FUCK the Fucking Prudes. I mean that in the best way possible.

As long as we are talking about bands with girls in them, anyone remember... Tall Tale? Or that very short-lived ensemble featuring Liz Turbull? Lilliput Langstrum or something equally impossible to remember (it was a Willy Wonka reference, no?). They did a cover of a GnR song which won my eternal approval. Liz was surprisingly good -- and not just in that way that you say someone is good at something that you don't expect them to do (like if Dick Cheney took up pet portraiture) -- but in the way of measuring up to anyone else. They were really good.

Here's something....
Watching the Sopranos last week I was reminded of my all-time favorite John Smith story. There was a yarn in the episode where AJ (the Soprano son) goes to his super-rich girlfriend's house and he and his friend are marveling at the Picasso paintings and other priceless possessions when the friend pulls out a Rubber Soul record and says, "this must be worth a fortune!" I laughed to the point of snot because...

John used to have one of those Rubber Soul records in his collection. When we lived on the corner of Roan and Watauga we used his stereo to listen to records in the attic (birdpoop, shit howdy). He hated that. To know John is to know and love his streak of anal retentiveness. Given this trait, imagine how antsy he could get thinking people were messing around in his record collection and likely breaking things. Antsy he was, and not without reason. Donnie and I had previously fried his speakers goofing around, trying to scratch. Whoops.

So, it's one of the *first few times* John doses and he's shooing everyone away from the his turntable and record collection. Paranoid, maybe. But I was wanting to play Fear of a Black Planet for the bazillionth time and that required using his stereo and being in close proximity to his record collection. He was having none of it. He locked the stereo room, and the music situation was easily forgotten moments later.

The next thing we know, Public Enemy is blaring out of the speakers and John is coming up the stairs with a handful of black record shards. It was his Rubber Soul. In a moment of clarity, John made this meaningful (albeit weird) sacrifice (Jeff Gold would be proud).

And THAT was all the proof I needed to affirm my suspicion that drugs (along with exercise and eating right) make you a better person.

I attempted to post this at work today...and thought that I could but it didn't work
So now I'll give it a try at home (thanks anyway, Brook!)

HI Everyone!
Okay, I’ve been lurking long enough and for some reason
the publish button is actually showing up today (my
Netscape at work usually doesn’t agree with the Blog). My
memories are VERY VERY spotty- mostly due to 1986-1989. A
while back I wanted to log on with a handfull of catty
comments about the Fucking Prudes - decided that was just
too expected and girl-ish of me. I also just HATE to be
negative so I’ll say this about them- for a talentless
group of tasteless wanna-bes they really weren’t Too
terrible. Plus - I don’t think they really took their drinking
seriously and I just could not respect that!

I remember the cock in sock night- Donnie Poole and I
drove Kurt and John Hicks around. I remember we went to
Rosalie and Sandra’s apt on Maple. I think that John or
Kurt had a thing for Sandra because she seemed uptight and
virginal. I don’t remember if we made any other stops. I
do remember driving past Jay Sweeny’s Used Auto Lot and
Kurt deciding that “Jay Sweeny” would be a new term for
his stuff. As in “I’ve got my Jay Sweeny in a sock”
Now there's a phrase that really caught on!

I also barely remember the HRR. I do remember my ear being
pierced. I think I remember early dawn hours and being in
some sort of house with no window panes and some farm animals
hanging around. (looking IN the windows) As I write this I’m thinking I might be
WAY off base. I think that I donated all of this terribly
disgusting greasy ground beef. For some reason my parents
had gone in with someone on a half a cow and it was low
low low quality beef. It was so greasy that when you were
finished patting out burgers your hands looked like they
were dipped in vaseline.

This is all that is on my mind at the moment. I cannot be
held accountable for any misinformation. I love reading
everyone’s stories! More later!

Spam and folks.
We're you riding in the car when Hicks and I gave rosalie the cock sock treatment? She was a really good sport about it. I also had my first acid trip with Rosalie, when Brooke secretly but two hits in the pitcher of beer she and I were drinking at a Webb Wilder show. Luckily Donnie was around to reorient me from time to time.

$170,000 dollars in ten days. I think that is a WETS record.

Best highlight - During one of our challenge hours a man calls in and offers a free massage to the highest pledger for the hour. A young woman, who had volunteered to be on-air and talk about why she likes WETS, asked Wayne if this was a professional masseuse. Wayne said, "Nah. It's probably just some guy that hangs out at the bus station." Man, we fell about the place.

