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“I knew this ol’ gal once……….”

John Doe "Tittlemouse" Jones

John Doe “Tittlemouse” Jones

The following post might be total fiction, sorta kinda true or the abject truth.  I ain’t sayin’…….  – Andy

Got a collect call this week.   When Is the last time that happened to any of y’all?  An omen of things to come from decades past perhaps?

The Machine Voice said ‘Will you accept a collect call from an inmate at the Dallas County Jail?  Inmate say your name.’

‘It’s Tittlemouse bro!’

Ah jeez!   The last I had heard from my other brother Tittlemouse    (or maybe click here)  was six months or better  back when he rang me up.  He needed a place to store his ’78 F150 out of the weather for a few months.   I pressed him on the why and he said John Law had caught up with him on some old traffic tickets or sumthin’  and he was going to have to spend a few months at the Crossbar Hotel in Dallas County.  Well hell anyways!  I told him he could put it inside the South Dallas storage if he wished.   I was paying on that space every month anyhow, why not?  I did ask him if the truck was ‘hot’, had he run over a bunch of school chil’ren’s on the sidewalk in it?  Robbed a 7-11?  Any such thing as that?  He mumbled something about a problem with the registration and inspection and said that was about the size of it.  Tittlemouse is alot of things but a liar isn’t one of them.  I give him all the secret squirrel info to get into the storage place and told him I would call the Nice Lady that run the outfit and give her a heads up.   He said he would see me in a few days as his invite to the Big House had run out… something about traveling at night, under the radar, law dogs and other conspiratorial nonsense.  I told him I wasn’t going nowhere.

He showed up about 10pm 3 nights later.  I had a big pot of Texas Chili on the stove and some cold beers, served him up a big bowl with Zesta saltines on the side and a frosty cerveza to wash it down and settled back to catch up on his doin’s.   After the second bowl of Red and a third beer he started to talk……

“I knew this ol’ gal once,  a real looker she was.   Blond, rockin’ hot little body and a sweet talker.  We hooked up one night over at Club Schmitz and I ended up takin’ her back to that ol’ doublewide I rented on the south side of Richardson.  Beddin’ her turned out to be a fair serious mistake on my part.  Wasn’t but a week or two until the flower started to wilt so to speak.  That ol’ gal  would drink up all my beer, bum gas money off of me and then turn around and say her cell phone was ’bout to get shut off and I would pony up some more cash.  She would make me madder than hell and then sweet talk her way right back over to my good side.”

I interrupted and said “Was that the gal that carried that .32 revolver in her boot all the time?”

“Nah, you are thinking about ol’ Hell in Bed Janie.  This was a ‘nuther one; don’t think you ever met her.   This un’s name was Randi – with an I.  Anyways, she would make me so mad I could chew nails and spit a bob wire fence;  rode me like a rented mule she did and I always took her back.  Hell,  I know most times she was just flat out lyin’  but I still took her back in.  Over and over and all the while I was gettin’ a little more used up and more busted out.  Well sir,  one day I come home from the machine shop and she was outta there.  All her stuff was gone along with a good portion of my goods.  All I can figger is she musta run up on some other ol’ boy that offered her a better deal, the grass being greener and all like they say.

Anyhow, I was settin’ up there in that jail with plenty of time on my hands to think about the goings on in my life and one day it just hit me like a bolt out of the blue.  What they call that bro, when something hits you right between the eyes and everything gets real clear?”

“An epiphany?”  says me.

“Yes sir, an epiphany, that’s’ it alright.  Now I ain’t no genius when it comes to separating the fly shit from the pepper but with all that racket and commotion goin’ on all around me 24 hours a day in that lockup,  I still managed to figure it out.   Those ass hats in Washington are doing the exact same thing to me that Randi was.  Lyin’,  usin’ me up and all the while they are just gettin’ fatter and fatter offa me.”

He took a long swig of beer and lit another Marlboro Red and looked at me through the smoke.

“So what’s the plan T?”

“I am droppin’ out bro.  Screw ’em.  I got to know this fella in stir that has a deer lease and a hunting cabin east of Newton down on the Sabine.  He tol’ me I could go down there and hang out if I was a mind to and mebbe he would join me in a few months.  Sounds like the thing to do to me.  I’m gonna chase some Piney Woods Rooters and take some tree rats and I oughta get by just fine. Some fishin’ too prob’ly.  Ain’t like I never done that before.”

I looked at my watch and it was gettin’ on toward 1am and the beer was makin’ me sleepy so I asked T  “When you intend on headin’ down that way?”

“Tomorrow evenin’ if you don’t mind me crashin’ on your couch tonight.  That be OK?”

Next mornin’ I got up an fixed a big cast iron skillet of sausage, bacon and scrambled eggs.  Nothing like a big dose of grease to assuage the effects of late night beers.  T drug out about the time it was going on the table and I handed him over a big mug of coffee that would just about take the hide off an elephant.

