by "Buck"

April 1, 2004

I received an e-mail response from "Renn" regarding my list of bars to avoid from my past travels.   Renn relates three bars from her past in the great Mountain State with commentary.   Here is her assessment.

1.  The Church Key  Elkins, WV.  When I was in college there in the early 90s, the owner of the bar (a hippie named Mike) was killed over a woman...or drugs (stories varied).  He was either shot or thrown out a window.  The actual bar could only be entered from a back alley into a big, old, stone building.  The place was dark, dank and full of roaches -- and the infamous "Snuffleupagus" (spelling?) poster of the Red Hot Chili Peppers hung proudly behind the bar.  Might've been less frightening if the bar had been owned by a woman rather than a man that could pass as a member of ZZ Top... or Phish.  (Wide spread choice, but Mike was erratic)

2.  The Chat 'n' Chew - Maibe WV.  A mere 6 miles from the edge of Elkins - this was a hillbilly hole if I ever saw one.  I had my first taste of what they referred to as "low, low shelf tequila" there. (it was actually some wicked 'shine.  I thought I would toss a lung out on the bar!)  This place also introduced me to my first taste of homemade wine...and a real live coal miner named Bubba...all in the same night.  I made more than one trip there only because I was young, stupid - and seemed to be considered normal!

3.  The Filling Station - Parkersburg WV I worked there as a waitress/bartender for a solid 6 months.  Anyone forced to wear an oil vest and work boots for tips...among size 0's in g-strings...would escape as well.

Do you remember growing up watching the Dukes of Hazzard?   For some reason I actually enjoyed this show.  Although, as I watch reruns I'm befuddled as to why.  Although this may have something to do with it.  Or this.  Or this which was actually on my wall in middle and high school.  Even by today's standards, she had a rack-which very well may have been one of the best in history.  Of course, that brings us to today...Wow time can be unkind to some people.    

Also, with all of the FCC uproar over shit, can the Dukes of Hazzard reruns continue?  I mean can you really run around calling a guy "Cooter"?  Perhaps they called the greasy mechanic Cooter for fear it would become Daisy's unofficial name.  Writers nipped that one in the bud. 

I must interject in the column a message that appeared on the message board.    It referred to a movie in which a 400-pound woman was having sex in a porno film while wearing a Viking helmet.    Holy shit that struck me as funny.  I actually swallowed part of my dip of snuff when I read that.  Good stuff.  (the message-not swallowing my dip)

I had to throw a Jehovah's Witness off my porch the other night.    The fucker wouldn't go away.  He rings the doorbell and wanted to come in and share some of his religious beliefs with me.   I told him I was firm in my faith and didn't need any additional reinforcement.    Obviously he was used to such rejection and had a ready comeback, saying perhaps I could share mine and we could compare the two.  I said no and promptly closed the door.  He rang the bell again.  I ignored.  He rang again; I opened and stayed somewhat polite, although obviously terse.  He indicated that he felt a great need to share with me.  I again replied no, sorry, not interested and closed the door.   He rang the bell A THIRD TIME.  I opened the door and before he could open his mouth I told him. (and I'm paraphrasing here, but it was close to my Tourette's tirade) 

"Get your mother fucking ass off my property you commie fascist bastard son-of-a-bitch or I'll kick your fucking ass." 

This time I stepped onto the porch with him, ready to go toe-to-toe.   He said there was no need to resort to violence and began to show some serious inner pussy.   He said, and I quote.  "I know when I'm not welcome."   I replied (paraphrasing)  "Obviously you don't or you would have left the first time I slammed the fucking door in your face.  Get the fuck out of here and if you ever come back I will fuck you up!"  For the record, I'm 6'5" and 320 lbs.  I had the eye of the tiger and by this time a little tobacco juice streaming down the chin after a torrent of cuss words.  He was clearly concerned that I was about to open a serious case of Appalachian brand whoop-ass on he and his entire religious movement.    

You always think of the best things you could have said AFTER such incidents are over.   I could have said, "Go back to your watchtower and keep an eye out, because I'm coming-and Hell's coming with me."   However, I think my point was well-made.

Suburban living has done this to me.  When I lived on the farm it wasn't worth it to those selling religion or other door-to-door products to drive out into the boondocks for one potential sale.     Therefore most of this door-to-door shit is relatively new to me after a few years in a housing development.   It's a target rich environment for the door-to-door set and I'm constantly threatening "Appalachian Jihads" on my front porch.    No wonder everybody is living with their doors shut and afraid to go outside.     

Once when I had just moved here a Chinese guy speaking broken English came to the door holding a can of caramel popcorn.     Now there's something you see everyday!  WTF?   The dude said he had just opened a carpet cleaning business and offered to clean ten-square feet for free.  I immediately assumed he was there to case the joint and rob me.   The popcorn was apparently a free gift and peace offering to gain access.    I can't be bought for anything less than the cheddar cheese variety.  Therefore, I told him to go fuck off before I kicked his ass.   He hasn't been back.  

I don't worry too much about my better half when I'm away.  I came in one night and tried to quietly get in and make my way down the hall.  She's a light sleeper and I heard her yell my name.  When I said it was me I broke out in a cold sweat when I heard the very distinct sound of the slide action of the Remington 870 pump moving backward and forward and the clearly distinct sounds of shells dropping on the hardwood floor.  My wife is more of a "shoot their head off and then check their wallet later" kind of person.

I ran across this photo in the paper back home the other day.  You folks think I'm kidding about the moonshine.  Somebody was apparently planning quite a party.

The weather last week was fan-fucking-tastic.   I actually slept with the window open last Friday night.    I'm now salivating at getting all of my summer projects underway.   I'm replacing landscaping timbers with stone walls, painting my chain-link fence, painting the trim and garage doors on the front of the house, scrubbing the vinyl siding on the north side of the house where the moss grows, burn several brush piles from last year, clean out more brush from the back lot, and cleaning out the garage.  I have an engaging summer ahead.

An update on the deck project, estimate is in.$7,000.  Ouch, but it will increase home value, can be used as a tax write-off, and will serve as a kick-ass venue for swilling moonshine marinated burgers.  Don't knock them until you try them.

Okay, enough for today.  I'm going camping this weekend-first of the season and will attempt to get a Smoking Fish in front of the famous New River Gorge bridge.   You'll know it from the commercial where they bungee jump a Chevy Blazer off of it.   Thoughts, comments, suggestions...the address is  MoonshineBuck@yahoo.com

Buck Out

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