After some discussion at Quarterback's the first Hindu rib roast was officially dubbed the Indo-Tibetan Rib Roast and Pool Party (thanks largely to Bill). I seem to remember the first one as being larger than other's recall - I believe, all told, at least a hundred people were there if counted throughout the afternoon and night. Someone actually showed up dressed in a sheet fashioned as some kind of toga, thinking it was a costume party. He became a kind-of hero. Does anyone remember who that was? Over-all I have only vague memories spanning some three or four rib roasts:

Some guy leading several women armed with baseball bats, tennis rackets and various other bludgeoning instruments into the woods above The Farm on a snipe hunt. Wait... That was me.

And then there was the guy that got a bunch of us to pee on Doug and CC's tent early one morning, hollering about a monsoon. Wait... That was me.

And of course there was the time that guy threw a live chicken into Ralph and Vickie's tent while they were screwing. Oh wait....

Let's get the Wade Jayney story straight. We were desperate. The keg had run out WAY too soon. Wade, who didn't like me very much (even though he and I once teamed up to stop a giant black guy from killing Mary Beth with a flaming log [even though, at times, I felt like killing Mary Beth with a flaming log]) offered to buy a case of beer from the nearby VFW if he could push me into the pool. Unfortunately I didn't notice it was the SHALLOW end of the pool and gashed my head. Wade apologized later that night and I told him to forget it, it was an accident, and besides a deals a deal. That party was the last place he was seen alive. He was killed the next morning in a bad drug deal. As an epitaph I offered the following:

Wade Jaynee got shot, chopped up, stuffed in the back of an MG, set on fire and pushed off a cliff.
And all I got was this lousy T-shirt.

For those of you who don't think that's funny, I'll bet you Wade does.

Once, back in the day, I was asked to help judge a battle-of-the-bands style competition at the Highlander. Why I was asked I have no idea....possibly because of the Turnip folks thought I knew something about music. Fools! I remember the other judges being Doug the sound guy, Todd the UNbelievably sleazy proprietor, and some guy from the Dusters. No, I don't remember his name, but he was fat and I think he played bass. The prize was 100$ and all the crank you could snort, or something...anyhow, the final vote came down to some unremembered (but actually pretty good) punkabilly group and, you guessed it, the Fucking Prudes. We were split 50/50, Todd and I going for the prudes and Doug and fat blues dude going the other way. Whilst I thought that the prudes were one of the most original things I had seen, the dissenting opinion was that they were nothing but a bunch of drunken college girls, and not really worthy of the "opportunity", while the other band had actual talent, and deserved the money. Prudes, I fought for you all the way, but the tide turned against me, and now I'd be willing to bet NO ONE can remember the name of the other band...and this from the guy who said Stinky Finger would never be popular. Maybe my magic 8-ball is on the fritz...

SPAMS QUICK HITS
Elizabeth: Sorry, wrong......but LOL2002!!!!

Donnie Poole will NEVER return anything he borrows from you. Ever.

Brian Relleva really is one heck of a nice guy.

Did Heather Barry EVER learn to walk properly in heels?

MEGAPLEZ ALL UP IN DA HIZZOUSE!!! Dont know why, just felt like writing that. I hear he thinks I'm an asshole. Moi, Scott?

Should I tell you about when Kurt Hagardorn and Johnny Hicks, after listening to WAAAY too much Red Hot Chili Peppers, showed upon Rosalies' doorstep wearing nothing but smiles and socks on their...my GOODNESS look at the time. SPOON!

turns out Bill was right that Seamus Heaney wrote a modernized version of Beowulf, though John Gardner did too. so----sorry Bill. and I know everyone else has just been torn to pieces over the modern Beowulf who-wrote-it question too, so I'm sure you'll all rest easier now. I love reading everyone's stuff---a nice change while working at a newspaper. Want to hear your Highlander story James---the longer the better.

Brook.....try the Preds...they look a bit better this year

Scott...I remember that show. The Prudes played and were put in Outlaw Biker. It was a stange event to say the least. Bikes everywhere. As I remember I worked the show and everyone was very nice. The Highlander brings back many memories. The night Ted whipped up on those boys I used to go to school with was absolute insanity. It's a long story so I'll only tell it if someone asks. Wow....the Highlander...still have my t-shirt and many many stories.

Kurt.....so damn good to hear from ya bro. Please blog on sir.

Here's my scary UFO story (although that seems to have gone by the wayside).

