I’ll figure out how to be late for my own funeral. Yes, I will. I’m not sure why “Richie” asked me to guest blog while he’s out playin’ beached whale, but hey, I told him I was gonna be late gettin’ in to trash the joint, and I was right. I’ve been off burnin’ brain cell(yes, there’s only one left, so it’s singular) at both ends. Looks to me like he’s doin’ a pretty damned good job bloggin’ from vacation.
He really gave me no guidelines, nor any specific rules, so consider this a warning. If you’re easily offended by RedNeck’s, best check the fuck on out now. It ain’t gonna be pretty. That disclaimer should be plenty of a clue as to whats comin’. My vocabulary is limited as proven by how much I cuss. And I don’t give a damn. I can usually get my point across. Oh, I ramble too. It’s what I do. No train of thought. Trains are for pussy’s, and engineers with funny hats, and David Alan Coe’s Perfect Country & Western song… “choo choo”. Crap, ’bout now I feel like I’ve been hit by a train. Hammered shit is close to describin’ it, but it doesn’t quite do this particular feelin’ justice.
“Richie” knows what I’m talkin’ about, he’s been to Helen back. This weekend Helen was in Naperville, where time stands still. For me anyway, but then it catches back up on Sunday mornin’ early sometime. Usually while I’m sleepin’ and have a plane to catch. Yes, I did “that” again. Only difference is, I actually made this flight out this time. Left half my shit in the hotel room by accident. I mean I left outta that place fast, like when the cops show up at a party in High School while we were drinkin’ somebody’s Daddy’s liquor. That kinda quick(Grab your shit and haul ass). I’d have been busted if that was the case, cause I did leave some clues. DNA’s a bitch. I watch CSI Miami, I know. They get the hair brush, I’m toast. I like the little blonde from Raleigh(<– there’s another word where the I before E except after C is bogus, second time this week I’ve done that, maybe I ought to play the lottery) NC on that show. Anyway she’s hawt, and she’s always shootin’ guns.
Had to get my “spare” brush out of the truck this mornin’ ’cause I left ol’ faithful in the room there in the Holiday Inn “Select”. Yeah, right, they’re “Selective” ok. They let me in. Kinda like “Richie” and his guest blogger choices. That shit Elison put up was… uh, original, yeah, that’s it. I met a NASCAR driver there on Saturday night. He went to great effort to interrupt me while I was on the phone in the hallway ’cause everybody was raisin’ 13 kinds of hell in the room and I couldn’t hear shit. Just walked the hell on up, and asked me for a cigarette while I was trying to talk to the cab company drunk. Like y’all ain’t never been drunk when a NASCAR driver walks up to you and wants to bum a smoke. Lord knows they’re underpaid, and need a RedNeck to supply ’em with ‘bacca. He made the damned mistake of askin’ me if I had an “extra” cigarette. I almost punched the bastard right there. Yeah asshole, It’s our lucky day, they accidentally put 21 in this pack. I don’t mind givin’ out smokes to strangers, sometimes… that wasn’t one of ’em. I did it because I thought he’d leave after he got what he wanted. Kinda like my ol’ lady. Wrong.
We had the door propped open for easy entry and exit, but that was for us, not Mr. NASCAR driver. Don’t get me wrong hell, I love NASCAR, but shit, this fool was no more a NASCAR driver than I’m Batman. Always wanted to say that “I’m Batman”… It’s the little things in life. Anyway, back to the open door. I got off the phone, walked back into the room, got close to my beer again and sat down in the chair, and I’m gettin’ weird looks from everybody like who in the fuck is that guy. I’m like, “I don’t know, jackass walked up to me in the hallway and wanted a smoke. I gave him one, and thought/hoped he drive his NASCAR hiney on down the hallway. It was Saturday night, they were runnin’ the NASCAR race in Daytona, at that time, what the hell is this dude doin’ in Naperville.
Those of you that were in Austin last year, will get this, the rest of you might not, but hey, I thought I was gonna have to teach NASCAR boy how to “fly”. He was edgin’ ever so closer to the cooler, where the beer was chillin’. Hey man, the door was open, not the bar asshole. I finally walked up to him and said, lookit dude, you need to go talk to your crew chief or somethin’. You got your cigarette, but you need to get the hell on outta here. He did. He must’ve noticed the choicely sweet ass shirt Leslie got me earlier that day… Back of it says “Instant Redneck, just add beer”. I guess since he was a NASCAR driver, he figured out beer cans, assholes, and elbows were ’bout to start flyin’.
It helps when Marines and Sailors are around, although, I’m sure there were some ladies there that night that coulda took this fucker out in about 5 seconds. It wouldn’t have taken all six of ’em to do it either. I think Tammi could’ve done it single handedly, but I didn’t want to bug her. She was chillin’ on the mattress. With 5 other ladies. Wasn’t but half a dozen of ’em there, but at that point, they were all in my bed. Covers smelled a lot better that night than the night before. Yes, they did rightfully exit the bed before I got in it, but you know… I’m just sayin’. Well, that’s just the “Saturday evenin'” part. I probably should go back to the ‘Neckshack and scribble out what happened on Friday, and Saturday before “evenin'”, and Sunday mornin’.
Richie, if I think of some other way to come back and “pile on”, I will. I wish my photoshop skills were better. I’d so like to “pay it forward” for you givin’ Eric manboob mondays dog… That was wrong.
Funny as hell, but wrong.