by "Buck"

December 13, 2005

As I write this Tookie Williams is sitting alone in a jail cell while the entire world is arguing over whether he lives or dies.  I find it very fascinating when people who have no qualifications other than they are famous get involved in such shit to make themselves feel better.  Now Snoop-Dog is coming out in defense of this gang leader and murderer.   I fully expected him to say something along the lines of "Come tomorrow don't let Tookie's Snizel sizzle, bedizzle."  I don't know, something about that struck me as odd.

I was hunting on a ridge near my home Saturday afternoon and it was nearing dark—about 5:00 or so.  I can hear cars on the road below and suddenly hear that eerie sound of brakes squealing and a car skidding on ice…followed by a hushed silence then a very loud CRASH!  Holy shit…I went running off the hill, actually I was tumbling.  I burst out of the woods to the sight of a t-bone collision and mass chaos.  A woman was screaming her head off, her husband was staggering around the wreck scene, and two teenagers in the other vehicle were dazed and confused.  I went running up to the screaming woman in an effort to calm her.  The husband staggered up and said, "Please buddy, she'll make it—no need to shoot her."  It was then I realized I was wearing coveralls of camouflage over my enormous frame and carrying a rifle.  That's probably the last thing you needed to see after a bone jarring collision.  However, the wife probably hates the husband for breaking into standup so soon after the crash….nevertheless, I appreciated his humor and isn't that all that really matters?

I told you on the comments board last week that I had some office party stories.  Yes, I have some that songs (and court documents) are written about.  

I was in college and was an INTERN at a company that threw a Christmas party at the Cherokee Country Club in Knoxville.  It was open bar—which to a college student means…. "drink as fast as you can before they change their minds."  The waitress kept bringing me Southern Comfort and Pepsi so frequently that she went from the high-ball glass to the ice tea glass in hopes it would cut down on her trips.  I was getting so shit-faced that I was going in and out of consciousness.  I'm told somewhere in the evening I grabbed the business manager's wife and gave her a long, slow, deep, wet kiss that lasted for three days.  Her husband just stood there and watched.  What was he going to do?  I was 6'5" 300 pounds and drunk.  He was 140 soaking wet and 5'10.       

They also had a limo to take home those who were too drunk to drive.  Guess I qualified, but I was having none of that.  I was driving…who was to argue with the enormous drunk giant?  I climbed into my car and remember driving about a mile and realizing—there's no way I can do this.  I pulled into the next parking lot…where I woke up two hours later in a puddle of puke, missing my shoes….WTF?   I looked up and saw a hazy white figure towering over me….and another off in the distance.  I figured I was dead and these were angels.  She sweetly and softly asked—"Are you okay?"  It was about now that I realized I was passed out in the parking lot of a nursing home—and it was shift change.  I sobered up, drove back to campus, and literally crawled across 200-yards of pavement to my 7^th floor apartment. 

I remember another party—which wasn't a Christmas affair—in which I got bed-shitting drunk again.  I drank everybody under the table, but apparently kept myself fairly well behaved.  I figured I had a great shot at getting hired with that company after graduation…they seemed to feel differently.  Go figure.

Another party I attended on the company dime was held at a hotel that had two elevators.  I wasn't involved in this escapade—and in fact had learned my lesson about getting shit-faced at corporate functions.  However, to my amusement, others still haven't learned this lesson.  There were two couples who got onto the elevators alone and were racing each other to the top.   Oh no, they weren't racing to see which one got there first….they were racing to see which couple could have sex and get finished before the elevator doors opened.  I was at the finish line…and neither was finished. 

Yes, it was quite a show.  I stepped onto an elevator where a woman with whom I work every day was clutching the bar with her skirt hiked up and her husband had his trousers around his ankles hammering her from behind.  I didn't even act like I noticed.  I got on, said "Hey Jim.  Hey Joyce."  To which they responded "Hey Buck."  AND KEPT GOING.  I rode to the bottom floor as the elevator banged against each side of the shaft and walked off as if nothing had happened.     The couple on the ground floor that was about to get on was clearly flabbergasted.  Good fun.

I have others that will have to keep for another time.