger in a glass box that got hot as hell, and when it went "ding"... your food was ready. Weights... we didn't buy weights for the crab lines at the bait store. We used, used spark plugs for that. Bait was chicken gizzards purchased packaged at the Piggly Wiggly.

Part two later if I can be semi coherent for that long...

This post in no way reflects the opinions of the owner of this blog. Especially if scribbled by 'Neck, but it might

by Redneck1 on September 09, 2008 | Bullshit (3) | TrackBack (0) | Psycho Rants
Bullshit So Far

'Bout time they fixed the comments on this blog. OK. Where's the beer cooler, man?

Bullshitted by Cappy on September 10, 2008 05:25 PM

I grew up around Houston and spent many a day crabbing with chicken necks tied to some string. Watchig my Mon and Dad clean them was always fun. My Mom threw one across the room one day for not being dead yet and pinching her. She could have used that bit about the coke bottles. Imagine how pissed off I was when I got to Georgia and had to actually pay for crab.

Bullshitted by holder on September 11, 2008 05:26 AM

Crabs and Coke..oh yeah!

Bullshitted by JihadGene on September 11, 2008 08:16 PM