I wait at work

Wait at the store

Waiting, waiting

One minute more

The bank, the Vet

The DMV

Wait while they all

Stare at me

The Dr's office

I spend some time

There never seems to

Be a short line

To take a flight

They move so slow

The TSA

Puts on a show

But most of the time

I wait at home

Or in the car

When we go roam

For woman does not

Wait for man

They have their own

Master plan

So, mostly I

Just sit a wait

On my true love

My bride, my mate

(Tune of It's A Great Day To Be Alive by Travis Tritt)

We got to Booger Holler at the break of day

The crowd got to comin' and we had to play

It's not braggin' I just have to say hey

We was doin' alright

Yeah Rusty was the leader of our whole group

He owned the stage and buddy that's the truth

Until he got hit by the hundred proof no

Then it wasn't alright

And there's bloodstains on the banjo now

I know the band kept playin'

But I don't know how

And there ain't no time to clean up good

Even though we all know that we really should

It's been a few years since Rusty died

The band stayed together just outa spite

Now our future looks really bright yeah

I guess we're doin' alright

Sometimes I wonder if it was me

Would I be buried in Tennessee

That would be my dyin' plea yeah

But it still ain't alright

And there's bloodstains on the banjo now

I know the band kept playin'

But I don't know how

And there ain't no time to clean up good

Even though we all know that we really should

Sometimes it's lonely

With Rusty all bony

And his shadow fills me with gloom

Sometimes I'm shakin'

When the crowd is a drankin'

Hopin' a jug don't doom

Anew

Anew

Well I might just go and see Rusty's tomb

Tell 'im all the things that I've got to do

I'm glad I'm livin' instead of you

And there's bloodstains on the banjo now

I know the band kept playin'

But I don't know how

And there ain't no time to clean up good

Even though we all know that we really should

There's bloodstains on the banjo now

I know the band kept playin'

But I don't know how

And there ain't no time to clean up good

Even though we all know that we really should

(Tune of Family Tradition by Hank Williams Jr.)

My ole Hill Country family

Has always been so close to me

But lately some of my kinfolk

Has disowned my woman and me

I guess it's because

My love life took a new direction

Me and my cousin went and used

My full on erection

So don't ask me Rusty why do you drink

Rusty why do you do coke

Why must you ask all your friends for a toke

If you lost the love I had

You might just understand me

So I'm stayin' stoned and livin' all alone

Since the night my cousin left me

I am very proud

That we shared a family name

Though most of my relations

Is ashamed to say the same

Stop and think about it

Put yourself in my position

If you had seen the view of her caboose

Would you have wasted that erection

So don't ask me Rusty why do you drink

Rusty why do you do coke

Why must you ask all your friends for a toke

If you lost the love I had

You might just understand me

So I'm stayin' stoned and livin' all alone

Since the night my cousin left me

I surely loved that lady

Even though she was my kin

And even though my Mama

Told me we was livin' in sin

But when she couldn't take it

She moved out of our habitation

She run away from home and left me all alone

With my ragin' erection

So don't ask me Rusty why do you drink

Rusty why do you do coke

Why must you ask all your friends for a toke

If you lost the love I had

You might just understand me

So I'm stayin' stoned and livin' all alone

Since the night my cousin left me

(Tune of Livin' On Love by Alan Jackson)

A couple brats and chicken wings

Makes me smile and makes me sing

With just that I don't need a thing

Pass the damn jug

You can sit and sip a while

'Cause I'm acquitted in my trial

And they had to close my file

Pass the damn jug

Pass the damn jug I'm in my prime

A few sips more and we're all feelin' fine

We gotta chug 'fore we run outta time

Pass the damn jug

A good party and lots a drinkin'

Leads to smiles and not much thinkin'

You gotta be tough or you'll rot your gut

Pass the damn jug

We start to dance and start to swing

I'm goin' blind can't see a thing

Holy hell that juice can sting

Pass the damn jug

I need just one sip more

After that I hit the floor

Just drag me out through yonder door

Pass the damn jug

Pass the damn jug I'm in my prime

A few sips more and we're all feelin' fine

We gotta chug 'fore we run outta time

Pass the damn jug

A good party and lots a drinkin'

