A Hunting We Will Go....(Uh Oh)

No Bambi on the Barbie

Drinking should always be done in when coming down from a bad event or enjoying friends, celebrating or lamenting with those close to you. Drinking in any other circumstance brings some form of trouble.

Its been a while since I’ve written. I don’t know why I’m writing now except I have severely burned my hand and managed to get 3rd and 2nd degree burns down to a manageable first degree burns. Cold water, liquid soap and Neosporin applied immediately after the burn event definitely helps.

What was I doing? Clearing the red hot coals in the woodstove when I used my barehand to handle the shovel that I had in the fire. I am not going to the emergency room just yet, I am doing this blog for two reasons: to see if my hand still works without feeling and to see if any of you out there in blog land give a fuck. Yes, I was drinking during the night, but that did not contribute to my burns. Drinking to lament, drinking to celebrate, drinking to decompress is why I’ve decided to write.

I’ll start with after Thanksgiving. N.F. Pluto’s annual Deer Hunt was on, now back at his place near the landing zone in UFO land, in beautiful upstate N.Y. As usual I was greeted by resident aliens (descendants of original E.T.’s) at the landing zone which doubles for a hunting area during hunting season. All the usual suspects from last year were there, Fred and Ricky, Lucky and Tina and loaded weapons. It was a nice distraction from a fucked up life.

A keg, a case of mixed wine, tequila, white rum, Yaegermeister, vodka and numerous canned fruits preserved in Blackhaus, gave anyone who wanted, a reason to escape. (Escape? O.K., return from escape – a much different event). This year I was tempted to go out in the woods and give it a go. Ricky commented on how nice I looked in hunting gear and how he wanted me to join him in the woods. I stayed close to the keg.

We all got round the woodstove when the hunters got back on Saturday evening at sundown. Until then no one said a word. Ricky had no ducktape on him this year but was fighting hard not to laugh. Fred was looking after his buddy N.F., who was thoroughly pissed off. So, me being nicely chilled out with a cold beer in my hand asked the stupid question. “N.F., how did you guys do?” They had come in from a cold, light rain and were in the process of wiping down weapons. N.F. looked at me as he wiped down his Winchester and proceeded to go off.

“The reason the State gives you a hunting license is to make sure you only kill what the State wants dead, not to kill what need to be dead. I had this deer, a beautiful big six pointer lined up in my sights, deer was about a hundred yards away…right Fred?”

“Yeah N.F. but let it go…” FUCK NO! This stupid lowlife cocksucker in a trees stand with a bow at least 100 yards away spooks my dear. (Range for a bow is 35 yards at best) He points an arrow at me and says this is private property get off it.”

(Lucky owns the property and told N.F. he has exclusive right to hunt there with whomever he brings) “I tell this ignorant fuck that he don’t know what he’s talking about and to give me the owners name. He says ‘Lucky’, I told him lets go see Lucky, asshole refused to get out of the tree stand, so I help him. Asshole falls out of the tree stand. Asshole says he’s known Lucky for about a 10 months. I tell asshole I’ve know Lucky for 14 years.”

Elly finally gives N.F. a cold beer, which he puts down in a few swallows and continues his story as the room warms from fire. “Fred goes to get Lucky and this fool attempts to reach for his bow, I let him know if he did that I could only interpret that one way and the emergency room trauma staff would have a field day pulling arrows out of his ass. Fool tells me he can hunt, I let him know he can’t hunt with bow during rifle season. He freaks out and starts reaching in his jacket. That was stupid. He pulled out a pistol which he dropped.”

“N.F., please tell me you didn’t kill him and that cops were not involved”, I just had to know. “No Cops, no deaths. “Asshole got even more paranoid when I threw off all my gear and put down my rifle. I let him know I had no fucking pistol and I was going to kick his ass. Asshole saw my long hair when I pulled down my hood and said, ‘you some kind of faggot?’. I said, NO, but if I was you would be in deep shit right now wouldn’t you?”