At some point in 199x a group of UFO watcher's in Pensacola, FL had gained some national notoriety. We decided it was necessary to track these people down so I with Roland Tester, Lana Goodwin, Rick Milhorn, Marsha Milhorn and Don Ellerson (Ellison?) rented a van and headed for the Gulf of Mexico. We loaded out at Dogwood Heights Apartments where Lana was the live-in manager. During the loading Lana handed me some kind of anti-bug lantern shaped like a hideous psychedelic mushroom. It was like something from a Smurfs cartoon and I refused to have anything to do with it, which prompted Lana to burst into tears. Finally loaded, we piled into the van and managed to settle her down as we headed out just after midnight on Friday morning. Lana predicted she would probably be in the same condition coming back in.

The drive down was bright with stars, but as we pulled into the campground on a very nice Gulf inlet a light drizzle had set in. No matter. We went to a local shopping center and purchased a huge plastic cover-all that we hung from the trees as a giant lean-to. We spent the next few days doing our best to have a good time while the weather grew steadily worse. We also asked the locals if they knew anything of this UFO group, but it wasn't easy to find details. As one weather beater we decided to go to a space, air and sea museum at Corey Naval Air Station where I attended Signal Intelligence school in the late 70's. It wasn't until we were about fourth in line at the sentry gate that it occurred to us we were packing a cooler full of Bud, a half-once of pot, two body bags and a .38 revolver. On top of this the driver, Rick, announced that he did not have his license with him. And yes, they were checking. As the sentry bent down to look at a license being held up from a small import, Rick & Marsha quickly switched seats without him noticing. May have saved us a little embarrassment.

On our last day the weather let up just enough to spend some time on the beach. No sun, but a lot less rain. Late in the afternoon we noticed an oblong white object floating in from several hundred yards out. It had the same shape as a refrigerator. Roland thought it may be Cubans trying to immigrate. He decided to swim out and welcome him/her/them to America. The box was also drifting down the beach as well as toward it. Roland was constantly having to adjust to this and ultimately followed the box onto the beach. The rest of us just walked to it. It was a refrigerator, but there were no Cubans. Later that afternoon we finally found someone who knew where the UFO watchers would be. We were ecstatic.

That night we found the park (I forget the name) where they gathered. It was a picnic park. It was also directly across the bay from the Naval Air Station. Duh. What we discovered were mostly seniors (fifty+) stoking up on vodka tonics and seeing UFO's in every blinking light that flew across the bay. They were watched over by a HUGE poodle dog. I'm not kidding when I say the thing was three feet tall at the head. It stood on top of a picnic table as though surveying its minions. Somewhere around this time it all caught up to me: the rain, lack of sleep, the pot, the beer, the pint of whiskey I was drinking, the huge poodle dog, and I crashed in the van as some geezers were pointing into the air oo-ing and ah-ing at what was obviously a plane.

The next thing I recall is being back under our lean-to in a full blown gale. I looked around and could see that everyone was trying to weather the storm as best they could. There was a brilliant flash of lightning with a thunderclap that I could feel in my teeth. Before the rumble died down Lana had popped out of her sleeping bag and was in the van in two great leaps. I quickly followed, the wind and rain howling, and woke the next morning to the snoring of all the crew crammed into the van. We showered, gathered everything in and were on the road late that morning just as the gale subsided. We headed to the highway, pointing our van north, and I couldn't help but cry out "WE'RE ALIVE... ALI-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-VE!". Not twenty minutes later we seemed to clear the doom and gloom. The clouds parted and the drive home was full of blue sky and calm.

Not long after crossing the border into Georgia a large owl swooped down in front of the van, its great wings momentarily filling the windshield before it flew up and over. At first we were enchanted, then someone brought up the linkage between owls and death. In a south GA town we came upon an accident scene. An old man had been hit by a car. His head was slammed onto the curb. There was blood all over. Somewhere in middle GA we came across a train-car wreck. Two large black women, who appeared to have just arrived, were wailing and crying out. The car that was hit looked like an accordion.

In north GA Lana saw a sign pointing the way to Hank Williams' home and wanted to go there. Roland offered an alternative plan: to see the giant chicken on top of a drive-thru chicken joint somewhere near Atlanta. Of course the chicken won out, which put Lana in a hurt mood. Just as she predicted we arrived home with her crying and complaining, saying something about Tony [Black] treating her a lot better than all of us.