Leads to smiles and not much thinkin'

You gotta be tough or you'll rot your gut

Pass the damn jug

Yeah you gotta be tough or you'll rot your gut

Pass the damn jug

(Tune of 1982 by Randy Travis)

We went huntin' Sund'y mornin'

Way down in the slough

Huntin' things like snakes and cranes

We knew we shouldn't do

I took my ole dog Rascal

Because he's been so true

There ain't a thing that he can't spring

And chase the whole day through

But there's teardrops for my beagle

Who lost his dad-gum hide

Shit hit the fan when a half blind man

Took him for a ride

He thought Rascal was a piglet

It's sad but it's true

He skinned him down and ate his hams

With a glass of Mountain Dew

I remember seein' Rascal

Jump in his pickup truck

I tried to yell out "what the hell"

And then said "what the (edited version)"

I know I'll surely miss him

And the huntin' trips we had

But the tainted meat that ole man eat

Makes me kinda glad

But there's teardrops for my beagle

Who lost his dad-gum hide

Shit hit the fan when a half blind man

Took him for a ride

He thought Rascal was a piglet

It's sad but it's true

He skinned him down and ate his hams

With a glass of Mountain Dew

Yes he skinned him down and ate his hams

With a glass of Mountain Dew

While I am well aware that the passage of years may have caused you to forget the time you spent in the darkness of my room, I am hopeful those days, or should I say those nights, might now be brought to your remembrance. If you do recall me, I am certain you will immediately dismiss the possibility that this correspondence is anything other than the attempt of one old friend to reconnect with another.

I still guffaw at your undertaking to frighten me that first night. Though your scratches at the base of the wall by my headboard were intended to engender curiosity and dread that something alive was in my room with me, my thoughts, even at that early age, only conjured the image of a mouse scratching at the drywall. I ignored the noise, received a good night's sleep, and requested my mother to set a mousetrap beneath the corner of my bed.

I will never forget the funny yelping sound you made when the bar of the mousetrap fell on your long, bony, finger the following night. I would wager you threw me three feet in the air when you jumped at the sudden smart of pain. Neither will I fail to giggle when I think of that pitiful sounding voice of yours asking a single worded question, “Why?”

Looking back, I am thankful the events of those first two nights unfolded in the way they did. Our relationship could have easily gone in a different direction, that is to say, the way you originally intended. While I am sure there are countless children you have frightened to the point of crying, screaming, wetting their beds, running from their rooms, and causing countless more sleepless nights full of dread and foreboding, I am equally sure I may be the only child you have ever encountered with the personality and temperament to react to you in the way I did.

We had so many good times I could scarcely begin to enumerate them here. It would suffice enough for me to say each night felt like a sleepover. I still sometimes miss the talks and laughs we had.

I have a son of my own now, which is actually the reason I write. From the time he was old enough for me to tell such stories, I have shared many of the nightly adventures we had with him. In fact, I have told him so much about you he now feels as if he knows you himself and, so, I come to my point.

I do not know what station you now hold or what current obligation you have with any child, but it is my hope that you have the freedom to take up residence in my house, in the darkness under my son’s bed. I know you will get along with him just as you did me. Who knows, if it is not against some regulation you are bound to, perhaps I could even join in one night, if only to reminisce about old times.

At any rate, my invitation stands; if not now, then perhaps at your first convenience. Until such time, I bid you well and look forward to the possibility of our reunion.

Sincerely,

Your Old Pal

The morning was cold and motionless with a thick layer of frost that covered the long, bending grass of the field. In the headlights of the truck it sparkled like a sea of gems waiting to be plucked by the passer by. The truck rolled to a stop where the field ended and the woods began. The engine shut off and the world went dark in the moonless pre dawn.