Ricky chimed in, he was about three yards from N.F. and said right then to the freaked out bow hunter, “The word faggot is very derogatory….I think you have a nice ass.” The bow hunter ran for the creek and misjudged his jump, falling into the rapid running creek in the cold rain.

“Ricky went in and got him, pulled him out and the bow hunter started screaming ‘don’t hurt me, don’t hurt me.’ We dragged him back to Lucky’s house, Lucky asked ‘What’re you doing bow hunting?”

Fred finished up the story, “Lucky told the asshole he owed everybody a bottle of booze and an apology and revoked his hunting privilege on his property for the rest of the year.” N.F. was still mad because he lost his mating call device when he threw off his gear. N.F. got calm when Ricky told him he has the bow hunters business card. (Ricky is married with kids but he likes intimidating macho hunters about masculinity with his crazy comments)

“Ricky how did you get his business card?” N.F. waited for an answer. Ricky said it fell out of his wallet when he fished him out of the creek. Fred said he got it at Lucky’s when he told the bow hunter to roll over so he could dry him off. We continued to eat bread pretzels cooked on the wood stove with other yummies while guzzling down ice cold brew. No deer this year so far. But Ricky might have a new friend.

By the way N.F. and I went to Lucky’s the next day and walked the woods until we found all of his gear. As for me, I am in my modest abode getting drunk, nursing burns and reflecting on my lack of booze.

RJ

Nights in Snow Driven Haze

Outworlder Materialized

It was a gloomy winter night at ‘Tidewaters’ on Atlantic Avenue in East Rockaway. The owner, who I’ll call Sam Slick, had owned other bars in Valley Stream and Rockville Centre, had a way of pissing off his bartenders and janitor.

His bartender at the time was a young Yaega Lee and a long haired, wooley faced, mildly psychotic, redneck country dude who did clean up and whatever else needed to be done, including backing up the bartender.

The janitor was not happy with Sam Slick and let him know he was incredibly depressed about how he was being treated and how he was being paid. The janitor also let Sam Slick know he didn’t like the way Yaega was being treated either. The janitor had his hair braded in Rasta style corn rows and wore black army boots, usually covered in shit from the overflowing toilets at ‘Tidewaters’. After that long night the janitor got on the phone with Sam Slick and the conversation went something like this:

“Sam, I’ve worked for you off and on for years, you talk about me like a piece of shit to all your so called friends, I get treated like a fucking leper in the place I work and you can’t even call me by my name when I’m working…I’m a man, not a thing! Fuck you Sam, fuck this bar and screw your coke snorting friends. After tonight you will never treat me like this again. I’ll fix you.” Sam heard what sounded like sobbing and his sadistic streak flared up.

Sam screamed into the phone trying to be heard over the jukebox, “Fuck you, you goddamed ingrate, I’ll see you in the morning and you’ll get everything you got coming you fucking long haired hippie freak…go back to the 60’s where you belong.” Sam was irate, that janitor got under his skin and he was going to make him sweat for his money. Sam was gonna fix this asshole. It was 3:30 AM.

When Sam walked into Tidewaters just after dawn, the bar was in a shambles, empty beer bottles were all over the place, broken glass was on the floor and the radio was blasting heavy metal mind bending sound. Sam was pissed and started walking behind the bar when he found the note. “Tell them all I love them, you’ll never screw me again….goodbye!” It was the smell that attracted Sam to the back area. That got him running, his eyes took it in and his face went pale.

The lifeless body hung from the dog chain noose, the cornrows, ponytail and shit stained boots left no doubt that it was Sam’s distraught janitor, N.F., hanging from the neck. Yaega had come in the bar behind Sam and walked to the back and saw N.F.’s dangling body hanging from a dog chain, she screamed. “Do something Sam, get him down, get him down, shouted Yaega. Sam who pissed himself, cringed as he put his arms around the lifeless corps and lifted it up.