Sittin’ down at the table he said “Damn, that is good coffee!”  We ate in mostly silence,  just the sounds of forks scraping the plate and the suppin’  of that coffee.  He finally pushed back when the last shred of egg and last crumble of sausage had disappeared and said

“You know bro,  I ain’t the only one that is sick and tired of gettin’ screwed over by the Federales.  I had time to read all kinda news and magazines while I was locked up and they is plenty of folk just like me that has had it up to their eyeballs.   Good folks that go to work ever day and they just get a little farther behind all the time no matter how hard they pinch those pennies or how many jobs they work.  It ain’t right no way no how.   In my way of thinking, there is a day of reckoning coming and hate to think of all the hurt that is gonna rain down on us.

You remember that purebred Plott hound I had several years back?”

“Sure do.  What about that ol’ hound T?

“The breeder microchipped that pup and at the time I thought that was just the oddest thing.  But after I had time to think it over a bit, I figgered maybe it was a good thing.  Who knows what that dog might get on the trail of a coon or one of them fox and end up in the next county ‘fore he slowed up. Yep, maybe a good thing for a dog.  Not for a fella though,  part of what I read up on was sayin’ how the government thinks that would be a dandy idea.  I can’t even begin to imagine what kinda world that would be.”

We talked the rest of the afternoon away.  Catching up on family type stuff, talkin’ about old times and friends we had lost track of.  Before you know it, the sun was gettin’ low in the west and T stretched and said “Reckon its’ about time for me to head out”

“Pull around to the carport”  I said.  “I got some stuff for ya to load up”

He jockeyed that old Ford up close to the door and pulled back the blue tarp that was covering a pile of stuff in the bed. I looked and said ” Damn T, you clean out my storage?”  I spyed a Marlin 60 rifle, a 30 cal ammo can full of 22LR, 3 steel 5 gal gas cans,  a pair of well broke in Bates leather boots,  an old Carharrt winter coat and a pair of insulated Carharrt bib overalls.  He give me a sheepish look and said “You mind bro?  You know I am kinda short and all.  All o’ this stuff was all dusty and shit and looked like it had been settin’ there for a good while. ”

“Nah”, I says,  “It was all extry stuff or it wouldn’t have been in storage.  You alright. Hold on and let me get the rest of this stuff for ya.”  I opened the hall closet and handed him a old beat to hell Remington Wingmaster12 gauge,  an ammo can of assorted shot shells, a Grohmann belt knife, a wool blanket and case each of pork and beans, vienna sausage and tuna fish.  “That oughta get ya going”

He opened the door of the old pickup and I pressed a hunnert dollar bill in his hand and said “That is for whatever particulars ya might be needing.”  I fished three twenties out of my shirt pocket  and said “Stop at that Super Wal-Mart in Jasper and pick up one of those cheap pre-paid cell phones if ya don’t mind.  Give me a holler when you get settled in.  Hell, ya never know, I might have to join up with ya if the world goes to shit.’

He grinned and reached over to fire that big 460 V8 up.  “Anytime bro, anytime.”  He stuck his arm out the window for a final wave as he headed down the driveway in the last of the dusky daylight.  I stood there with my arm up and waved ’til he was out of sight.

 

Colonel Cooper says

“The society of late twentieth century America is perhaps the first in human history where most grown men do not routinely bear arms on their persons and boys are not regularly raised from childhood to learn skill in the use of some kind of weapon, either for community or personal defense – club or spear, broadsword or long bow, rifle or Bowie knife. It also happens to be one of the rudest and crudest societies in history, having jubilantly swept most of the etiquette of speech, table, dress, hospitality, fairness, deference to authority and the relations of male and female and child and elder under the fraying and filthy carpet of politically convenient illusions. With little fear of physical reprisal Americans can be as loud, gross, disrespectful, pushy, and negligent as they please. If more people carried rapiers at their belts, or revolvers on their hips, It is a fair bet you would be able to go to a movie and enjoy he dialogue from the screen without having to endure the small talk, family gossip and assorted bodily noises that many theater audiences these days regularly emit. Today, discourtesy is commonplace precisely because there is no price to pay for it.”

Samuel Francis

 

 

End Note:  All the Young Dudes by Mott the Hoople from the All the Young Dudes Single.  Unless I look in the mirror, I still think of myself as a Young Dude.  My Life- My Fantasies  LOL!   Released September 8, 1972.  I was 16 and bought the cassette tape almost immediately and the  memory is very fresh.

 

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10 comments to “I knew this ol’ gal once……….”

  • Rob

    Good story, all of it.

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  • Joel

    “spit a bob wire fence”

    I think you mean “bob war.”

    Still working on that ham radio license?

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    • Andrew

      Maybe Joel

      I was scheduled to take my licensing exam the Saturday after July 4th. That plan sorta went to hell. I have not rescheduled because of the difficulty of getting out of here for the better part of a day.

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  • Don M

    Good song Andy! Follow that one up with Stealin’ by Uriah Heep.

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  • Good story. You’re lucky to have such weird relatives. I just have my heroin-addict-petty-thief brother-in-law who is too boring to even make good company. Ham radio, eh? Stick with it. You never know but what the grid may go down and SW will be about all that’s left,

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  • Joel

    Happy T-Day, Andy.

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  • David

    Hey Andy,

    Happy Thanksgiving to you and yours.

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