“……and they loaded up the truck and they moved to Beverly”
Before I start, let me be very clear. My father and his (my) “kin” are “Shanty Irish” from Wellsville, Ohio. This is a black land river bottom country that lost everything when the Pottery Mills collapsed. Shock to the McPeek clan of 2011: as of 1985 there were still McPeek kin living in “hollars” and dirt floor hovels. Crapping in tree stumps and precarious use of corn cobs were the status quo. So, shoutin’ out hillbillies (as opposed to Mountain William folk) is allowed coming from me.
This sojourn had myself and my bride heading to Centerville, Tennessee, which is just one hour southwest of Nashville, and 21 miles east of Buck Snort (no friggin lie), Tenn. We were there to move one of my daughters back home
As oppose to a long story with an expected (and possibly, unfunny) punchline, here are observations and musings……………
YES, YES, YES…..there is actually an area outside of Covington, Kentucky called Big Bone Lick. At this point, I’ve got a hundred one-liners, but suffice to say as we passed the sign, I pointed it out to my wife of nearly 35 years and she stated, “in your dreams on all counts”, and “you really are an old pervert”. So much for any shot at a Penthouse Forum submission.
Dyslexic 18-wheel truck drivers figured that 70mph was only good in the right lane. They would continually move to left lane and drop down to 07mph UP an incline. My wife said that someone should get on the CB and tell “Pig Pen”, this here’s “Rubber Duck”….”move it over, asshole!”…Not very lyrical, but potentially effective.
We needed to make contact with some folk who lived in the Styx (improper spelling intended) and when talking to them on the phone, they said “u just put this address in your GPS and our trailer is two drives beyond that with an 18-wheeler in the front yard” The route the GPS took us made the Bataan Death March look like a Rodeo Drive cruise. We traveled over a fresh cut logging road through swails, washouts and switchbacks. There was no sign of life on this 3 mile excursion except for some dilapidated barns perilously close to an already narrow road. Cue the banjo scene from Deliverance (you just knew this reference was coming at some point).
Upon finally making it to our destination, the nice guy we met said, “well, just go up the road here past two stop signs and you’re back on the freeway. You can’t trust them GPS.” AY CARUMBA!
We found ourselves at a Super Wal Mart for some medicine. I am not going to berate those robust folk you see on the Internet at Wal-Mart and their remarkable clothing ensembles, but they were in attendance here. No, I am going to comment on a product I noticed on the shelf in the First-Aid aisle. The product was called “Tatoo Fade”. This was apparently some topical application attempting to cover up some past indiscretion or bad decision resulting in an “I did what??!!” moment. This was very apparent when………..
Our final stop was the 16th Circuit Court of Hickman County, Tennessee in the county seat of Centerville. We needed to clear up a traffic ticket with my daughter. We were seated at 9am and the presiding judge was the Honorable Samuel H. Smith III. The THIRD!?.......I think ole Sammy was around and helped write the Law Of Hammurabi in Babylon. But it was the audience in the courtroom that forced me to read Darwin’s “Origin of Species”. I saw enough muffin-tops, tramp stamps and butt-cracks to populate a Plumbers Union soiree (in a few cases, it seems that the Charmin supply truck bypassed the area). And then there were the women. Some of the fonts used in scripting the tattoos was interesting. They must use the same artist who did Charlie Manson’s swatiska on his five-head. But seriously, for some of these folk, it appeared that the hardest decision of the day was to decide what t-shirt and jeans had the least amount of crankcase oil and Skoal rings on it and wear that to court. Also, Monday in court must be “Family Mullet” day. If everyone sports a mullet, you get a free conjugal visit with the inmate of your choice. And then to end it all, an infrequent silence in the courtroom was perforated by someone on the far side breaking wind. Its staccato pitch indicated the immediate need for a wet-nap clean up.
Upon a 10-hour ride home, I was actually glad to be back in EucHood.
…………”Hills, that is..Swimming pools, movie stars”