The cornrow wig fell off, and the chain gave way from the loose pvc pipe, the stuffed coat revealed the blow up doll covered in garden manure, the real looking human face mask on the dummy had a note on the forehead “Look What You’ve Done”. The laughter from a hiding place and the half empty bottle of ice cold Heineken was enough. Sam was the victim of N.F.’s vengeance. Yaega laughed hysterically. (Sam Slick squared it with N.F.)

Lets fast forward to the here and now.

N.F. has a long history to those who have been part of the bar scene in the late 90’s and early 2K’s. He disappeared in the woods of Upstate N.Y. in a move that was staged from several locations including Bears Garage. After one warm autumn a few years passed, he left “downstate” swearing not to return if he could help it. An event came up and he couldn’t help being at, so he materialized.

Extraterrestrials were meeting in a hangar at Kennedy Airport to discuss migration, logistics and disbursements for outworlders working on earth during a recent Sunday past. N.F. came in the Saturday Night before(Dec. 6) to catch up with old friends. The only one to show up on that snowy Saturday Night was Yaega Lee. The three of us were at ‘Game On’ talking the night away and catching up on life. All in all, a good time. There are other bar stories about N.F. and the outworlders to be blogged about in another time, maybe another place.

RJ

Karaoke Night: A Review

REMEMBERING A BLAST OF AN EVENING

Posted By Ruby

Edited by RJ

Preface: I had a nice night given I went to come down off of a bad day. The night helped take the edge off my broken heart and bitter grief. My Uncle, WWII Veteran, Contractor, Master Carpenter and Co-Founder of the finest preschool in Queens, one of the finest in New York City died suddenly. Uncle Henry was 82. He was the last of eight brothers.

I had to let out the pain. Even though it was my Uncle that passed all I could do was think of my late wife. I needed to let go some pain, so I sang a couple of songs that night but hardly looked at the screen. I got a couple of hot young women who weren't gay to let me sing to them so I could concentrate on the words and hope to get these young women or those around them to feel what I was feeling.

Even though there were compliments I took it in stride realizing much liquor had passed over the bar. It helped some to sing a bit. There was much to see and laugh about. Nobody was mocked or ridiculed and many struggling singer got help from 'the crowd'. Many solo's became chorale events of the finest calibur. You should have been there no matter who you feared would be singing and drinking. So the following is from Robin sent to me in an e-mail edited for time and space.

RJ, I hope you had a good time Thursday (Karaoke) night. I sure as hell did. OMG!! Gary and Laurie were great and everyone was having so much fun that (I don't know when you left, you know, Tequila and all that) Elvin actually went for the extra hour and wants to do it at least once a month.

Oh, yeah, I never realized at previous Karaoke's that you can actually sing! I thought you were just a talker but you're second number was excellent. Actually, after everyone loosened up, they also sounded better (how drunk was I? I didn't feel that drunk).

I stayed until 4:00 a.m. and bar backed S.T. but people were still there at that time so I think I left. When I got home E.T. was getting ready for work so that wasn't great. I passed out when he left and woke up 8 hours later still drunk (I think). I got to work around 2:00 p.m. and when I opened the door it wasn't that bad for a circus tent. Amazing, I looked behind the bar and even though I helped S.T. clean up before I left there were beer bottles everywhere, glasses and crap stuck to everything.

Hangover in hand, feeling like a truck ran over me (every muscle in my body hurt, too much dancing maybe?) I started to clean up. Just when I was ready to give up, my friend A.D. came in and helped me. What an angel, he swept, mopped and brought out the cases I needed to restock. Without that help I think I would have died.

I am truly lucky to have people like this in my life, I'm used to being the person who is the pleaser and I am also not comfortable with others doing for me what I am responsible for. (OCD? or pride?, I have no idea) In closing (I'm so tired and I had to stay late for S.T. [who covered for Nikki] because S.T. was puking all day so I covered until 9:00) who is the "Belle of the Ball"?

