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So, as the boys took care of that business, corn-fed gimp and I took care of Bessy.

Issue Date: Thursday, Sept. 09, 2004

WARNING: This entry has a few pictures at the end of it, and they are graphic. They are not suitable for children, wussies, any leftwing, bleeding, heart liberals from PETA (sorry ya’ll… didn’t mean to lose you immediately), or any barnyard animals… especially any barnyard animals.

Once upon a time I was fully ensconced in redneck regalia. Carhart overalls, Justin boots and a ball cap. And that was my outfit. The family I married into all lived on the same property in the manner of a commune. Whether intentional or not, it was pretty effective. They had enough weaponry and firepower to put David Koresh to shame.

We had our own “game management program”. I put that in quotes because when you lived on that much acreage and you gotcha a little hankering for some back strap, you just went out gotcha some.

If you know what I mean. And I do believe you do.

I wasn’t all that uncomfortable in my little corner of the world either. The stars were absolutely breathtaking. It was quiet, I had a tin roof. I had cable (well, it was a humongous satellite that blew out anytime the wind got over 5 mph), I had beer, I had food (if we killed it ourselves … I kid… sometimes) and I had a dial up connection family. I was set right? Right.

Why I am telling you this? Well, because I am narcissistic and like to talk about myself and revel in the bullshit I came from. And also because I like to let you know that I was fine with being in a very rural area. I liked the country. I liked being able to get loud with my friends on a Friday night (Tuesday, Wednesday or Thursday night for that matter too) and I liked being far enough out that I could run around nude (inside or out) and no one would render themselves blind or call the cops* on the account of my visage… if anyone was around at all… which was sort of rare.

(*Note to Trixie: Haha ha ha ha ha aahaahhahahahaha … wheeeeze ahem… sorry)

But… I was in a place in my life where I was kind of hard. I used humor and a sort of in your face type of worldview to deal with my heart and my situation. Whatever they were and whenever they came up. Please keep this in mind as I tell you this next story.

It is true.

If you listen closely you may hear strains of the Beverly Hillbillies wafting gently on the breeze.

The afternoon had turned off cooler than I thought it was going to, which was a blessing. I was not looking forward to going over to Beau’s that night if it was going to be a scorcher. X and I were supposed to meet up with the gang after I got off work. Joe was going to be playing acoustic guitar and singing a few songs for the customer’s over at Beau’s. X wanted to go before he went in for the night shift and since we just signed off on our bills, we had a few bucks left over, Beau’s seemed like the perfect place to spend the remaining 20 bucks to my name on beer.

See? S-M-R-T.

Beau’s was not all that packed with people so we sat with Trixie and some friends out back listening to Joe do his rendition of “Wanted: Dead or Alive”, Trixie and I chiming in to do the harmony at the right parts, well, Trix chiming in, me… just howling really. Having a blast.

Later… watching my husband, shaking my head, he’s drinking beer before going in to the office. Not any normal 9 to 5 office either. Fucker is a cop.

With. A. Gun.

Yeah, nice.

He has to go in at 10, so he can’t get too shit faced, I guess that’s a blessing. And after all, how cranked can you get on twenty lousy bucks? Not too bad. I told X that I needed to go, he said that he’s gonna go change clothes at the station and that he’ll meet me at the loop when I am headed home.

I gave him grief and asked him for the frillionth time, “So, what are you going to wear tonight?”

Hardee Har Har.

It’s a wonder I’m not buried out somewhere in an unmarked grave in Nacogdoches county for that bullshit alone. Really.

X left and I stayed a bit longer than I planned to. When I finally got out to my truck, a Ford, 4X4 F150, Standard, (yes, that is important… bear with me…) I called X and told him that I was leaving Beau’s. X said that he would meet me at the loop so I drove away from the restaurant/club.

I got to the loop and waited for my husband’s black and white cop car to pull up. He made it a few minutes later. I looked at the clock on the radio and noticed that it is a few minutes after midnight, April 15th 1998.

I talked to X for a few minutes, gave him what was left of the 20 dollars for him to eat dinner with and told him to be careful. We smooched and he patted my butt as I climbed back into the cab of the Ford.

He pulled away before I did, because he got a call on the radio.

I looked up into the sky. There appeared to be no moon. It was so dark.

So I pulled out onto Hwy 7 East, clicked my high beams on, headed towards Center and set the cruise control at 55.

