| Straight
from the holler.
by "Buck" July 21, 2006 So, where to begin today. I guess I should raise a jelly jar of testosterone to my friend Jeff Kay, to mark the occasion of his complete emasculation. Jeff, you might as well give up watching baseball man…once you’ve allowed another man to operate your machinery BECAUSE YOU DON’T KNOW HOW, means your new favorite sport involves either the WNBA, figure skating, or synchronized swimming. I was sure the wild game feast last fall would have put some lead in your pencil, but sadly it appears it wasn’t a big enough dose. I have taken it upon myself to try and help Jeff Kay man-up when he returns to West Virginia for his annual and obligatory trip to the folks. I do this at my own expense. You could call it a service to the male readers of the WVSR. I’m hoping this itinerary will be the trick. I’ve entitled this project, “The Demetrosexualization of Jeff Kay” Step 1: I pick him up at his parents’ home (which incidentally is only about three miles from mine). We start by four-wheeling in a jeep with no top. Once covered in mud and stuck up to the axles, Jeff must wade out into the bog and pull the winch line up the hill and secure it to the tree. I’ll then teach him the fine art of the remote control of the Warn Winch equipment. Step 2. Drinking a six pack of PBR in less than 15-minutes. Jeff should be able to handle this, since he takes daily doses of golden elixir. However, you must acquire a taste for redneck beer for full affect, later move on to moonshine. Step 3. Now with a full-on buzz, we start shooting at beer cans, car windshields, rats, or any other targets of interest we come across at a remote and highly illegal dump. Step 4. While I drive, Jeff attempts to smash mailboxes with a baseball bat. Later, we modify the activity and try to hit road signs with beer bottles. Step 5. Stop off at a garage and help a buddy of mine pull a transmission. Step 6. Go fishing in something other than a neighborhood park—perhaps in a boat using artificial bait—NOT WORMS J-K. Step 7. Weld….anything. Step 8. Two words. Strip Club Step 9. Learn fire building skills. Step 10. Move back to West Virginia, give up that weird job in the office and go to work in the coal mines. Buy an OLD truck—perhaps even build one yourself, buy a satellite dish and subscribe to the NFL Sunday Ticket, buy a mobile home and build your own front and back porches. It’s a ten-step program with several challenges, but I believe followed closely we could man-up Jeff Kay. Guess what five-star dining has opened up within a mile of my house! This of course is a satellite branch of the mother ship, but still—all hail the Junkyard Dog only two minutes from my front door. It’s actually been there over a year, but I’ve been too much of a lazy ass to snap a photo until now. A friend of mine went to the emergency room the other day for some weird ailment and of course—they stuck him in the waiting room. Thank goodness they did or I would not have this RICH story to relate. There in the waiting room was a pregnant woman, a man, and the woman’s mother. They were raising all kinds of hell about the hospital management. Most of this is paraphrased and second hand…but it went something like this. Mother: “They don’t know who they’re messing with. She’s miscarrying and they stuck her out here in the waiting room! If that baby dies, I’ll own this place.” Then another pregnant woman and a guy walk by. The guy stops and starts up a conversation. Guy: “Hey, haven’t seen y’all in a while.” Mother: “Yeah, she’s miscarrying and sitting out here in the waiting room. Can you believe that?” Guy: “Yeah, I just got out of jail. I heard you had some trouble too.” Mother: “They said I wrote a bunch of bad checks—but I didn’t. That was all made up, I never wrote them checks. “ Guy: “Oh.” Guy with the miscarrying woman: “Yeah, I got out too.” Mother: “He didn’t set that fire, but they made him say he did it. They said if he admitted to it he’d only have to serve a year, but if they took him to court he’d get 10-years. So he just said he did it…he didn’t really do it.” Guy: “You look like you’ve lost weight.” Mother: “I’ve lost 300 POUNDS. I lost 300 more when I divorced that bastard husband of mine. He’s drove us insane, did you know when our boy had his birthday he came and his present to the kid was our wedding picture. That child had a nervous breakdown over that, he was committed for 3-months.” Perhaps, it loses something in the transcription—but as my buddy was telling me this story I was one slip away from soiling myself I was laughing so hard. Finally, many thanks to those of you who have sent in photos for our new “Monuments to Buck” gallery on the WVSR. Keep ‘em coming. Remember if it says “Buck” on a sign—it’s a monument. Buck Out |