Who can work all day, drink, bar back until 4 in the morning and then go back to work the next day and clean the mess, restock and still make out well in tips even though they are running on fumes? Tis' I!! Not to toot my own horn about being a party animal, but really, this late 20ish year old can't keep up with the pro's. I rest my case (lol).

I hope you had fun RJ, thanks for the drinks and I hope to see you soon!!

Love,

Ruby

Sing & Dance

KARAOKE DANCE PARTY

Hosted by

Gary & Laurie

WHEN: Thursday, DECEMBER 4th 9:00PM-MIDNIGHT

WHERE: BROADWAY LOUNGE
(formerly the Corner Tavern)
(516) 599-9867

Even if you don't sing or dance - come on down and hang out, meet some new people and make some new friends!
Please remember - it is NOT the Apollo, it is NOT a contest and we do not allow boo'ing or disrespect of any kind.

It's all about having a GOOD TIME!
___________________________________________________

No Cover

SINGING &/OR DANCING NOT REQUIRED

Wide selection of kareoke and dance music available (including oldies, rock, pop, R&B, jazz, blues, standards, disco, funk, salsa, bachata, merengue, reggaeton) - over 9,000 karaoke songs to choose from or bring your own karaoke CD)!

Go to www.mapquest.com for door-to-door directions

Gary & Laurie Morris are professinal singers, DJ's and KJ's (Karaoke Hosts). Gary was formerly with the Elsberry Hobbs Drifters. Gary & Laurie are available for all types of parties, weddings corporate events, cocktail hours, fundraisers, block parties or anytime you need service.

Please e-mail glmproductions@aol.com, go to www.myspace.com/glmproductions or call 917-916-1261 for more information.

Be There! Be Fun! Be Happy!

Good Times Gone Bad

Bar Violence

“I’m glad to hear she’s alright….that’s why you always keep a cell phone and a self defense item on you when you tend bar…no Elly, I don’t want to scold Violetta and I would advise no one else do that either…does Violetta have health insurance?” “RJ, what does that have to do with being attacked, she’s OK, some bruising, most of her clothes were ripped or torn but that’s all” said Elly. “She’s going to need to talk to a psychologist or psychiatrist Elly.”

“Why, she’s got her family around her and the asshole who put his hands on her is going to be screwed in Court, criminal and civil, she doesn’t need a shrink RJ.” Elly’s voice was full of anger at my suggestion, but I pressed my point. “Elly, its not about us, Violetta is going to go through a lot of anxiety as a result of this attack, most people do…Post Traumatic Stress is just not a soldiers problem…it can happen to anyone who has been traumatized.”

Elly agreed with me and said she would pursue it with Arty. After I got off the phone with her I thought about this issue again, violence against bartenders and violence in bars in general. I know its part of all cultures, part of the American experience. It is chronicled in world history from the Old Testament to the Code of Hammarabi, from the fictional works of the Tales of Canterbury to The Choirboys, bars and violence seem to always have a relationship.

What we need to address is the “bar culture” and ask ourselves ‘what in the hell is it turning into.’ In metropolitan areas and their suburbs during the last century the neighborhood bar was a place that ‘everybody knows your name’….it seems that was yesterday. Trends in our nation show that people go to high end bars where they are not known, they drink more, and respond with belligerence and violence. (Reference the American Bar Association).

In other countries in North America (Canada) Law Enforcement has created Task Forces and Research Groups to address the problem. In Calgary a “violent crime suppression team” was created with the purpose of preventing bar violence and attacks. (Reference: CBC News, October 23, 2008) In Southeast Pennsylvania, SERAPH Inc., a bar violence prevention group has created The Entertainment Venue Crime Prevention Program to help local municipalities deal with bar, lounge and entertainment venue violence. (Reference: http://www.seraph.net)

I will share with you some of the recent stories of bar violence. Keep in mind, it could happen anywhere assholes and alcohol come in contact with one another. The first story is from “BUZZNET”: "Dio's 'Holy Diver' Leads to Assault at Karaoke Bar
Have you ever experienced a performer at your local karaoke bar, so terrible, that you wanted to just run up on stage and throw him off? A 24-year-old Wisconsin man recently took that fantasy too far and wound up in jail.

