To My Grandad “Buck” Godamn I miss your goddamn tales

Many have wondered where I get my style of writing and here it is.  First I don’t care how many books I sell I will never call myself a writer.  Homer was a writer I’m just a drunken sailor telling tales.  And that is it.  I’m from a long line of story telling, sailors, and bullshit artists.  Every holiday we get drunk tell embarrassing stories which me and Dad always had the most and we would laugh at each other in a very non judgmental way.  Everyone on earth is a fuck up and my family admitted it with pride.  We weren’t perfect and we were proud of it, because we always had each others back.  A family where the fish was always bigger then our arms and the waves always at least as tall as a house.  I grew up on the tales of my Father and Grandfather and when my Grandfather got Alzheimer I would hear them over and over again until he only had one tale left.  I will now tell his tale of Alaska as accurately as I can remember it.  And remember I have been hearing this story since I was a wee lad so if you ever meet me you may see why I curse so much.  We sail fuckers, and that god damn ocean can be an evil mistress or fantastic lover.

First rule of Oceans tales when you need another adjective use a curse word.  When using a noun be sure to put fucking before it.  When using any insult be sure to end it with dumb shit or mother fucker.  Refer to all boats as woman, and last have a drink in your hand while telling it. Funny enough the nurses would give Buck (no idea why he was called buck, I think its a horny thing, he was the greatest, kindest, funniest, goddamn dirty old man on earth) non alcoholic beer in a frosty mug and tell him it was real bear.  He was right old age ain’t for sissies.  So here is one of his tales.  To paint you a picture of him he look strikingly like john wayne and always wore tan work cloths.  He had one leg in the end due to diabetes and when ever you asked him how he was he would reply.  “I’m not worth a Goddamn, one god damn eye and god damn leg, but how are you grandson meet any pretty girls!”  In the funniest scratchy southern tone.  He was the last real American Cowboy and we burred him with his boots and oyster seed from our beloved bay.

To Buck see you at the end of the bar (raise your glass America this is a toast)

“Grandson did I ever tell you about when I was stationed in Alaska during the war?”  No Grandpa tell me about it…

Well during WW2 I was stationed in Alaska in coastal artillery. I was a Captain in charge of three coastal artillery pieces.  God Damn big guns that could hurl a 13 inch two ton shell twenty miles and Goddamn were they loud.  Why your Gradpa is deaf.  Well one blizzard I had to get coal to my men but the guns were in a sixty god damn mile line on the coast.  You could try a truck or dogs but I don’t trust those god damn dogs and the trucks just froze so I had this great god damn idea.  In the harbor we had some boats and being a waterman I stole one to get to my men and take them coal to last the blizzard.  You see Grandson before all this god damn new fangled technology we did things the hard way and I had to get coal to my men.  So I stole this boat and loaded it with coal with the plan to go down that rugged frozen god damn coast instead of driving a dog team or a truck.  Well I get only ten god damn miles down the coast and I notice the boat is slowly sinking into the god damn bering sea.  I wanted to turn back but I wasn’t sure how much god damn coal my boys had in there god damn frozen artillery bunkers and this may have been my only weather window.  God damn they could have frozen so I figured I could out run the sinking by unloading coal as fast as it is sinking.  Ten more miles and a few inches of water in the boat later and I was to the first gun.  My boys came a runnin and took a third of the coal lightening the sinking boat buying me more time.  I pushed on to the second gun another twenty miles down the coast.  Three hours and four more inches of water in my skiff later I got to the second gun.  My boys unloaded the coal lightening her in the water and they said “don’t try it Captain you will never make it in your sinking boat.”  I said she wont let me down and I was off.  Ten miles later and I was in trouble.  She was sinking fast and getting low in the rough seas.  The girl was fightin me.  Her bow was almost getting swamped and the god damn icy water was getting all over me.  She didn’t want to be out in that blizzard any more then I did.  You see before all your new fangled god damn technology we did things the hard way Grandson.  I had ten miles between me and the guns and my boys needed coal so I figured I may as well go for it instead of turning around.  The God damn weather was getting bad Grandson and the waves were swamping my girl.  I just barley got the skiff to the last gun and instead of tying her up at the dock I beached the god damn girl so the coal wouldn’t go down.  I’d been on the Bering god damn sea during a blizzard in an open skiff loaded with coal for almost ten hours.  Goddamn that boat was god damn slow.  My boys carried me into the artillery bunker and god damn was I cold.  They put me in a rack and handed me a tall glass and said drink up it will keep you warm.  Three swigs into this god damn drink and I realize its moonshine.  My god damn boys had taken there cans of fruit in there rations and were making god damn plum duff.  Well that stuff knocked me out and that’s all I remember grandson.  I woke up and the blizzard was over, but I never stole a boat from the maintenance dock again.

So that is where I get my tales America.  My family has been doing ridiculously stupid good deeds for generations.  When my Grandfather came back to our town he used his own money to buy an army fire truck and started the fire department.  That is where I’m from people they had no fire department 50 years ago.  He then became very successful, and a pillar in our community.  When he died over five hundred people showed up really no idea how many.  I was one of the first in the funeral procession and didn’t know the convoy stretched from the church all the way to the dead end on the road.  I got up to say a few words and for the first time noticed how many people were there.  The biggest church in the county with balcony was packed.  People were standing along the walls seated in the isle and ran right out the door where more people who couldn’t fit stood outside.  The entire fire department was there with all there trucks, his military buddies and god only knows how many of his friends had already died.  I was so proud to be his grandson at that funeral because I saw how many lives this simple county boy had touched.  Touch someone today America.  Then have dirty, hard, mind blowing, sex.  Wear condoms.

Hope you enjoyed another rough draft and the book is in the editors hands and off to the publisher Sunday so God willing you guys can read my tales by the end of the month available for sale online.  Five bonus chapters only available in the book.   First the print will be for sale 14 bucks (200 pgs 41,000 words baby yeah) then I will do all the paper work of kindle and all that other new fangled technology.  Buy my book America and maybe a real publisher will pick me up.  Buy enough and I will write you another one.  Peace out America, never give an inch and long live the writers.


15 thoughts on “To My Grandad “Buck” Godamn I miss your goddamn tales

  1. Alzheimer’s…such a pity to be robbed like that! So it is wonderful that you were able to share while you were able to and while he could still tell those stories. Good luck on the book. I enjoyed the post very much!

  2. You seem to be a fascinating person; I read your page “My Life”, too.

    I hope you are now a gentleman, and drug-free. If you aren’t, that’s okay, too… I don’t judge. I only want what’s best for you.

    Thanks for following my poetry blog, by the way. I appreciate it. 🙂

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