I have joined forces with the Highbrow Hick Coalition. A great storytelling group found on Myspace. They will be sharing a story with us here at Punks Pickers and Outlaws on a bi-weekly basis. Here is the first of what I hope is many fantastic stories to come.
Wish I'd Known He Died, I Woulda Stood Up and Said
We are here today to say goodbye to our brother Thomas Diggs. Despite what the preacher mighta said, Thomas was not a good man, or a family man, but he was most certainly a drunk man. Didn't matter to Thomas if it was daybreak or quittin' time, Natural Light was a beverage to be appreciated at any hour. And fuck combin' your hair or puttin' on a clean shirt, weren't no cause for it since you were just gonna drop cigarettes on it later. I hate it that they put him in a suit and slicked his hair over. He looks goofy.
Hey! Ya'll 'member that time that old Thomas got so shit faced that Aunt Carolyn, cold-hearted bitch that she was, took his keys away from him and told him to bed down on the couch across from my mama? My sister said once Thomas laid down, they didn't get no sleep, cause he kep' hollerin', "Alene! Alene! Wake up! Are you my friend? If you're my friend, you'll wake up and let me make sweet love to ya. I just wanna be your friend." Mama told him to fuck hisself, but he did not give up, because Thomas Diggs was certainly a pathetic man.
Didn't matter though. We loved that dumb sloppy sumbitch, cause he was there that time we caught those police fuckin' on the hood of that police cruiser down in the gravel pits, and he threw empty beer cans at their flabby asses. And he was there when I turned sixteen to help me drink the two cases of beer he bought me as a present, and he helped me set that Christmas tree on fire and roll it down Hall Hill despite the fact that he was so drunk that he pissed his pants in the backseat of Bubba's T-Top Mustang, and he couldn't walk quite upright no more. And when Bubba shot that big ass raccoon and threw it in the back of his Jeep with me and Thomas without verifying the raccoon's untimely demise, Thomas beat it to death with a tire iron when it tried to get feisty with me. Then, he tucked that coon tail under his cap while we drank Wild Irish Rose around the campfire.
Them was good times. And Thomas Diggs was a bad motherfucker.
Rebel s. Nerd
Rebel s. Nerd's bio
A longtime story teller of epic proportions. After years of folks pokin' & proddin', Rebel Star decided she best start writin' all this shit down. Plans to be a future jeopardy champion.