Accoring to The Smoking Gun, Kyle Drinkwine attacked 28-year-old James Mischler at Emma's Bar in River Falls, Wisconsin, during his rendition of Dio's "Holy Diver," of which Drinkwine found to be far from impressive. The action didn't stop there as Drinkwine also assaulted Mischler's 29-year-old friend Cyrus Kozub and was eventually caught by police.

So was Drinkwine drunk at the time or did he really just hate Mischler's singing that much!? .169 is what Drinkwine blew into the Breathalyzer. That's not just being tippy ... That's really really really drunk.

'Though Drinkwine declined to speak with cops following his arrest, an officer overheard him, during a jail phone call, tell a friend he "fu**ed up" and was arrested for fighting,' The Smoking Gun revealed."


Sometimes the problems start over much less, The St. Johns ‘TRADEWINDS’ a Virgin Island Newspaper reported Sunday about several people sentenced on felony charges in relation to a bar fight. “The judge did not make any immediate rulings in regard to 20-year-old Jahlil Ward, the only defendant convicted of the most serious crime of first-degree murder who now faces life in prison without the possibility of parole.

Prosecutors argued at last month’s trial that Ward fatally stabbed Cockayne eight times just after midnight on June 19, 2007, about a half-hour after the Pennsylvania man got into an altercation with Boston and Thomas inside Cruz Bay’s Front Yard bar.

Largely due to a media campaign waged by Cockayne’s family, who became frustrated with the pace, competence and transparency of the police investigation, the brutal attack generated unfavorable national headlines regarding the safety of tourists visiting the Virgin Islands and a significant amount of negative publicity for St. John.

On October 10, six men and six women convicted Ward of assault and murder. But the jurors were not swayed by prosecutors’ arguments that the multiple attacks on Cockayne that night were all part of an orchestrated series of events, with the three defendants acting in concert and all equally culpable in the murder.

The 21-year-old, inebriated and beat up, could not defend himself, and ultimately bled to death from a wound to his femoral artery.” Reported By Joseph Tsidulko

We all need to consider our environment, one drunken patron (aka – asshole) or a misunderstanding can escalate out of control if a bartender, bar owner or well meaning patrons do the wrong things or the right reasons. Our drinking environment can become life threatening if we don’t deal with the verbal, hate inspired venom brought on by alcohol pollution. It is more than tragedy to get killed having a good time.

We all know and have bar stories of people hurt, ruined or killed in a bar fight. Having been a career law enforcer, I have more stories than most, they all end the same – somebody’s dead or dying and everybody’s a victim in some way. I encourage bar owners and bar tenders out of professional necessity to learn how to diffuse situations before they start. Also know when to 'just call the police' after getting yourself to safety when the “shit hits the fan”.


Recently a former Chicago Police Officer was fired, tried and convicted for beating up a petite female bartender. He was also convicted of attempting to intimidate the same bartender from pressing charges. Shootings have started in bars and bullets fired by drunks don’t know friends, family, foe or you.

If your in an environment that doesn’t feel right, seem right or is just plain toxic, not for girlfriend, boyfriend, fuck buddy or buy back, don’t stay in that place.

In a world where some bar owners will cater to any set of lowlifes to sell beer, you need to know that the place you choose to drink doesn’t attract an element that attracts the attention of law enforcement. Violetta could have been another beautiful girl stuffing a casket, leaving sorrow and grief for her family, friends and lover. Be you a patron or bartender, don’t get killed trying to have a good time.