Regarding the Toys for Tots show...you forgot the Marine, present in uniform, who was very vocal is his distaste for all the "long hairs" in the establishment. Also, do you remember the older gentleman with the toboggan? He would sit down at a table with his beer and shout (at seemingly random intervals) "Tell 'em what Mary said!" The broken beer bottles in the men's toilet was a lovely sight to behold.

Plez here. I have gone back and read the last 50 posts to the J.C. blog. I hadn't thought about the Prudes in a long time. I wish they were still around. I remember one night when they sang at the Highlander, and Doug the sound man just kept bugging them by asking lurid questions from his soundboard mic. They sang "Iko Iko," I remember. No offense to anyone else, but they may have been the most legitimately sellable thing ever to come from this place.

Now that I've brought Doug's name up. I heard a rumor recently that he has on tape EVERY show from Highlander. That would include a couple of Southern Culture shows, the Georgia Satellites, and of course all of the local people.

No one has told this Highlander story. In December of 1988, they held one of those toys for tots benefit shows there. It was a very strange combination because first, you've got all the biker guys and their women. Then, add to that the fact that these Harley guys are walking in with Barbie dolls and what not to add to the donations. Then, because it was the Highlander, the acts were like, you know, us and our types, so there was a mix of the bikers and the regular crowd, too. As with all of these stories, it doesn't sound like much now that I write it down, but in my memory, that was a pretty strange event. Good strange, like the flavor of some Indian foods, though.

Ok, that's my post. Haven't done this in a while, don't know if I will soon, but I love the Blog, I really do. That message should be clear.

Spam, that story is one of my favorite introduction tales. My favorite is when the future Mrs. Ric Milhorn met Frankie for the first time. Before he could say anything she looked him square in the eye and shouted "SHUT THE FUCK UP FRANKIE!!"
Truer words are rarely ever spoken.

Back in the day....as I pulled my 76 Ford Maverick (COMPLETE with 8-track player...who's yer daddy?) into its usual berth in front of everybodys favorite watering hole, QB's, who should I spy with my little bloodshot eye but my friend Franky, Mr. Sensitive himself, chatting up some young ladies in an adjacent car. He was leaning over their window wearing his fiercest "I am so cool... I am James Dean I am..." attitude. (100 points and a cookie to anyone who can correctly identify that reference.) With my usual grace and sophistication, I began to think to myself "Hot Damn!! Gurls!!"(Yes, I was quite contemplative in my youth.) So I ask Frank to introduce me to his new friends. In his customary (not to mention patented) sensitive manner he replied "I dunno. Some new girls from California or Florida or somewhere." Intrigued by the prospect of out-of-town girls (who might as yet be uninformed of my general piglike manner and thus, dare I think it, actually DATE me), I leaned out my window to have a closer look. I have an impresssion of one of the girls jumping from her passenger seat, most literally leapfrogging the hood of my vehicle, and all of a sudden there she was, this girl in a leopard-print bikini from California or Florida or the fucking moon for all I knew, right there, in my car! I was utterly speechless (an occurrence rare in the extreme). "Hi!" she bubbled, all impish smile and bobbing kewpie curls and cute little upturned nose. "I'm BROOK. Do you have any POT?"
Turns out I didn't. My luck.

Same here. My mom always loved the "straighter" looking guys I hung out with, who were always more deceptive and "unseemly" than my hippie-type friends. But I could never get her to see that. Weird. Seems like parents are so quick to assume that teenagers/young adults are totally illogical.

julie's mom's harsh assessment of the rough and tumble young hagardorn reminds me of the first time the JC crew came to my house to pick me up during a college break. i think it was donnie, martin and john (memory hazy, maybe the blev), my uncle (and official parental gaurdian) took me aside to warn me about these unseemly characters. drug-dealers! neer-do-wells! for god sake they are wearing Black Leather Jackets! so funny b/c at that time, they were pretty much, what's the word... straight. strangely, maddeningly straight! whereas my kingsport buddies (decidedly more "collegiate" dressers) were true trouble-makers! he was so off the mark, but how do you say to your guardian that THESE guys are a-okay, it's everyone else you should have been worrying about. oh, i can't wait to be a parent one day!

james -- it gets worse every week. i'm going to have to start following a different sport. what's it gonna be? nascar? frisbee golf? long-distance yodeling?

