The mostly True Story of Johnson Avery

One guy, every time I tell him something says, "Furry eel?" Perhaps he means "fer real" or the more correct, "freel". Not sure. I just know eels are ocean creatures and are decidedly un-furry.

I never see a Holden automobile in the US. They are Australian cars and I remember they were pretty cool. We got Yugo's here and they were not cool. I wonder the reason.

Look, all I'm saying is if you ain't some Yankee jerk transplant...quit acting like one. Know what I mean??

The only time I ever rode a helicopter ended with me being told to get out while it was still hovering. I had been out to the USS Ranger (AKA USS Danger for her propensity to kill crewmembers and catch fire) and the seas were too rough to small boat back. I was excited to get to ride the helo home. The ride was bumpy and loud, but I didn't care. Then we got to my ship, a destroyer, and it looked so small, but so tough, from above. I was still taking in the sleek lines, the bristling weaponry, and the overall "warship-ness" of her when a dude walked over, snapped a line to a d-ring on my life jackets front, and said, "Step out". Seems I forgot that we were too small to have a flight deck. Twas a tad frightening.

The word: Gerbiliscious. You figure out how to use it.

Pt. I
Johnson Avery was a truck driver for The West Georgia Asphalt Company. Which is funny if you think about it. I mean, who differintiates between West Georgia and East Georgia? Maybe between coastal Georgia and the rest, but Western Georgia ? Nah. Georgia is just pretty much Georgia. But irregardless, which, I am told is not a word, but I use it and you know what I mean so I think that fits all the requirements for being a word, Johnson Avery was a truck driver.
Pt. II
Now the curious thing about The West Georgia Asphalt Company is that they spell "asphalt" "assfault" as if the buttocks were somehow to blame for things. And everybody told ol' BoDean that it wasn't correct but he didn't seem to care. He liked it that way. BoDean was intellectual in much the same way that a hound dog is a shellfish.
Epilog
Johnson Avery retired from The West Georgia Assfault Company and now collects his meager pension on the seventeenth of every month. He chose the seventeenth because, unlike the twenty ninth, thirtieth, or thirty first, every month has at least one seventeenth. Keep her between the ditches, Avery. Out.

I like W. E. Abernathy well enough as a name. But how cool would the name N.E. Ware be? Yeah, I know.

I looked up the story of the Cadillac coat of arms, but it turned out to be rather boring in a French sort of way. Sorry. Stupid, frequently. But boring...NEVER.

Another way the bank can make money without raising fees is to put customers' kids in safety deposit boxes and make them pay to get them back. Now you would have to stash a favorite child or they may not come back. But still, it seems a sound theory overall. But I think we need to implement the policy with care as there seems to be a fine line here between revenue generation which is necessary, and kidnapping which is more or less a felony.

I think our wives are called our better half because we spend the better half of our life waiting for them. Word.

A list of places I've driven:
1. USA
2. Mexico
3. Australia
4.Japan
4. Thailand
5. Grand Cayman
6.Guam
7.Philippines
8. Korea
9. Hawaii. Not technically a foreign country, but go ahead... you read the street signs. hey, Hawaii, Buy a freakin' consonant for crying out loud. What the heck is Mōiliili, Waialae, or Kalihi Uka anyway?

Bob worked at a golf course. On the weekends he played there. One of his partners owned a Humidor in Gulfport and would bring him some really nice cigars. Bob would bring them home and bring them across the street to me. The first time I was like, "Wow, thanks. This looks really expensive. I can't wait to smoke it." Then I realized that it had a cap on the end, making it impossible to draw. I was confused. "Hey... Bob. How do I smoke this? It's got no hole in the end." "Oh yeah," Bob said, "You'll need one of these" and he hands me a golf tee. "Just dig this on down in the end and you can smoke it." So, for a year I smoked $20 cigars with a golf tee hole gouged into them. Eventually I learned of the existence of cutters and punches.

I like substituting "retarded" for "retired". I know I am not alone, but like "pull my finger" it just never gets old. I crack up hearing "I am retarded navy. I was retarded after 26 years. Actually, I'm kind of enjoying my retardment" even if I'm just hearing it from myself.

Lastly, I guess when it comes to the Iraq war I am Pro-we gave it a shot and Anti-we ain't getting it done. I'm not a peacenik or (if you remember the 60s) a pinko fag, but I am realistic and don't allow pundits and sloganeers to make up my mind for me. I voted for Bush and I supported the war. But now I wonder if and how we will ever be able to disengage. That question prompted this weeks wordage:

Tin Can Bomb 28 Aug 2006

Marched in, gonna save the blameless
Dug in, we're gonna save them all
This evening I sip my coffee
This evening more soldiers fall

So what do we do now?
How can we walk away?
How can we pack up and go?
But how do we keep doing
What ain't been getting it done?
And killing our boys in the road

I don't figure they're fighting for freedom
I don't figure they're fighting for oil
I don't figure they know exactly
What brought them into this war

Don't say that they're wrong for going
They're patriots fair and square
But I reckon there's blood been spilled
On the hands that sent them there

So what do we do now?
No exiting gracefully
So how do we get them back home?
How do we stay there
When bombs are blowing up daily?
And killing our boys in the road

I wanted to see Sadaam fall
I wanted to take Iraq
I read it all in the papers
Attack or be attacked

But where has this gotten us?
And where is it leading to?
How do you wash your hands clean?
'Cause I need to wash mine too

So what do we do now?
When do we call it a day?
Swallow our pride and let go?
How do we tell a mother
Her son died a hero's death
From a tin can bomb beside the road !?

Marched in, gonna save the blameless
Dug in, we're gonna save them all
This evening I sip my coffee
This evening more soldiers fall

Ed
Brandon Blvd

The fonts of the chorus starting small and getting larger are meant to convey discussion of the war rightly becoming louder and more public. (Although, even though it is formatted as stated in my template view, the blog view does not seem to reflect it. Blogger is giving me fits this morning, so I don't know...)

Tin soldiers and Nixon's coming, out
Ramblin' Ed