NOTE FOR THOUGHT

Bar Assault Under Investigation

BY JENNIFER MALONEY | jennifer.maloney@newsday.com
November 17, 2008

Nassau County police are investigating an assault in East Rockaway that left a 26-year-old man in critical condition, police said. According to police, John Hargett, 25, of Maspeth, assaulted an East Rockaway man Saturday at 3 a.m. at the Rocks Bar (On The Rocks) at 33 Main St. The victim was admitted to South Nassau Communities Hospital for a serious head injury, police said. Hargett was charged with first-degree assault and arraigned yesterday in First District Court in Hempstead. Bail was set at $75,000 cash or $200,000 bond. He did not meet bail and remained in Nassau County jail in East Meadow.


Bar Owners, don’t let your little business become a big crime scene.



RJ

Her Tears On My Birthday

Marine Corps Birthday Toast – A Reflection

There have been several times in my life I really thought I was wasting my time doing anything for or in a bar. Most of the time you get people who only show up to chow down and drink enough booze to push it all back up again. I have seen it happen in many establishments, ruining the occasion because most forgot what they showed up for in the first place. Ruby told me this could be different. It was very different.

It had been a plan between the ‘staff’ and myself to provide food and a ‘veterans service pin’,presented to every veteran attending, as a commemoration of the event. A good ships bell that was donated by a Marine (guess who) and a plaque to mount it on delivered by an old Master Sergeant from the Army Airborne was made ready for mounting. After setting up flags, uniforms, photos and posters to set the right mood along with a portable amplifier. We were ready.

The informal toast is a reminder to me, information which I shared with all, that the Marine Corps was founded in a bar, Tun Tavern, in Pennsylvania. This country’s first fighting force was formed and recruited while drinks were being served, while people shared raunchy conversation and loud talk. It wasn’t much different this year except that the drinks, the shots, found their meaning in those we drank too.


Breezy found the Kraut’s tools and mounted the bell. Mr. E loved it. (That is when he saw it mounted) We opened by standing and saying the pledge, playing the Star Spangled Banner and toasting the United States of America. (I was the MC, maybe if this is done in the future we can find someone to do it better). We then toasted the active duty Soldiers, Sailors, Airmen, Coast Guard and Marines.

When we started toasting those Veterans still breathing and among us the ‘Lounge’ came alive with a good feeling of old fashioned Americanism. We toasted the Airborne, we toasted each other and said really meaningful heartfelt sentiments that really made me happy. I was totally motivated by the evening. The attraction of the evening was the POW/MIA Observance set up in the back of the lounge. It was haunting and provocative, the POW/MIA flag under blacklight with three white roses.


During the evening Mary and her friend came in and were really having a great time. Then we got to the last toasts to those who had fallen. During the bottom half of the hour when everyone got going toasting each other Mary told me about her late husband, James a Marine Corps Gunnery Sergeant who forced the war to make sense to himself and to his superiors in every way he possibly could. He didn’t succeed.

Rather than admit his mission was a failure, that the good sons and fathers he commanded were sacrificed for no apparent good reason, or that what he did wouldn’t matter under a new command he confronted his superiors in the only way he could make them understand. Command is a matter of honor, you get command when you demonstrate beyond all doubt you can lead, to keep his honor clean he fell on his sword.

That’s the polite way of saying he didn’t get the help he needed when he needed it.

When a warrior falls, for reasons the protected may never understand, it wounds the collective soul of the nation. Not only must we put away a warrior, but what happens to the lives of those who support them? What happens to the Wives who become widows and the sons and daughters who become fatherless? Mary told me what happens, the government quietly discards them and runs them through red tape and heartache even before the warrior is in the ground.


Mary told me of the Tragedy Assistance Program or TAPS. Founded out of tragedy in 1994, TAPS has grown and established itself as the front line resource to families and loved ones of our military men and women. TAPS has provided comfort and care, 24hours a day, 7 days a week through comprehensive services and programs including peer based emotional support, case work assistance, crisis intervention, and grief and trauma resources.



Mary told me of how TAPS uses The Power of Women. A tradition in Iraq has becomes a Fundraiser for TAPS. Many Iraqi women give away jewelry to their friends. They often wear many of these beautiful beaded bracelets to have one available to give when the opportunity presents itself. It means more to them to share a gift and show their love than to have a material possession, even something precious.