Jack sat in the quiet darkness of the passenger seat with heavy eyelids. He was not used to rising this early any day of the week, much less a Saturday. The two of them sat in the darkness of the still warm cab and Jack felt his chin tilt toward his chest as he dozed off. He was unaware of how long he slept in that position, it could have been a minute or an hour as far as he was concerned, before his father roused him.

“O.K., Let’s go.”

The words were not spoken loudly, but in the quiet of the truck they made Jack jump from his sleep with a start. He thought he heard a soft chuckle escape from his father, but he was not sure. Jack blinked his eyes to remove the sleep from them and looked around to gain his bearings. The sun was not yet up, but the first hint of a red glow spread across the eastern horizon and made it possible to discern shapes.

Jack’s father opened the driver’s door and the dome light came on. Though not that bright by most standards, it was still harsh enough to cause Jack to squint against it for a few moments. He allowed his eyes to adjust before he opened his own door to the morning cold.

He stepped into the chilly, windless air and reached back inside the cab for his rifle, attentive not to touch the blued steel, but only the wooden stock. He carefully loaded the firearm with the shells from his vest pocket, then cradled the rifle in his arms like a sleeping child and walked around the truck to the driver’s side in time to see his father ratchet a shell into the chamber of the rifle he carried.

His father looked at him in the dim light. “You got one in the chamber?”

“Not yet.”

“Well, go ahead then.”

Jack pulled the slide of his rifle and the familiar “Chk-Chk” sound told him the chamber was loaded and ready to fire.

“Safety on?” His father asked.

Jack felt around the outside rim of the trigger guard with a probing finger. “Yes Sir.”

Hill Country Gazette

-Booger Hollow, AR

It is with heavy hearts that this publication must bring news of the passing from this earth of the singular and greatest celebrity in the rich history of the Hill Country area.

Rusty Carr, famed guitar, banjo, fiddle, steel guitar, piano, tuba, harmonica, and juice harp player and singer, whose life was cut short Saturday night as he performed before a record crowd of more than thirty people in the illustrious Smoked Ham Tavern in Booger Hollow Arkansas.

Mr. Carr, also known as The Honky Tonk Player, had been in rare form performing such hits as, The Night My Cousin Left Me, Pass the Damn Jug, and Teardrops For My Beagle before tragedy struck. Approximately half way through the concert, a shine jug being used as a stage rigging weight broke free from above, crushing the beloved Rusty Carr's cranium.

A patron who was witness to the horrible event, known only to me as Joe Jack, described the frightening scene, "At sanger uz jus runnin around all over the place, jus a pickin an a strangin an a hellufashow. All sudden I seen this white blur come from tha ceilin. At thang hit Rusty right in top a tha head. I seen blood hit Vicky Sue standin in front a tha stage. She uz cryin an screamin, 'My hair! My hair!'. Yep, at jug damn near split his head down the middle."

Booger Hollow chief of police, Jim Bob White, was willing to give an official statement to the Hill Country Gazette. "At this time, we believe death was instantaneous and Mr. Carr suffered no pain in his passing. However, those blood stains ain't coming out of that banjo no time soon."

A short time later, a band member who wished to remain anonymous told me, "That police man gave me a great idea fer a song, Bloodstains On The Banjo".

Mr. Carr's body will be transported back to Hill Country where he will be laid to rest in his family cemetery.

Whether through movies and shows, public speakers, or the written word, I am of firm confidence there are many who "bullshit" their way along. I know this for two reasons:

First, there are numerous times I have seen, heard, or read something that had no merit at all. This is most usually because the given subject is one I have had personal experience with. As a "blue collar guy" all of my life, I have had opportunities to learn a little about a lot, and a lot about a little. Though most of the time I spot "bullshit" in film, it is also not altogether uncommon in speech and print.

Second, I know because I have done it myself. There is something I figured out early in my high school years that served me well; When it comes to public speaking and reports, both oral and written, one does not always have to know what they are talking about, one must only sound as though they know what they are talking about.