| Straight
from the holler.
by "Buck" May 1, 2006 I really must apologize for not filing an update in recent days. Last week, I was compelled to write something because, well you know—I always do. However, I think all of us would agree that Mr. Kay was so “on his game” that anything I would have done would have detracted from the beauty of an update involving Kay’s Traveling Freak Circus, better known as his family. Therefore, I refrained last week from infusing any pitiful attempts at laughs. Besides, every day by the time I reached the point I would have clicked “the latest from Buck” I had already spewed snot and coffee all over the room. It would have been sort of like eating Rocky Road ice cream at the bar after pounding about nine-whisky sours. All I can say is Mr. Kay, you were in the zone last week. On to new material…I’ve related to you about the nymphomaniac across the street before. Well, there’s a new development. The other night I was pouring gasoline into my brand new mower (more on that in a moment), and I hear the distinct sound of Peter Fonda in the neighborhood…five minutes later a Harley rolls up and a guy who looks like he was just paroled steps off. By now I’ve stopped fooling with the mower and lean against the fence to watch a very dramatic dismount. He’s clad in heavy black leather with figures of a skull on the back of his jacket. He pulls off his von Hindenburg helmet and hangs it on the handlebar, then places a bandana on his head. He looks mystically into the distance as if he’s expecting somebody to arrive, or perhaps he’s just casing the neighborhood, who knows. While he’s striking a pose, my neighbor steps out her front door, wearing jeans and a backless shirt. This clearly reveals a thong just below the tattoo at the base of her back….a marker that a buddy of mine eloquently referred to as her “tramp stamp.” She commences adjusting her von Hindenburgette headgear and is clearly into her new “bad boy.” Meanwhile, as all this is going on a group of neighborhood Secrets have gathered in the street admiring his bike, his skulls, and his tattoos. That’s when the 10-year old secret next door speaks up. She’s a nosy little shit who always asks the most inappropriate questions…but I have to say she was quite observant in this instance. She began a line of questioning that went something like this: “Are you her new boyfriend?” “Is this your bike?” “Have you ever been in prison?” “Have you ever killed anybody?” “Are you a psychopath?” The Captain of the Hell’s Angels ignored her third degree and cranked his hog…occasionally revving the engine to drown her out. Nympho jumps on board and away they ride into a setting West Virginia sun, with a brood of secrets following along on all forms of personally powered transportation. Crazy. This guy is a TV sports reporter here in West Virginia. He seems to do a decent job and is apparently now shopping his work to move onto another market. However, you need to click on his resume video. There are a couple of clips of him doing various “live” things…but wait through those and watch his story of the track crew at Watt Powell Park. I think you’ll be amazed. This guy is from around here..and after his appearance on HGTV, he ain’t doing too shabby. Check it out. I was home the other day and heard from a couple of old high school friends. One of them has turned into a militant right winger, he’s sitting in a bunker with food and water, armed to the teeth and waiting for the end. What the hell? He’s convinced we’re about to be invaded by terrorists, Mexicans, etc. He’s freaking out, I’m pretty sure he’s chemically imbalanced. I told him about a great Mexican restaurant here in Charleston that I enjoyed—so much so Jeff Kay and I ate there—he flipped out and told me he was boycotting all Mexican restaurants because the illegals shouldn’t be here and are likely trying to poison us? I think he’s a TAD off the deep end…am I wrong? As Jeff Kay would say….. “Pass the nachos and salsa.” I also learned while I was home that construction on the estate that borders my dad’s farm is underway. I learned of this plan last fall. A fellow who lives nearby has scads of cash and has bought about four contiguous farms that surround our property. I have no problem with this. The guy is a pretty good fellow, a self-made multi-millionaire who’s always gotten along well with our family. Anyway, he’s building a house that is projected to cost 2.5 to 3-MILLION dollars. They’ve been working on the basement and my brother tells me it has a 12-foot ceiling and the floor, walls, and ceiling are all two foot reinforced concrete. The guy is building an underground bomb shelter. It’s in a beautiful location isolated by rolling farm fields and a nearby woodlot. I’ll snap a picture the next time I’m home if I can remember to show you. It’s quite a monument to one’s self. Another plus to his local land grab is that it is unlikely he’ll ever sell the place, therefore it’s unlikely anything will ever change. I like that. I like going home and seeing the farm and surrounding farms still being used as…FARMS—rather than suburban sprawl. He’ll likely buy out my place when Mom and Dad are gone too and that makes me happy. The only drawback to this scenario—his kids are a couple of freeloading, lazy ass letches who’ll probably sell it the moment he’s buried, enabling it to be covered in cheap housing and trailer parks. That doesn’t make me happy. However, I went to Lowe’s the other day and bought this. ..and I totally feel like my manhood has been restored. Oh well, enough for today. Any comments, I’m open at Moonshinebuck@yahoo.com Buck Out |
