Uncleshag's Page

By dawn's light, Juan O'Bartles squeezed the trigger slowly and with firm determination sent the contents of the last shell flying down the long barrel and watched as the parasite's body quivered, spasmed for a moment then falling, lifeless and limp. Juan was thinking this thief and his brother paid a high price for the simple taste of cold chicken on a wintry night.

This was justice served with the feeling of satisfaction that comes from a deed well done and Juan lit his last Rocky Patel, the… Continue

Satan was spotted by two teenagers late Monday night while frog gigging along the banks of Turkey Creek near the head of Ford's Pond. Independent sightings by Deacon Jerry Ford and Aubrey Dankensock seemed to confirm the young men's tales reporting a "red being" with two horns, a tail and carrying a long pitchfork that glowed in the dark.

Aiken DuBose, professional frog gigger and auto mechanic down at Ford's Fork Ford spoke over a plate of steaming frogs legs and golden hush puppies, saying "T… Continue

Winter religion came easy thanks to the rigid seating provided by Southern Pine hewn and crafted pews. Long held beliefs were handed to the next generation rooted by the pure amber resin flowing deep in the molecular structures suspending the congregation above the cold plank flooring.
Gas space heaters were lit at sunrise on Sunday mornings by deacons of the church and thanked profusely by the gathering. The space heaters, three on each side of the church, heated the nearest pew causing resin t… Continue

Whoever wrote that they once had a friend but he chewed a hole in his cage and got away must have known my friend, Jeff.

I first watched Jeff begin to chew a hole, drunk, leaving a bar and angrily encountering his buddy, Marvin with a date on his arm that had stood him up the night before. Jeff sucker punched a pretty fair size hole in his escape plan that night.

Two weeks later arriving at a bar after closing to check out a sound system for the owner, I found Jeff passed out in his car, engin… Continue

Where would I be now if I had left her on the side of 1-95 in that swampy alligator infested stretch near Jacksonville with mosquitos the size of house flies? What about the time I had to leave her seven miles deep in the woods sitting on a stump at the edge of a ravine? How could I have ever made it this far without hearing her gentle purring in the early misty mornings with the FM station jamming to Skynard's Sweet Melissa? Why did I ever leave her? When did she cease to exist? She - a 1969 bu… Continue