TAPS has a limited number of these bracelets, made by Iraqi Women out of gratitude to United States Service Members. The bracelet Mary wore was beautiful, given to her by another widow. After Mary gave a dedication to her husband and we toasted his service, Norm put the Gunny’s Picture on the plaque mounting the bell. Mary hugged me and gave me her bracelet.

I let her know quickly I was not worthy of such a gift. I gave some, her husband Gunnery Sergeant James Gallagher, gave all. I felt quite humbled as her tears fell upon me as she held my hand. Mary must have felt we did all this for her and the Gunny. All I wanted was an evening where the citizen and those who served could informally celebrate each other and really appreciate what it is to be American.

I didn’t stay long after the last toast. My heart was loaded, not my snout. I sat up the rest of the night looking at the picture of my late wife standing under the name of my cousin, engraved on the Vietnam Memorial (AKA- The Wall). Last year I was outraged, this year, I am humbled beyond my pitiful attempt to describe just how deeply I am moved.

DO THIS! Go to http://www.taps.org/ Please help support TAPS and other programs for the families of those who have died in the military by buying the Baghdad Bracelet to wear and, in the tradition of the Iraqi women, to share. Leave a donation no matter how small. If you can buy a drink you can help the widow of a fallen warrior, if you can park your ass on a bar stool then give your time, be a volunteer, give something.

This was a very different ‘Informal Toast’. I leave you only with these words from an Unknown Marine, “For those who fight for it, life has a flavor the protected will never know.”

A Change of Seasons

Fall, By The River

“What the fuck do you mean they can’t find him? ….He went where? Why? So let me get this straight, because of a so called alleged stain on his personal reputation, Bear goes off into the woods to meet up with the Militia to settle the matter, how? He had what? Who was he last seen with? Skippy…this can’t be good.”

Then I got an e-mail from NF. It was a message from Bear. I still had Star on the phone and read her the message. She was livid. There was only one way to unfuck this. “I know where he is going Star, I’m on the first thing smoking. I’ll be in Tennessee before the weekend.” Bear was going up to the old Church by the River. I had to get there to do two things. Attest to a mans honor and define to a fool what a ’cult ’ is.

Hill Folks don't like strangers, including Northerners, any ethnics, and most anyone not from the hills. Some so called 'hill folk' aint loved much either.

I did have a big problem being in the South during the week of a Presidential Election. If the South didn’t have enough tension the thought of a Black President was not reassuring in Bear’s part of the world. The fact that I had to travel in and around the Smokey Mountains did not make me feel real good at first.

I got into the backwoods town early enough to get some liquor, food and pick up some smokes for Star. I got to Bear’s when a pickup truck with a rebel flag pulled up behind me. It was Skippy. “Where the fuck is Bear, Deputy” “Up Yonder by the Old Church, get in we gotta ride” said Skippy as he opened the passenger door. I grabbed my Bible, jumped in and thought ‘what the fuck did I get into.’

At the old barn behind the Church near the River a lantern dimly lit the way. Skippy had his hand on his holster and said “go on in”. Bear and the Welder were working on something as the lathe stopped turning. “Hey Rev, glad to see you” said the Welder to me as he put down his torch. I shook hands with Bear, who looked at me and said “I should kill Benny for opening his nasty cock sucking mouth.”

“Later for that Bear, where is the congregation Welder?" “Down at the water line Rev…waiting for you.” So we left the barn, the Welder, Skippy, Bear and me. We met the ‘hill folk’ down at the waterline (right at the rivers edge). The brethren had surrounded Benny and started discussing how his night was going to go if the truth wasn’t told. In the dark cool night beneath the pines, I shouted “lets get on with this…what is the accusation?”


