Of course, he’s going to have to start listening to Lefty Frizell, George Jones, and Porter Wagner. You can’t have the original cast album of “A Chorus Line” or “Gypsy” playing in the Mack semi hauling a load of hogs to market.
“Gimme 40 acres and I’ll turn this rig around…”
“Momma hated diesels…so bad”
“YOU"LLLLLLLL BEEEE SWELLLLLL!”
Just doesn’t have the same ring.
Also, confirm for him that he’ll get more sex than he can imagine.
If he’s into opera, and owns one of those busts of Wagner, he can put a cowboy hat on it and tell people it’s Porter Wagner.
Even the most butch gay men I’ve ever known weren’t into Wagner - all that Sturm und Drang and “kill the wabbit” was too over the top even for them.
Actually he’s totally into techno. If there’s a techno dance mix of Niebelungen he might own a copy, but otherwise I doubt it.
Did somebody call?
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Whoa…HEY!.. I ain’t THAT kind of bear!
Funny, because Wagner’s patron was absolutely flaming.
Is this a veiled reference to the 1970’s trucker TV series, “BJ and the Bear”?
No, more like a very unveiled reference to the fact that most gay truckers are bears. The link is worksafe visually, but does discuss a particular gay subculture/fetish, so if your network admins tend to look askance at that sort of thing at work, you could save it for home.
I was making a funny (“BJ” and the Bear). Apparently, not very funny.
Bad monkey! Bad monkey! You get a spanking!
(I have to admit that Greg Evigan was one of the first guys I ever majorly crushed on- then he did My Two Dads [which wasn’t even a gay show] and ruined a childhood lustful memory.)
:smack:
Sorry for ruining your joke!
Well I thought it was funny…you’re telling me there isn’t a porn movie called “BJ and the Bear” out there?
what…too obvious?
Thank goodness you explained this. I got a bit confused, wondering how that little-girl character Lily Tomlin used to do was connected to trucking. Recalling the character was named Edith Ann helped a bit too.
Since it’s been a while I decided to post a mini update.
T.E. went to Newport, Arkansas, where he had an adventure with a sad flamingly and openly gay Taco Bell employee and matriculated amongst fellows he described as looking like "a casting call for Gimli.
T.E. was born in a tinyl town in Alabama and later moved to Montgomery. (THE GODFATHER WAS BORN VITO ANDOLINI IN THE TOWN OF CORLEONE IN SICILY. IN 1901 HIS FATHER WAS MURDERED FOR AN INSULT TO THE LOCAL MAFIA CHIEFTAIN. That’s not really important to this though.)
So anyway, T.E. has lived in rural Alabama and Panama City Beach and other mulleted tiny southeastern towns, but he says that even so, Newport, Arkansas was a major culture shock. It’s Alabama about three hours before Rosa Parks got arrested. One instructor, who had literally spent one entire class period talking about how much he likes chili because it makes him fart all day and thus saves him money on his food bill, turned out to be the Martha Stewart of the course in terms of taste and refinement, because another instructor started telling another story. Keep in mind while reading it that there are two black students in the class:
Instructor: “I got what you call a parable to tell you, important lesson in it. So awright, you see, there’s this monkey. And this monkey, he’s walking down the train tracks with his boombox on his shoulder, struttin’ along to his music…”
Another member of the class turns to T.E. and says (in a voice that I’m imagining as Fred Gwynne’s Judge from MY COUSIN VINNIE) “Did he…did he… did he just say a monkey with a boombox?”
Instructor: "… and the monkey’s shaking his ass to the boombox and walking down that traintrack when all a sudden here comes the train and runs over the damned monkey’s tail! And that monkey, he throws down the boombox and he’s a yelling and a hollerin’ " (this next in a minstrel show accent) " OOH LAWD! My Tail! My tail! He done cut my tail off!’ "
T.E. didn’t remember exactly how the rest of the story went though the moral was something like “don’t lose your ass over a piece of tail” or some other such folksy nonsense.
Then another day yet another instructor was calling roll. He called the name of the black guy in the class, ‘Jerry Davis’ (or whatever), who he’d never met, and the instructor had his head down over the roll list trying to make out the rebus pictures that formed the name (“Jar + Reed… that’s an Avis sign look like… Jarreedavis”) and Jerry says “Here”. The instructor, who wasn’t looking, raises his eyes and says “Who said that?” and a couple of people point in the direction of Davis and the professor looks at him and says “That your name, Lee-roy?”
