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Tuesday, August 23, 2005 

One bad mood

I am in a foul mood.
One of those moods where you look forward to someone doing you wrong, so that you have the chance for a justified butt kicking.
One of those moods where puppies look at you and run
Where birds stop singing and pigs stop oinking.

I had a friend once who I have mentioned before as Uncle Fred. Fred does not believe in doctors or any health care provider. He also does not work and has no visible means of support other. I think he inherited a bunch of money about 30 years ago and by knowing him I don’t think he has ever spent any of it. He also is not my uncle we all just call him Uncle Fred. He lives in an old shack that he built after dropping out of college. He is know as a hard man. One that you don’t mess with.

When I was 16 years old I was driving my old nova down the road. It ran out of oil. Yes I said oil. It had a leaky head gasket and I had not replaced it yet. I drove around with a case of motor oil. The valve lifters started clicking so I pulled over at a “bar” it was called Sailor Watkins. The sailor was an old reprobate that only had one leg. He ran this bar and filling station. If my mother had known that I stopped there I would have been chopping wood for the rest of my life.(her punishment for me at that time) I went in and asked for 8 quarts of oil, which would have been enough for me to get home. The bar was jumping, the usual yelling going on at the pool table, and there was a card game going, some old girl with a Richard Petty tattoo on her leg was trying to drink her beer while being hit on by 4 different men. As I was paying the place went quiet.

In walked Uncle Fred. He was nasty from head to toe. Covered in dust and dirt. His greasy hair was down to his shoulders, rivers of sweat had cut rivers through the grime on his face and he was wearing the largest knife on his belt I had ever seen, and he was carrying a rifle( it was deer season and at that time it was not uncommon). He walked up to the bar and said "whiskey". The Sailor poured a shot glass of whiskey and pushed it to him. He took his rifle and swept it off of the bar and said, “You call that whiskey”. The Sailor apologized and put the bottle on the bar. Fred pulled out a 20-dollar bill and threw it on the bar. Fred then guzzled a goodly portion of the bottle and said “Ok Sailor what about some pliers”. The Sailor started looking for pliers as if it was the most important thing he had ever done. The people at the card game stared down at their cards the men playing pool sat down and lit cigarettes. Finally, the Sailor found some pliers and handed them to Fred.

Fred opened up his mouth and reached back almost to his tonsils, clamped the pliers down on a tooth and started wrenching the tooth out of his head. The noises he made pulling that tooth kept me awake for nights afterwards. He pulled the tooth out and flung it onto the bar and spit a glob of blood onto the floor. He said “ Damn you, it serves you right causing me that sort of misery. He took his rifle off the bar, looked about the bar to insure everyone was behaving themselves (they were). Walked over to me and told me that I ought not to be in this sort of place and to get my butt home or he would tell my mother. I did just that. As he left the door I heard a sort of whoosh as everyone in the bar exhaled.

That is the kind of mood I am in.


Gotta get over it before i go home.

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