Kurt: I remember the eight-track stereo in your car well. And you weren't the only man my mother has given the "fish eye" too. She is ruthless, uncompromising, in her "principles"---has always been. As I get older, I worry I'm becoming more like her. I told her not long ago what you do for a living now (aren't you a critical care nurse at Duke hospital?). Mom was a nurse for over 30 years, so she was very impressed with that info and made a comment about possibly misjudging you. In those days, she was suspicious about every move I made, and, at times, with good reason----not, however, concerning you :). Hope all is well.
I'll have to tune in to Electric Middle Earth Saturday on ETS. Sounds like a good show. Am going to see Scott Miller and the Commonwealth at Down Home that night.

Kurt, thanks for the kind words about "mother loves me anyway" that too was one of my favorites but difficult to play. I four tracked your version and played all the instruments on it. Electric Middle Earth will be doing that one live on the Studio One Radio program this Sat.Oct.12 @1:00 live. Mike says hi too! I will be sidelined for a few months with shoulder surgery in a few weeks and we are looking for a temporary drummer or bassist so we can continue playing out. I play the drum/bass and sing for those of you who haven't seen us. Jason also can drum/bass equally well, so we have to decide if we need a drummer or bassist.

Hi everyone,
Kurt here, former long hair and guitarist for Brian and the Nightmares. I noticed Juile in her first post mentioned that when the band formed she and I were dating. An amusing side story, Juile's mom did not like the looks of me. I remember well driving up to Julies House in the summer of '85, a Black Sabbath 8 track (yes, 8 track) in the stereo of my redneck muscle-mobile, and getting the fish eye from Mrs. Fann.
Someone told me later Mrs. Fann's assessment of me was as follows: "Pasty-faced, long hair, probably on drugs."
I also saw Doug Hilliard posting. My first memory of Doug and Electric Middle Earth is when Mike,
Doug's brother, played me a song of Dougs called "mother loves me anyway" I fell in love with that song, it's so dreamy. I still have a copy of it, if anybody cares to hear it, I'm always open to making a mix tape for my old friends.
Love,
Kurt

Actually, John Gardner wrote the modernized version of "Beowulf" titled "Grendel"---the story is told from the point of view of the monster.

Don't mean to turn this into a literary forum. I was waiting on more Hindu Rib Roast tales from fellow blogmen and blogwomen. Where are they?

Isn't Seamus Heaney the guy that wrote the modernized version of "Beowolf"?

And is it a coincidence that the first words spoken by Sean Connery in the role of James Bond were to a Bond girl named "Plenty O'Toole" ("Named after your father perhaps")?

And didn't Andy Boy do a song called "James Bond" in which the singer confesses his sexual attraction for James Bond?

Further, we should note that Sean Connery also made a movie called "Outland"

Berkely Breathed changed the name of his comic strip from "Bloom County" to "Outland"

Andy Boy once changed it's name to "The Acid Cows" and;

The Acid Cows used one of the Characters from Bloom County in one of thier posters ("Go see the Acid Cows, It's real fun")

I suppose we are to beleive that this is all coincidental, or heat lightening, or swamp gas, but it should be becoming clear that....well I'm not actually sure what it all means, but it means something that I'm sure the government does not want us to know!!

Until next time, don't forget to drink only pure rain water!

Seamus. What a name. Sounds awfully similar to semen. Clinton must know this. Or maybe he's an O'Toole fan, or a follower of the Nobel prize-winning Irish poet, Seamus Heaney. I doubt it. I once had a Chia (or is it Chea, or Schiea?) pet named Seamus. It died.

Peter O'Toole.....if it's not an assumed name it should be. I'm sure a porn star would have used it if Mr. O'Toole hadn't made it big. lol. On another note...I was watching Boomeraction on cartoon netwerk the other night. Anyway...they play te old Hanna Barbera stuff from the seventies like Johnny Quest, Space Ghost and the Herculoids. On this night the Herculoids were fighting an evil guy named "Faelac" who's hover ship looked a lot like a ....well, you can guess. The only way to stop him was to destroy the helmet of power he wore...which was crowned with an antenna that looked much like......his ship. I laughed as hard as the art director for that episode must have laughed the morning it aired. MARK!!!! What's up! Good to hear from you. Oh, Brook...I read your entry about the Titans and had to make sure of the date you posted.....they look worse than a two dollar New Orleans whore.

I sincerely wish I could help Spam, but as of this time I can only confirm that I was in on the planning of the first 3 or 4, I think 3 were held at Dr. Spangler's farm, and the last was a road trip to New Orleans. I made the BBQ sauce, though Roland and Tony usually cooked the ribs. At the first one I played Ralph to a draw in Trivial Pursuit. There was alot of beer, and usually Quarterbacks could be shut down for the weekend when we held one......Anybody up for it again????