Ol’ Deak,(thin old man with a long grey beard) spoke up, “dat Benny boy accused Bear of being a ‘Heathen’ and a liar. Heathen, meaning not a worshiper of Jesus and a liar, in dat Bear didn’t keep his word regarding Benny's dwellin place.” I looked and asked, “is that right Benny?” “Yeah” said Benny in an effeminate whisper. What’s a Heathen Benny? “Somebody who doesn’t worship God.”

“Let me make this real plain Benny, if what you say is true these old boys and girls will never talk to Bear again and treat him like a stranger after all this time being a damn good neighbor. But if your not telling it right, you might not ever leave these woods…you understand the gravity of your situation. Do you?” “Oh God, help me” shouted Benny.


“Did Bear tell you that you could stay in his home for about two months, did he?” asked the Welder. “Yes, but I needed more time” whined Benny. “Bear gave you a month more, I was there when he did” said Bubba Ray as Skippy spit out some tobacco juice from the chaw of Red Man stuck in his jaw. “I had nowhere to go” said Benny.

“So you spread rumors about Bear to your congregation and Bear gets treated like shit because you fit your cock-sucking lips to spread a lie” said Skippy. The crowd of about 30 local souls murmured loudly, I spoke up before this went on to its apparent conclusion. “Lets all cool off and pipe down…Benny who told you that Bear was a Heathen?” “Rev, my Pastor did.” “Benny who told you that Bear doesn’t worship God?” Again Benny answered, “my Pastor.”

“Bear fed you when hungry, clothed you when you had nothing but work clothes and put a roof over your head…is that a Christian thing to do according to the Bible Benny? “Yes!” “Ok, Benny…you accuse Bear of not worshipping God because of your Pastor, did you ever see Bear pray in his house?” “Yes, at dinner most times but…”

“Shut up Benny, stop being a cult member and start thinking for yourself, if a man prays to God he is performing an act of worship. This crowd of hill folk are perplexed, they wonder if they should let a liar stay among them, or if they should let him float down the river….I’m not talking about Bear, I’m talking about you.” "What should happen to you Benny?” “I definitely shouldn’t die” said Benny. “Who said anything about being dead” I asked.

“Listen Benny, just as Cain was banished from Eden you must accept being banished from these hills. Also, tell all the folk the truth and admit your own sin and your own wrong doing. In this is forgiveness but not forgetness…but it will get your sorry ass out of these woods, right Skippy.” Skippy spit on the ground and said “Yep, it will do that.”

Benny’s mouth ran like an open sewer as he relayed what his so called Pastor and his cult told him to believe. Even though everyone got upset, they did forgive Benny and Skippy drove him to his car. Skippy told him it would be a good idea not to come round these hills for several years. I stayed with the crowd of hill folk as we passed the communion ball jar and the cracklins. It wasn’t the Eucharist, but it was shine and cornbread.

“Hey Rev, how you been son” said the Colonel,(Colonel Jeb Lee Davis, Attorney at Law) a tall stately man with a short white beard. “Fine Sir, I don’t understand why my presence was needed since you were in town.” "Rev,.. RJ….listen heah, there is much we can do and some thangs we caint, I did not want to get in the middle of this since my boy most likely would be the one to adjudicate the matter if anything happened to that effeminate cocksucker they call a man.”


The Welder said that “it’s a good thang you came on South...this could have been real bad given lots of the local ministers wouldn’t come up the hill and you’re the only one Bear and Skippy trust. Rev yur good people…hope you git to stay awhile.” Fall in the Smokey Mountain foothills of Tennessee is totally breathtaking. Being down by the river on a starry night, sippin shine with some good ole boys had me feeling fine.


At the time of this post, November 5th, Barak Obama was elected President of the United States. This state, Tennessee went 70% for McCain. I mention this because things are changing in America, even in Tennessee as we speak. As I sat with Bear after putting down a good dinner, we watched TV (down here no sex shows). As a result of a ballot issue two lesbians ran a very demonstrative infomercial on local TV about how their 'sex toys' worked.

God Bless America