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Pastimes : FLAME THREAD - Post all obnoxious/derogatory comments here -- Ignore unavailable to you. Want to Upgrade?

To: Rainy_Day_Woman who wrote (6347)	12/5/1998 9:52:00 PM
From: Druss	Respond to of 12754

Growing up in the South. I have mentioned some of the things I did while living in Texas. In retrospect I kind of have to admit that I might have been a little on the wild side, what with gigging water moccousins and all. Still all in all not all of my Southern adventures were self inflicted. A lot of them just happened to me. I also found that the deeper into the South one goes the more they happen. My father did a lot of competitive pistol shooting when I was young and we went with him sometimes when he went to matches. We knew some people in Shreveport, Louisiana so when he got a match there the whole family went. I was around 13 or so and when we got out there, I went out in the neighborhood and promptly had to fight a kid about my age. This was kind of the youth Welcome Wagon. When it was discovered I was perfectly willing to trade some punches, I was friends with him and his buddies. They guided me into a little mischief but the key thing they did was take me roaming over a large area. During this I spotted a great looking fishing spot on a slough. I borrowed some fishing gear later and headed there alone. I hadn't been there very long when a man walked up to me. I still remember how he looked. He was the obvious product of intense inbreeding, with considerable evolutionary selection for thick skulls. This head was set on a body that looked like a sack of potatoes with arms. This worthy looked me over and said "What are you doing here boy?" I thought the answer to that was pretty obvious but I wasn't sure much was obvious to this fellow so I said,"Fishing." "Well Hell, I cain see you is fishing, I want to know what you is doing here." This was just a little puzzling but I launched into a kind of long explanation that I was with my folks visiting as my Dad was at a pistol match. I was just trying the fishing and didn't mean any harm. Talking about guns was the way to his redneck heart. He warmed immediately. Still he had one more question for me. "You sound Yankee, boy, where you from? Even at that age I knew better than admit to such a criminal background. "I live in Texas." "OK, well listen boy, you ain't going to catch any fish here. You see that bend in the slough up there. That's where you wants to be. Now that's my neighbors land, but don't pay that no mind. You jest tell him that Jake Barlow told you could fish there and that while he is wasting his time talking to you I'm a ****ing his wife." The fishing was pretty good at the spot Jake sent me to, and I liked sort of having permission to fish there. However there was no chance if I met Jake's neighbor he was going to find out I even knew he had a wife. On my way home I met a black kid about my age named Dave. He spotted the fish I had and my fishing gear. By the time we got to our friends house we had decided to go fishing the next day at a place he knew. The only glitch was it was Sunday and he had to go to church first. So to speed things up I agreed to go to church with him and then we could go directly to the fishing hole.

To: Rainy_Day_Woman who wrote (6347)	12/5/1998 10:32:00 PM
From: Druss	Read Replies (2) \| Respond to of 12754

Growing up in the South. Going to church. I met my friend Dave the next day early and we just walked the half mile or so to his church. At that point things began to become a little unusual for me. The church was a huge tent. There were poles supporting the tent and benches set in rows underneath it. I was not to be found regularly at a church, but I was aware that the normal protocol for kids my age was the adults would glare at you and hope you were old enough and disciplined enough not to fidget too damned much or worse cause any sort of disturbance. You were only welcome in the sense they hoped this would drive out some of the devil incorporated in you. This was quite different, everyone was coming up and saying "Welcome Brother, God Bless" and that sort of stuff. I however barely noticed that because I was busy trying to see if I could spot another white face. I couldn't. I looked like a snowball in a coal field. I was a little nervous when I sat down but I kept telling myself this is a church and everyone here seems to be friendly, just sit it out and then go fishing. I was however in for something a little different than 'turn your hymn book to page 42 please.' If you have never been to a Southern black church, they like to get loose, they like to let loose, and they like to feel the Spirit. After about 45 minutes they were rolling in fine form. The preacher was screaming, he had tears streaming down his face. The congregation was yelling 'Amen' pretty much at random and people were flopping on the floor convulsing and babbling. I will never forget one girl about 16 years old holding on to a tent post howling like a love sick coon dog and swinging her head with her long black hair swirling around. The Spirit was in me too, in a big way, I was praying with all my heart to be turned black or at least get out of there alive. I figured sooner or later it was going to be time to sacrifice the white kid. My friend Dave was no reassurance when he began shuddering and stood up on our bench and kept yelling 'Amen' over and over. After about an hour and a half of this things calmed right down and they sang a few songs and church was let out. Then it was handshakes and 'Do come back, Bless you brother and Will we see you soon?' [That would be the day.] For a day planned around fishing I can't say I remember how we did.