And the Fred Gwynne as Judge Chamberlain Potter says to Tim “Did he… did he just call that black fella Lee-roy?”
Luckily the instructors have been through sensitivity training. That’s where they taught them to say “monkey” and LeRoy instead of ****** and Rastus.
Well, T.E. was nervous about being the only gay guy in the class since a lot of the “humor” in class was homophobic. One night while smoking outside he found out he wasn’t when another student came out to him, then the same thing happened a couple of nights later. One of the students asked T.E. if he could give him a ride back to his house when the course was finished since it was in Mississippi and on T.E.'s way back to Georgia so he did, and on the way, guess what? And then there were four homos.
But, regressing, T.E. passed the course. Currently he’s marooned in Dayton, OH unfortunately.
The trainer he was given to is a schizoaffective Hispanic guy from Amish country. According to T.E. (who doesn’t embellish) the guy would be wonderful and helpful and fine one hour and absolutely impossible the next. This went on for a while until it continually escalated, then when the guy was unable to go home to see his kids for Halloween he began taking it out on T.E. and everybody else until he was totally irrational, swearing he’d had it with trucking, had it with training, had it with T.E., tried to take control of the truck while T.E. was driving and almost caused a wreck, and informed T.E. that when they got to their next stop (a suburb of Dayton) he was putting him out, and did. So now T.E. is marooned in a motel in outer Dayton until another truck is sent for him.
Meanwhile he’s had it with trucking himself. He’s pondering the enigma of “does truckdriving make people unsexy or do only unsexy people become truckdrivers?” and has even taken to going into the 4-wheeler part of truckstops so “I can see some pretty people who don’t look like they just came out of a Larry the Cable Guy audience”. He wants to quit but the company has a clause that if he does so within the first year he has to pay them $4,900 for his education and housing.
So the point is that chili makes you fart and don’t ride with pissed off Mexican Americans from Amish country if you don’t want to get put off in Ohio.
PS- When T.E. left college, he had just been named “Most Outstanding Student” by his logic professor. Life’s ironic.
I’d heard of “diesel dykes,” but…
Sampiro, you must have some kind of pheromones that just attract these kinds of people.
Did someone ever say to you “May your life be interesting” when you were young?
Well, he’s on Day 3 of Stranded in Vandalia. OH, while the company sends another trucker. At least he’s had his sleep in a real (non-moving) bed and a TV fix. He’s such a meek and mild guy where personal vendettas are concerned- I almost wish he had my family’s ability to hold a grudge to the seventh generation and will and ability to piss in the chili of the offender at every opportunity, but he’s debating whether even to inform on his trainer. The motel where he’s been staying has a lot of truckers (always a mark of quality at a motel) and they’ve all- male, female, veteran, novice, white, black, his company, other company- have said “YOU HAVE TOTALLY GOT TO TELL THAT HE TRIED TO MAKE YOU TRADE SEATS WHILE THE VEHICLE WAS MOVING!” or that he yelled at him for not breaking the speed limit (which is against company policy, but the trainer wanted to get home sooner), etc., and I’m hoping that he will get over the third grade anxiety about being labelled a tattletale.
Meanwhile, the original trainer keeps calling him on the cell phone. T.E. won’t take the call and the guy doesn’t leave a message. I’m guessing it’s for an unpology (“I was sort of an asshole”) but who knows.
Love him though I do, I’m so glad I’m not T.E…
Ok, so, college didn’t work out and truck driving school didn’t work out. What’s next do you suppose? Art school from the back of a book of matches? DeVry? Amway? Waffle House cook?
I look forward to the continuing saga of T.E.'s search for what ever the hell he’s looking for.
Dude, I’ve been a long time fan. I am waiting for your book and signing tour. I born and raised in various parts of Alabama and have personally met someone like each “character” in your stories/life. I just have one question - where in the hell is there a junkyard in midtown Atlanta?
FWIW, I am writing this from 17th Street in midtown Atlanta.
I know, I know, I feel like Vern in Stand By Me when he asks Gordie if Lard Ass had to pay to enter the pie-eating contest.
