Thursday, June 19, 2008
Fishing With Uncle Bob Part VI by jihadgene
Hello readers! Please go read "Fishing With Uncle Bob" Parts I through V before you EVEN read this post for the full bodied flavor of my mostly-true story. Here's where we left off in the year of our Slum Lord, 1966. It was early summer and...
Well, my Uncle Bob (The Beer-Imbibing-Commodore) beached his 16' fiberglass boat... the used-to-be... light blue over white colored, now mud splattered, 4 seater, with the once powerful 60HP Evinrude outboard motor, capable of such speeds that it was considered classified information.
Yes we were in Suisun Slough, California USA, and in a fantastic flurry of TULIES (reeds), SLIME, and FEATHERS, we were stuck in the muck. After all the laughter (because we survived) we now began to push the boat about 100 yards to the water. Uncle Bob and my Dad polished off another Miller High Life, took a leak, then...we were ready. One. Two. THREE...PUSH! Wow! It was actually working! The boat slid pretty easily in/on top of this slime. The draw back was that the harder you pushed the deeper you went into the muck. But we were doing good. After an hour or more we were close to the water where the muck meets the water...you know? Like where "the rubber meets the road". Now we are about three "tough" yards from the water, the muck is so runny, we are all "neck-deep" in this brownish slime. You could actually paddle across it. I did. That's when the now "Admiral Uncle Bob" (who was apparently sobering up) yelled at me, "Knock that shit off, boy"! I obeyed, but I knew his weakness. I said, "Want another SODIE , Uncle Bob? The beer is still ice cold". Uncle Bob graciously replied, "I thought you'd never ask". I crawled into the boat. Yeah, I was totally messing up the boat's (what was once white) interior, but I had no choice... seeing as how this fishing trip in Hell demanded that I keep Uncle Bob at-least somewhat "plastered". Uncle Bob understood...he didn't say shit. I gave my Dad a beer too! Dad thanked me with a tired and sweaty WWII Marine Corps kinda grin. I looked at my brother Joe-Bob...he was smiling that million dollar patented nervous smile. While the men drank Miller's, Joe and I had Dr Pepper's, it was kinda nice...well except for all the boats going by, honkin'-and-blarin'their horns, pointing and laughing at our stupid asses! Kinda humiliating, all right, I'd say. But it wouldn't be the first time, nor my last. A drunk rich guy (a rich Uncle Bob) in a big cabin cruiser took pity on us, threw us a line, and towed us outta the strangle-hold of the Suisun Slime. Uncle Bob thanked the rich man and told him..."I can only offer you THE CHAMPAIGN OF BOTTLED BEERS". The rich Uncle Bob laughed and accepted. Once Uncle Bob fired-up the mightily-abused 60HP (now puttin out about 2 and 1/2 HP) Evinrude the rich man was on his way. We slowly chugg-chugged our way back to the Suisun City Boat Ramp. (To be humiliatingly CONTINUED)