In the Navy.

Howdy folks, I was just looking through a box of old stuff my sister colocted and I found a snapshot of a rather tall and scrawny fellow. This knucklehead's wearing just some trousers and a dixiecup (sailor's cap) and leaning on a palm tree, grinnin' ear-to-ear. On the back is written:

"Hey Peg, Just sayin' howdy from Gulfport, Mississippi. Timmy."

Oh shucks, that brought a tear to my eye. This must of been when I first started ECS training, oh say 1982. Oh yes siree, I say started cuz I didn't smile once afterwards. Just to give you folks a pretty scary fact this is where I learned proficiancy with the ole M-16. You just remember that, Mr. John Sloss.
Ya see, at 17 my life was pretty messed up. Peggie had married Ken and she tried to help strighten me out but ole Ken said it wasn't her responsibilly. I was flunking out of senior year and was stoned more often than not but I was using less than the previous years. I managed to just get by the the last two years of high school, but I had put myself into a hole. I was going to hafta' repeat when a USMC recruiter came in to give us a talk. The principal told him about me and well they called my Sis and Ken and we had us a little sit down. I don't recall much but I got my H.S. diploma and had been signed on to a two year stint in Uncle Sam's Navy (the Gunny said I wasn't Marine material). Navy boot camp was hell and ship life wasn't much better (Peggie sez I shouldn't mention what ships and bases I was at). I snuck a sip of booze or beer at every oppertunity but going stone cold turkey on the hard drugs was rough. I spent a lot of time in the infirmary that first year. Also for some reason or 'nother people didn't like me. They would call me Rice Krispies and a game they soon had was to dunk my head in water and scream "Let's hear ya snap, crackle and pop!" Yeah, I got beat up a lot. One time when I was hauling up cargo I dropped the whole load and the Boatswain's mate told the other guys to lock me in an equiptment locker.
My life on ship came to an end when after showing an aptitude for electrical repairs I was transferred to the Construction Battalion, the ole Seabees, where I became a CE (construction electrician). I bounced around a lot until I was assigned as a lineman on a Marine base. The Marines used to beat on me pretty bad. After 3 years with the Navy I got a medical discharge when I broke my femur in a pretty nasty tangle with 4 drunken Marines. After which I ended up in Reno and looked up my Dad, but that as the good book sez is another story.

Construmus Batuimus! or just Can Do!

Hoo-rah! CE Timothy A. Kisper

Kids you don't want to end up like Andy Ackerman.

Back in the days of youth when Summers were always endless and future seemed to sparkle with vigor and luster, Andy Ackerman was king.
He was a few years our senior as a result of staying back twice and when we started sixth grade, he dropped out. That was like, wow! He was afraid of nobody and adults were afraid of him. When we were sucking on Tootsie Pops and drinking Pepsi, he was smokin' Kents and drinking Ballentine. Me and Andy had in common that both of our Dads were "killed in Viet Nam" this was a euphanism for our Dads being skirt chasers and us in effect bein' basterds. In retrospect I guess it seemed better that we gave these fellers some kind of heroes death rather than suffer the indignities that these bums got a woman pregnant and high tailed it. Back then, folks had standards not like today. Bein' a single Mom was a stigma, even worse if she were a drunk. So if some Commies killed my Dad folks could understand my Mom's drinking, nevermind he was really out in Reno having impropper relations with a dozen or more showgirls and prositutes. Anywhoes back to Andy Ackerman. This guy was brave, braver than brave. He'd hop the fence and wrestle with the O'malley's dog, the meanest dog in town. He stole gum from the pharmacy right under the pharmacist's nose. He talked back to teachers, cops, you name it. He even introduced me to smoking grass. We would have followed him anyware, he was our hero. All that changed one Fall day at Meatloaf Hill.
Meatloaf Hill was this tall eroded hill at one end of the woods, we called it that cuz the dirt was a reddish color and the little bits of green scrub that grew on it looked like Parsley sprinkled on top of meatloaf. Since all the sand and dirt had eroded away with the rain a bunch of big rocks and boulders had settled at the bottom of the hill. We always dared each other to ride our bikes down but no one ever did, even as kids we knew it was dangerous. But Andy Ackerman didn't care. He had just stolen a brand new Schwinn Stingray off some kid and was itching to push it to its limits. So we all sat on our rides (that what we called our bikes back then) at the top of ole Meatloaf Hill and cheered our hero on. He would be the first kid to achive the impossible. That cool autumn day life and the world seemed limitless. Andy chugged down a whole can of beer and took off down the hill and imediately ran into trouble. The sand was too soft and his bike couldn't find purchase (this was before the days of mountain bikes) he started to slide sideways and eager to impress us he showed no fear. Then he tumbled and lost the bike, two meteors falling to earth, Andy hit the rocks first and the noises were horrible, his labored grunting and bones cracking. Then the bike hit him, when the dust settled we could see his broken and twisted body lying on the rocks. Blood everywhere or red sand we couldn't tell. I've seen a lot of accidents in my days from my time in the Navy and the 21 years I spent as a lineman and a couple of tragic deaths but none of it had the impact on me that ole Andy Ackerman's ill fated ride did. Andy eventually recovered but he was never the same, we had lost our hero. We also learned that disappointment would play a big role in the future. Andy would sit on his front porch and drink, we saw less and less of him and it wasn't a big surprise when we found out he hung himself in the woods. Andy was 17 when he killed himself and my hero truly died. Sometimes when I lie awake at night I cry to myself and remember that day at Meatloaf Hill. Drugs and alcohol have erased all memory of my highschool graduation, senior prom and other pleasant events that I would like to remember but this seems like it was yesterday. Ken Jr. has an old bike in the garage so maybe later today I'll take a ride out to Meatloaf Hill and drink a toast to our old hero. I miss you, Andy.

