Wednesday, February 22, 2006

White Guy in Chocolate City


This haunting fear loomed over me as I entered the city of New Orleans. I had created this picture in my mind of a post apocalyptic Mad Max world of survival of the most creatively armed. Desperate men would be walking the streets capable of anything to survive in the ruins of a storm torn city. I was even more scared when I realized I had no idea where my friend’s place was and I’d have to make my way on my own. I dropped into the bar where the sign outside read, “You can’t kick the blues in a Vanilla City.”

A blue collar bar with friendly people that once they found out I was from out of town were very adamant about how the insurance companies screwed them. We shared sips from a bottle of Kentucky whiskey while I listened to the stories how FEMA and Allstate were a pack of shit eating cock suckers. I remembered that my host here in New Orleans, Russ Brown, had left a message with directions to his home so a bid my new friends good a good luck and off I went.

Russ was asleep in his chair as I barged in the door. I demanded he wake is lazy ass up and take me out to the local nightlife. My first thought as we walked into a local watering hole was, “Where are all the black people?” Russ informed me that this was the college side of town and that New Orleans was one of the most segregated cities in the country.

As we arrived back to my truck I saw Russ disappears as if he was sucked under my vehicle. I went to see if he was ok and fell in the same hole he did. Uncovered manholes are apparently pretty common in a city with no infrastructure. On our way home I came to an intersection without a stop sign or stop light and was in a collision with a local girl who fled the scene. The cop showed up two hours later and had no computer system and was reduced to writing the incident down on paper. There was over $5000 dollars damage to my truck and cannot be picked up until April due to the abundance of cars and the lack of help. What a mess. I now drive a rented Dodge Neon and consider myself a victim of Katrina. The medians are not maintained, blocks are still without power, but all of this is no new revelation to anyone who has a television. Still, this is why I came down here: To experience it for myself. Be careful of what you wish for and all that.


Aside from the accident, I loved my time in the Big Easy. The people were friendly, the women were beautiful, and the music was fantastic. I went to see Kermit Ruffins and his cavalcade of black entertainment. His entourage included a fierce tambourine player, a gospel style jazz singer, and dueling trumpets. I danced my cracker ass off.

If you read this modest little blog of mine you know that I’m a gambler. I hate that I did one of the most tourist-y things in the city, but I had to go to Harrah’s Casino. It had just opened the week of my arrival and I’m a sucker for the poker table. Again, there were interesting stories and fun people there. I ran into the second trumpet player at the Kermit show in the casino that next evening and he was wearing the same suit sipping on a spirit. “Great job last night man, you can play the hell out of that trumpet.” I told him. “Thanks man, where you from?” “Houston.” I replied. I had to look up since he towered over my 6”2’ frame. He leaned down, grabbed me on the arm, and whispered into my ear, “Everyone from here is there now. It’s crazy.” Then he walked on mysteriously.

Well, I can’t wait to get back in April when I pick up my car. Russ will be doing all the driving.

Friday, February 10, 2006

Artic Circle Nigga!!

When I am not sucking off truckers, according to Chad, I am sometimes called upon to travel to remote locations, and teach people to read. I call it reading, because, jesus christ, they have the tech bulletins! How hard can it be to set up a damn well. Plug and play people, plug and play.

Apparently, my time is worth about $900 a day. WTF, I was a stoned couch coaster not fucking 9 months ago. Not fucking 9 months. It feels weird to be respected, valued financially. Not to mention, I get to use my quirky mind for something other than banging away at America's finest young ladies.

So, its Alaska. Beyond any comprehension. I spend my time looking outside at the -35 degree weather. Snow covers all.

The scenery here is mesmerizing. I think I understand how Odysseus must have felt, as I feel the sirens call to go on a walkabout, to find out where the world ends.

BTW, there are no reputable medical programs in Austin. Certainly not at Brackenridge. Certainly not.

Cock sucka.

Live to love folks.

With some exceptions...

reeder aka "trucker cock master" out

Monday, February 06, 2006

Some Days....

Some fucking days, you find that you are miserable, your ex is dating a doctor and is totally happy, you have 6 projects going on, one of which is due today, and one which involves you flying to Alaska for a week, you can't pay for a traffic ticket because everyone works 10-2, you have a piss test you are scared shitless of, never have any time to workout, can't motivate yourself, and your ex is dating a fucking doctor.

And just when you thought you were doing fucking phenomenal.

It does make a mistake ridden idiot like myself analyze what the hell is going on in his world, and what the hell I want to do here before I become the ether.

Trucker cock indeed.