Born To Ride News

So here I am again sitting on the redwood deck in the trailer park, with a pen and an old grocery sack in hand, wondering which humorous episode of my life I will expose to my readers this month. But then, all of a sudden, I draw a blank. I can’t think about anything humorous and some of my recent escapades wouldn’t make it to print anyway. The magazine I write for seems to have an aversion to things that are in the ‘gray’ area concerning human (and animal) sexuality, or the exposure of certain body parts, or possibly some unpleasant excretions or other unsavory behavior, so I kinda hit a wall here. “Oh crap! I’ve got writers block!” I holler out as I get up to find a beer. The ol lady, always there with some smartass remark for me, hears my fraught comment and says “Naw, you ain’t got writers block, you’re just suffering from the writers recession.” “Writers recession – what the heck is that? I ain’t never heard of such crap!”  “Well you know Craven, everybody’s talkin about it – you know the recession?? That’s why I said it. It must be affecting you too, you know, writers recession!” “I don’t think so witch! I ain’t suffering form nuthin’ so just stay out of it!” She flashes me an evil look as I head back out the door, forgetting that she hates me calling her witch, and return to my milk crate on the deck. I took a swallow of beer and thought about getting on the bike and heading back down to the gentlemen’s club, but a quick check of my wallet indicated that I wasn’t going much of anywhere. $#/T, no dough I thought to myself.  That reminded me of my current plight. Hell, it’s the first of the year, I’m un-employed, there’s nothing around here I can sell to anybody, and I really don’t wanna pull a felony charge for tryin to rob the liquor store, so what do I do? I remembered that we had a really great time having all the family and friends over for Christmas, and I recall that I was running low on money, but I never realized that all that really cool partying would leave me on the porch without a dime to throw at a cockroach.

My thoughts became worse and worse, I haven’t got credit at the bar, so when I run out of beer, I’m gonna have to listen to all the bad things the ol lady says about me sober! Lucky for me, a lot of people gave me some 12 packs for Christmas, and they may last till the 30th or so – maybe. I could go raid the sugar bowl where the ol lady keeps the spare change, but no, I forgot – I already raided that thing to get some gas money. No where to go and no way to get there. Crap – she was right again! I’m in the middle of a writer’s recession. Now… How do I get outta here? I got it! I’ll apply for Social Security, and live for free! Yeah, that’s a great idea, but ummmm crap, I ain’t 60 years old. Oh I got it! I’ll get welfare, and live for free! Yeah, that’s the ticket! It should be easy, but awwww crap, I gotta problem with lines. Oh yeah! I got an idea! I’ll shoot myself and collect my life insurance – oh wait – that ain’t gonna work either! Oh yeah! I’ll shoot the ol lady and collect her life insurance, and then – well never mind – she ain’t got no insurance and see felony charge (above). Getting a job – out of the question!

Dammit boy! You know I hate to admit it when she’s right, but this time I concede defeat. I got the damn writers recession.

With no apparent way out I once again at great risk of bodily harm, return back to the inside of the trailer where the ol lady is lounging, and try to find out what the hell I can do to get outta this mess. I know that even though she hates me on the outside, somewhere deep down in her evil, conniving, unforgiving soul, she still loves me or one of my body parts. So I go back inside where she’s propped up on the couch watching TV and I ask “Hey baby, so would you have a moment in your busy schedule to tell me more about this recession thing?” “No a$$#ole, I ain’t telling you nuthin!” “Oh come on honey, you know I love it when you use that computer to give me useless information about stuff that I don’t really wanna know about! You are so smart, and cute too!”  “Get outta here Craven! Can’t you see that I’m watchin Desperate Housewives?” I thought about shooting the screen outta the TV, but then I remembered that NASCAR will be back on next month. “OK honey, well, if you change your mind, and decide that you want to help me, I’ll just be out on my porch like a good little redneck.” I walked out and slammed the door. Good little redneck my ass! I got a plan to get even with her, I thought, but just at the moment I was putting together the perfect revenge, she opens the door and throws some papers out and says “Here read this!” I look at the stack of papers and after 30 minutes of reading, I realized that I wasn’t the only one in a recession, and what’s worse, there’s this health care thing that has everybody in an uproar. “I can’t believe it!” I hollered out, just about the time she came back outside. “Yeah Craven, you’re a genius now aren’t you?” “Well no, but I can’t believe that if I don’t pay the government for healthcare of some sort that they’ll put me in jail!” “Well that’s the plan.” She replies. I thought for a moment and then the reality sank in. “There’s no way out!” I scream, but she just slams the door and goes back inside.

I don’t think she heard me, but the thought came to mind that some things are wrong, a virtual plethora of things that seemingly have no resolution. However on the other hand, since I can’t afford to buy any kind of healthcare insurance, I will get locked up. But while in jail, I get free healthcare! Now that’s a plan!! Whoops wait a minute. … How long can they keep me in there for such a ridiculous crime? Not too long I suppose, but on the upside, I can walk out of jail all healthy and necessary repairs completed until they stuff me back in there again. But wait! There’s more! I wasn’t planning on needing healthcare anyhow, so why should the government make me pay for it? I always thought that if you had a job, your employer would simply provide that coverage by removing the costs from the paycheck. Oh crap! Once again I messed up by being unemployed and there ain’t no way in hell that anyone would hire me to do anything. Back to square one. I suppose that the bottom line here is that the economy is not really improving, and unemployment and foreclosures are at an all time high, and before you know it, you – like me – won’t be able to pay your way out of the pokey, much less get a lap dance on credit. So what do we do? I got it! We all just put on our fish costumes and cover ourselves with Vaseline and try to slide by the authorities that have set up a roadblock on the way out of town!

Wait a minute! I reach for the phone and dial 1-800-666-SATAN. “Hello, Beelzebub? Yo dude, can you open up the gates of Hell, cause there’s a few million folks heading down that way right now!” Until next month, speed safely!