Highway 7 East is a two-lane highway that is frequented by chicken trucks and log trucks at all hours of the day or night in East Texas. You learn to stay out of their way and you watch out for all matter of debris on the road. Come tornado season in East Texas there is an old water tower that just may be across both lanes in the morning after a big storm, not to mention a few felled pine trees.

There are sometimes animals on the roads as well. I have seen packs of wild dogs roaming the steep shoulders foraging for food. I have seen deer, foxes, wild pigs, goats, geese, rabbits, squirrels and even a hooker.

[Not sure what phylum the hooker falls into… holy shit I am such a dork… here I am making species/phylum jokes about a hooker… anyway… ]

I came to the first hill, noted that there was no traffic coming the other way, so I left my high-beams on, the truck’s engine revved going up the hill and just as I crested it I noticed that there was a large dark shape covering the whole eastbound side of the highway. MY side of the highway.

I didn’t have a moment or even a nanosecond to think. All of those years of driving around big rigs with Daddy-O came back to me in a flash.

I shoved my left foot into the clutch, (heard the engine scream because the truck was still trying to crest the hill in cruise) grabbed the gear shift and threw it in neutral, yanked the steering wheel to the left, aimed for the smallest part and hung on.

I hit something… HARD, the truck bounced and fishtailed out behind me. Then it skidded and I was afraid it was going to slide into one of the steep shoulders on the side of the highway. Luckily, I gave it a bit of gas and drove into a cattle gate on the opposite side of the road.

Whatever I hit (I had a good idea by this time) was still on the road, and there was traffic coming. I needed to make them aware of the danger. I got my truck turned around in my hopped up adrenaline state and pointed my remaining headlight at the absolutely gargantuan Angus heifer laying in the middle of Highway 7 East.

I rolled down my windows and turned off my truck and sat there shaking like a leaf, a cracked out leaf that is being electrocuted. That is when I heard it… the tinny warped up sound of a 4-banger engine getting ready to make a run at a big hill.

Oh shit.

I started flashing my one pitiful remaining high beam…. No! No… Go Slowly! And with Much Caution! Up Ahead Lies Dead Carcass That May Be Bigger Than Your Ford Ranger! (Mazda, Mitsubishi, whatever…tiny truck)

I saw him.

Tiny little blue truck. He (his truck) hit her, he (his truck) went airborne, he (his truck) flipped, he (his truck) skidded on his roof and rolled down the steep shoulder on the north side. Narrowly missing; in it’s slide the back of my truck by about six feet.

I was out of my truck and running down the shoulder of that highway so fast… but that big old corn-fed country boy was faster, by the time I was about 10 feet past my truck, he was out of his tiny little smashed in truck, up the embankment, on the shoulder of the highway, running towards me and then he had me in his arms, his bloody arms apparently of no concern. Stroking and soothing me… hugging me like a child, “AreyouokAreyouokAreyouokAreyouokAreyouokAreyouokAreyouokAreyouokAreyouok?”

We watched, me in his arms, as a matching pair of chicken trucks narrowly missed hitting our cow. We decided to get her out of the middle of the road.

The boys in the chicken trucks got stopped, jumped out, yelled, “______ (last name) that you!?… Holy Shit! You ok?”

I replied, “Yes boys, it’s me, please call X, he’s on duty, make sure to tell him I’m ok, just that I’ve had a little … mishap.”

So, as the boys took care of that business, corn-fed gimp and I took care of Bessy.

He grabbed one hoof and I grabbed two. We heaved, and ho’d… and drug that 500+ pound bitch out of the middle of the road.

The EMT’s showed up, the fire trucks showed up, the sheriff’s department showed up, the DPS department showed up. By that time, I was goofy with adrenaline. I wanted them to let me do a trophy pose with my kill. My husband finally showed up and refused.

These are the only pictures I have.

I tell you what.

Being a hard ass wasn’t always a fun thing, and this whiny crybaby bitch stuff ain’t fun either, but at least I used to know how to drive!


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To understand this dear reward (above) at all, you must hie thee on and read gatsby’s grape ape entry and my comments.

And because of said comments he sent me my very own dream turtle in an email titled wee gift with these words attached, “my purple monkey is booked solid so i ordered you a tangerine turtle. hope he proves helpful.”

The Graphic Below Courtesy of Papernapkin.

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