The Razz

Why I recollect it like it was yesterday...

"YEEEEEEE!!!" screeched the fleshy lady what went by with her raftin’ group on their way down the loading ramp to the river. "IT’S THE WORK OF DEVILWORSHIPERS!!! Well, really all it was was that prankster Timbo had spray-painted a road-kill possum in day glow orange (did’n I tell you’uns about that oncet?) and stuffed it in my kayak whilst I run shuttle an’ she saw it when I yanked it out an’ throwed it over in the trash can. But when she looked over at our chum Razz a standin’ there barefooted with his dreds all a hangin’ down and them kel-tick tatoos ‘round his arms she went "YEEEEEEE!!!" again, like he was one o’ them what she had jest said, an’ then she skedaddled on down the ramp way ahead o’ her group.

Poor ol’ Razz; always misunderstood. All he wants is a nice river wave to play on; he don’t need much. But he’s always catchin’ the dickens, I’m here to tell ye, seems like everwhere he goes! Must be somthin’ to do with his looks plus he wanders ‘round with his boat on top o’ that ‘76 Toyota wagon with 300,000 on it what he lives in some of the time an’ keeps his plunder in, ‘specially when he’s on the road a searchin’ for that next nice river wave. And them Phish stickers probably don’t help ‘em much neither. Now ol’ Razz’s as fine a feller as ye’ll meet--a tree-huggin, salat-eatin, gravity water drinkin’ free spirit what don’t partake into his lungs nothin’ but the pure mountain air (‘ceptin’ those times when he gets stuck behind a loggin’ truck while drivin’). He don’t bother no one... but LordGodAlmighty some of the encountertales with authrortative folk what he tells is enough to scare ol’ Goob here, what ain’t scared o’ nothin’ much... an’ right here in the good ol’ US of A, too! Shipsafire! It ain’t right! Why he was jest a tellin’ us about what happened to him last week up where he was a campin’ at (tho we all got a chuckle out o’ this one). Seems he was a mindin’ his own when some of the local constables come up an’ put out a darkstar bitch-dog on his campsite. Then that dog up’an went up to ol’ Razz and shoved muzzle right stout-like up in his private parts and then commenced to hunchhump his leg like a honkey-tonk slattern at closin’ time! "WE GOT US A HIT HERE!" hollered out one of them constables, what caused two more of ‘em to come a runnin’ up, including a lady one what lagged behind in her comin’ up to where the conflageration was a takin’ place. Well, by the time she got there them othern’s what was doin’ the searchin’ done’en had ol’ Razz down to his unmentionables and then he shucked them off an’ bent over ‘bout the time that lady constable come up over the rise and she come face to face with ol’ Razz’s harvestmoon nates, an’ not paying attention to her footin’ tripped over a tree-root an’ cracked her head on a rock an’ blood was a runnin’ all over her face an’ them other constables jest plumb fergot all about Razz, bein’ naturally more concerned about their ilk at the time (which is good, mind you). Anyways, they finally left ol’ Razz alone, jest a standin’ there in the same garb he had on the day he was graced upon this good earth...

He allowed that the one what wuz handlin’ the dog jerked right hard on the leash a couple o’ times as they left....

Boy oh boy.

Ol’ Razz says them constables sometimes even put the spy-glass on him whenever he takes a little rest-nap among the trees an’ the chirpin’ birds on the far side of the river, where it’s quiet. They lawd....

Well, we’uns here at The Shed ‘ud like to say: have a good, safe 4th of July--Independence Day, ye know!

An’ stop by! You’uns know where... at the intersection of Hwy 64 and Imagination.

Goober

Return to previous page