1979. Livin' on the White Earth “Rez”.
Had married the former tribal chairman's daughter. We got a house after living in his basement, which was good. My mother-in-law hated me, so we (Numbah two wife, her four kids and I) moved a half mile, which by no means was far enough.
Anyhoo, I had been tryin' my best to stay straight, but that hasn't worked out. I would never come home until I was cleaned up. Rubbed and scrubbed but still couldn't get rid of that cod fish smell. You see, I got this here problem, it's about rules. I have had a hell of a time- my whole life- followin' the rules. I like havin' a good time!
Anyhoo, she was a decent lookin' woman, who had never yet learned to have a “good fuckin time”, as most women I have met. After educating her on the finer points of a “good fuckin time”, she went out to show her soon to be fourth husband how that ol “snapper” was revived. [Note: her fourth, and my third wife would work in the same Indian program years later]. After, I moved off the Rez back to the Twin Cities.
Anyhoo, my way of having a good time is “Party Hearty”, have always, since I was 14. As a farm hand, my employers - farmers - love to party when the work is done! Saturday night dance halls. In those days, cops liked to see you sleepin' it off in the parking lot of the dance hall, feet out the window. Leave your boots on, some of them “Jacks” like to give you a hot foot.
Joining the Marines was the same, ”Party Hearty” when you can. When I got out of Vietnam, I had bought a Harley Davidson. Milwaukee is also known for beer. I had a ridin' bud who had his Harley painted like an Old Milwaukee. What I'm sayin' here is me and the brew have been hand in hand most of my life.
My Party Hearty has been rough on marriages. For some reason, they always figured I was out there teachin' some Ol' Chick the finer points of a “good fuckin time”. Now I ain't gonna lie about that, but I'm here to tell ya, it don't mean nothin', but that never worked.
So after numbah Two and I split, I was enjoyin' the single life when along comes one of the nastiest ol' whores I would ever know. She had her own custom Harley Shovelhead, stroked motor, custom paint, 80 inch stroker. She sold her ass to build her Harley- worked in a sauna. She rode more than most men I knew. Had some huge Silicone tits, a little tiny waist, great ass, and she loved to fuck. We hooked up one nite, neither of us would ever be sane, or the same again. I had a good payin' job runnin' a gravel pit, ready mix operation, made over $23.00 a hour back in the 80s. We had it made!!!
She tried tattooin' until she figured she could deal coke and make beaucoup bucks. Hey, did I tell ya we lived in an underground house? They are humid as a sauna. Do yah know what happens to coke in humidity? It evaporates!
Anyhoo, I come home from work wantin' to relax. I walk into my hovel, and here is three cokeheads sittin' in my pad doin' lines. My arms measured 22” from workin' out and bustin' boulders down to rocks to fit into a rock crusher. As usual, when I say “Git” most listen and they “git”. These three walked up and outside , but once outside they turned on me. I might have mentioned as a kid I boxed Golden Gloves, and while in Okinawa, my dojo was EIZO SHIMABUKURO, so I know a little about self defense.
Anyhoo, when we were finished, I helped them get in their pick-up and they left. I shoulda known that was the beginning of the end. She LIKED TO BE SOCIAL. That meant lotta people around Oohin' and Aahin' her big tits and custom Harley. EasyRiders biker rag had done a piece on her April 1974. She had been narcissistic enough!
Something else I've noticed: cokeheads shouldn't deal. She was a social head case.I'm just the opposite. I neither care for, or like, anyone, unless they are an M-14 Marine Vietnam Veteran, Native American, Birch Bark basket maker, Manoomin Gather'er, Corvette Owner, Famous Writer, my OFFSPRING an' theirs, horse, dog, mule. My Christmas Card list is only two and one's my twin!
I knew things were gonna get fucked up. Me and her started fightin' over the coke that evaporated. Hell, I like crank. It all started to come undone one nite. I did something I usually don't. Someone called me and said they wanted to pay up and for me to stop at this bar. The place was packed, mostly bikers, as I entered I got a few nods. The bouncer waved me in. I heard someone yell “over here!” As I got to the table, I recognized the three cokeheads. They figured they could fuck me up. Well they figured wrong. I learned through experience how to keep myself from getting beat on. There was no way I was gonna sit down with this bunch. As I turned to leave, I was hit from the rear with a sap. Down I went. They put the boots to me. I was on the sidewalk with a gash over my eye, one of the cokeheads screamin' he was gonna fuck me up!! Putting him down on the sidewalk hard, I bled into his face. I kept askin' him how he was gonna do that. I stomped his face, which shut him up.
I was pissed off at myself for breakin' my own rules of survival, the first one was going in the joint, the second one was I was alone, no backup. Now I didn't give a fuck, and I was gonna get even. I was crazy mad!!! It was stupid what I did next. That night my “Jiibay” Spirit Helpers all must have been there. I opened the door of the topper on my pick-up and pulled out a can of gasoline. Walking towards the door, the bouncer said I'm OUTA HERE!
Entering the bar, I yelled Happy Hour is over! I splashed gasoline around. They knew instantly what I was gonna do and emptied the joint in about 3 seconds flat! Fuck, no Zippo! I left driving slowly, I met a squad and firetruck. I expected to go to jail, but either no one knew me, no charges were ever filed…
We moved to St.Paul when the layoffs came in December. She got hired at one of the big defense plants and started fuckin' this Harley motor builder. They didn't last long. Did I mention, women I been with have a rough time in their future relationships!
One morning she called me and said she wanted to cook me breakfast. After breakfast, she said “I hear you're with a fuckin' Indian”. She smashed a platter over my head. I left. We were done!
Twenty years later I ran into her at an old biker's funeral. She apologized. After awhile she asked if I ever thought of her. I said no! You beat that out of me, I was now married... Told me how she had good medical insurance and had gone to Mayo [Clinic] where all the silicone was removed from her breasts, butt and face, leaving two large scars on her face. She claimed that now that that shit was gone she had become sane!!! She sold that custom Harley and bought a new Evolution! Good for you!!! Live to Ride, Ride to Live…
No comments:
Post a Comment