Tim

Turnib Stone turns me into a loser.

Howdy,
This'll be a shorty folks as I'm pretty bushed. Ole Ken Sr. had his stupid football party today and I had to get out. First, I grabbed me some snacks he set up and I see a big ole banner hanging over there Fancy Nancy TV. Steelers? Ken Sr. is a Steelers fan? The Bills man show some hometown pride. Down in The City they can argue over the Jets and Giants 'till the cows come home, but up here in north country we have our Buffalo Bills. If your an Upstater, they are your team. Now I know you folks who aint from 'round here will say that the Bills had the murdering numbskull OJ. But hey, if he was once on your hometown team would you hate them? Steelers fan, Good Gravy Marie! Lord, I know it is wrong to hate others, but this feller is malkin' it too easy. C'mon Big Guy, can I have one for the Gipper?
Anywhoes, Big Sis gives me this free bus pass to Turning Stone with a coupon for35 buckeroos in chips. Now I aint a gambling man and those Injuns scare the Bejesus out of me but what the heck? I lost all of my $35 two minutes after I walked in and security guys kept bothering me. They said if I wasn't playing I'd have to leave, plus the bar was way too pricey. So I took me a free shuttle bus into Utica and mulled around some. Had a nice dinner and God's Honest Truth some really good beer. I don't care what they say 'bout you, Utica!
Just got home, Ken and some of his Bozzos're still yukking it up. I am so glad I burnt his comics. Sorry Lord, but I hope he gets hit but an Indian Casino bus.
Tired Tim

Howdy

Yuk, yuk folks ole Tim here again, I must say a special thanks to the Puppet Kid for all his replies as of late and to you other pranksters enough with the Ed Harris stuff. Well I was sneaking around down in the laundry room last night looking through the family's pockets for spare change ($7.46, a nice haul) and I overheard Big Sis and the ole bro-in-law talkin in bed (there room is right above the laundry room). Seems Ken Sr. is gonna have some big get together on Sunday to watch the Bills play. He sez he wants me out of the house on Sunday. I guess I embarrass him in front of his friends and relatives (hey I anit the one who's a cripple), but the Big Sis sticks up for me and tells him to invite me. Well, It's a courtesy invite but hey, I aint upset. Truth be told and beggin' the good Lord's forgiveness I don't particularly like the feller much. He's family so I put up with him and I get the gist the feelin's mutual. Ken Jr. and Sara, the same but they came outta my Big Sis so they're kin, but there dad's a hornweasle! So this morning ole Ken got's to go to Cosco and load up on supplies for the big sheebang. They got this ole handicapped van with a little elevator for his wheelchair, but he can't drive. Normally that's okeydoke cuz Peg or one of the kids does the driving, 'cept this time Peg and Ken Jr. are at work and Sara's in school. So Ken tells me to drive him, 'cept I don't have no license. State O' New York took care of that, permanatey revoked. I know he knows this and I try an' explain anyway but he tells me that even though his legs don't do nothing he still has an active NY driver's license and I would be proxy driving under his license as far as the law was concerned. I aint ever heard of this proxy driving but heck, I haven't drove in ages so I'm game. We get to the Cosco fine an' dandy, he sez he's proud that I'm sober, 'cept he don't know that I already had about 5 drinks so far. So anywho's we dod the shopping and after a bit I gotta use the john, so I tell Ken he sez okay so I go in an do my buisness snort a small bottle of Jack I had in my secret jacket pocket and when I come out ole Ken's gone! He just vanished, I check all the aisles I have him paged an' nothing! I look again, nothing. So I left but I don't want to get pinched for driving the van without a license so I walked down the road, I was gonna call Big Sis and tell I lost her crippled husband or maybe he was mugged and killed or kidnapped by aliens (Hey, Spork grab that one over there with wheels instead of legs), but she told me to NEVER (all caps means business) call her at work. So I was nervous so I went to the liquor store and the dounut shop and sat in the park and drank and ate donuts and wandered home when it got dark. The cripple van was in the driveway and Sara and her slutty friend Madison (John Sloss would like her, maybe you can spank her next week) are smoking on the breezeway and she sez you are otta here, #$%&! And they laugh at me. Ken's in there at the supper table and he just looks up what happened man? is all he sez. He was in the handicapped toilet and he fell and some dang kids cut the cripple helpper string alarm thing. Well I got to stay in the garage on Sunday, I'm not allowed in the house and I can't have any mozzerela sticks either even though he bought a big box of like 400 of them. Lord, forgive me but I hate that cripple Ken, Peg how come you couldn't marry someone cool who could walk?

Peace & love,
Tim