Here's the February submission, for your inspection. This story introduces Uncle Burley. I hope you enjoy it. Uncle Burley is the first of a cast of reoccurring characters that reside in Posey, a small town near Tumble Creek... which meanders through my imagination.
Caught yall sleepin'...
...'an slipped in again.
Some years after Uncle Slim passed away, I got hooked up with Uncle Burley, (Mom's side of the family was real colorful). Uncle Burley invited me on a camping trip over to the County reservoir, since I had a truck an' no DUI's.
I picked Uncle Burley up an' we bought a bunch of campin' supplies...couple cases of Bud, fifth of Ol' Stump Blower, and Uncle Burley insisted on some Ripple in case we run across some hot wimmin...bag of ice, sardines, one mustard, one hot sause. I asked about gettin' a little bait but Uncle Burley said weren't no use wastin' good money on bait, we could find plenty at the lake...made sense to me. Then we ran by Sears, picked up a refrigerator box, Uncle Burley never saw the need to waste money on a tent neither. Any way, we're off.
The plentiful bait theory didn't pan out. I reckon there's lots of thrifty minded folks hereabouts. All the rocks were turned up, kinda reminded me of Stonehenge, 'cept all these rocks are worn slick from bein' rolled over. Uncle Burley wasn't worried though, after all, even if we didn't catch a fish, we brought plenty supplies...which were already down about a half a case.
Did I mention hot wimmin? Must be something about a dusky evening, a camp fire, and an A M truck radio that brings 'em out. Two of 'em came wanderin' down the shoreline (there's always two in case one has to go to the bathroom).
The big one was Lo'...rayne, not Lorrine, not Larain, but Lo'...hesitate, rolled her tongue...rayne. Lorayne, uh, I mean Lo'...rayne, was blessed, REALLY blessed...you could tell right away 'cause she was wearin' a tank top, said "Meet Me In St.. and you really had to look for the ..Louie". Uncle Burley's eyes lit up like a fire truck (all red an' blinkin), well that left Squeeky. I didn't call her that because of her voice, she was so skinny that her panty hose kept slippin' down, and since she was a little knock kneed, all the slack kinda gathered up there and made that funny little noise as she walked.
These was local gals and since this lake was pretty far out I guess all our "supplies" had some appeal...especially the Ripple. Wasn't long before the Ripple was all gone, Uncle Burley was half gone an' I found out that Squeek had a gold tooth...right here!
Somewhere near the low water mark on the fifth, our camping trip had turned into a party...AWRIGHT!!! Seems Uncle Burley and Lo'rayne were both musically inclined, Uncle Burley found a station on the radio that you could actually hear music over the static, an' Lo'rayne started singin'...off key...loud,proud and unabashed!
That leaves me 'an Squeeky. She's drunk and I'm an oppurtunist, so I cut the good knee out of her panty hose, wrapped a hot sause sardine in it, tied on a big ol' A C spark plug for weight an' hoisted 'er out a piece. Boy howdy, we're campin now!
By now it's gettin' a little late but the party is in full swing. Uncle Burley is "likkered up" and trying to Moonwalk. Looks kinda funny...to Johnny Cash. Especially since Uncle Burley only has one leg (didn't lose it in the war, just lost it. Went on a bender, came back...it was gone). "...because you're mine" hop, hop, hop (backwards)..."I walk the line"... hop, hop, head over "heel" into the campfire ( most of which went down the back of Uncle Burley's pants). Did greatly improve his Moonwalk though!
All this must have made an impression on Lo'rayne 'cause after we all peed on the fire, (had to put him out, his cheeks were turnin' red, face was kinda flushed too), first you know they was dancin'. Looked like two beagles ridin' a pogo stick, what with Uncle Burley's one leg an' all. Did I mention Lo...rayne was blessed?
By now Uncle Burley is gettin pretty romantic, kissin Lo...rayne on her neck, tellin' her how much he likes nibblin' around that little rose tattoo...probably wasn't the best idea for Lo...rayne to tell him that it wasn't a tattoo, it was ringworm.
While Uncle Burley was throwin' up, the Conservation Officer came. He had his hair tied in a pony tail and didn't care one whit for Johnny Cash...at 3 a.m. "We got married in a fever..."
AAAAAAAAAAAAAYYYYYYYYY, I'm gettin' a bite!!! so I start runnin' down the bank toward my pole. I swear I didn't hear the CO say anything like halt...heard the warnin' shots though. It's real hard to get a decent hook set when you're layin' on your stomach in the mud. I gave 'er a mighty heave though. In the excitement, I missed ol' whiskers but here came that big ol' A C and 4.0 O'Shaunesy...WOOWAH, WOOWAH, WOOWAH, hook, plug, hook...WOOWAH, wip, wip, weep...wrapped ol' pony tail up like a Goucho, slingin' a bola. Now folks I BELIEVE in catch 'n' release, so after taking a few pictures, and tossing all his ammo in the lake, we turned him loose. He stomped off up the trail mumblin' something about backup. He was kinda hard to understand, what with the swellin' where I'd lipped him 'til we could get the hook out. Well we kinder decided to skitter on outa' there, since the ruckus had probably scared off all the fish anyway. Gonna miss them gals, they were a lot of fun.
Me an' Uncle Burley stayed pretty close to home for a few days (lights off, shades drawn). Never heard nothin' though. Guess ol' pony tail thought it over and decided them pictures we took might be a little embarrassin'. Embarrassin' part is though...the pictures didn't turn out. Squeeky's gold tooth bounced the flash back an' every thing got overexposed.
Now if anybody asks about this camping trip, I tell 'em it never happened. I'd 'preciate it if you'd do the same.