OH....MY....GOD...did someone mention the Hindu Rib Roast? For those of you out-of-the-loop types, the HRR was the party. Not A party, THE party. A full-on, slam-bang, take no prisoners assault upon our tender little minds. Shit, it even had a body count. Among my admittedly foggy memories of this liver-dessicating event are : James Arwood piercing Barbara Herds (Now Vance...yes, I'm talking about Drews wife) ear with a rusty safety pin and a potato(!!!), Tony Coker cracking his skull by diving into a swimmming pool containing only a foot or so of water, Doug Bernhardt being thrown into said pool while INSIDE a pup tent (and still not waking up), some crazy-ass farmer attempting to sell his children, cows walking around inside the house, and...the very last time Little Wade was seen alive. This was one barn-burner of a party, not to be forgott...that is, remembered by those who attended. Did I mention Johnny Hicks chasing the sheep? Argh! My memories are running together like colored play-doh in the Sahara. Too many psychedelics will do that to you, I suppose.. (Remember kids, Just Say More!) One of you more lucid types fill in some of these blanks for me, ya? Until then, I've got nuthin to do but scratch words in the dirt and watch the water roll down...

Hindu Fucking Rib Roast ---- What the UT/Florida game resembled from the bleachers. I know this because I was there, sitting on the 40 yard line in the pouring rain wearing an orange rain poncho like all the other fans. We looked like psychedelic hindus, or the grim reaper who happened to be wearing the wrong color. In fact, I believe one of the guys sitting behind me stood up and shouted during the third quarter, “What do you think this is?!!!!! A Hindu fucking rib roast?!!!!!”

Lisa,
In the archives I saw your mention of Johnny Hicks and the incident at the Pub (if it was the pub then) when he wrote choice phrases on the backs of women's hands while he worked the door. I don't think that meant anything at all other than- that his social skills were somewhat regrettable at the time. I saw him a couple of years ago at the tattoo shop that used to be across the street from the bus station on Main. I was in there to use the phone (boring story) and the guy behind the counter looked a lot like him, and was. He said he was taking a breather from Seattle. We actually had a decent conversation, and he looked well---I’d heard bad reports about his health. He showed me his tattoos---one that extended from his right hip to his ankle, a nice rendering of a mummy, and another on his abdomen, extending to his pelvis, of Satan. They were definitely interesting. Was weird---went in there to use the phone and ended up staring at a picture of Satan on Johnny Hick’s pelvis. Who says Johnson City is boring?

I remember Ralph Womanslayer well. He was eventualy taken down by a group of enraged, drunken lesbians. This is absolutely true. I, however, posess the only perfectly unblemishished record in our football history. You see, I hate sports. Sports? Hate 'em. (Except rasslin! Man Howdy I luuuvs me some rasslin!) But after much ridicule from friend and foe alike, I decided to be a part of one of their little games. So I enter the game, and about ten seconds in I find myself holding the ball! (Apparently no one was aware I sucked.) I turn and begin pumping my little legs as fast as I could toward the end zone. By Gawd TOUCHDOWN!!!! This, for me, was unprecedented, having always been the one to hear "Coach, do we have to take HIM?" I felt invigorated. I felt validated! I felt about two hundred or so pounds of Roland Tester slam into me with the force of an angry redneck who just got his 4X4 scratched. My head hit so hard I wouldn't be suprised to see a divot in the ground there to this day. Yeah, you knocked the living crap out of me, but you were TOO SLOW Tester! I then retired from football, with the ONLY perfect record in our group. One interception, one touchdown. Yes, I rule. Heed Spam.
Spam is good. Spam is wise. Spam makes an excellent party dip.

Hey Mark! It's good to know you are alive and doing o.k. I was the person who mentioned Claudia and Linda Barrett (Linda I'd completely forgotten about). I never knew either of them very well, so I wouldn't know where they are now, but should I hear about them for some reason somewhere I'll let you know. Heard via Maria Bledsoe that you've been in touch with Beth Bivins a bit. She's a hoot. Did you know I was with you the first time I ever drank any real amount of alcohol? I drank four White Mountain wine coolers. We were driving around somewhere out in rural J.C. if I remember correctly. Rite of passage. I hope you're doing well.

Good thing there was beer and potted meat in the fridge or you might not be here today Brian. My fondest memory was that Ralph always had spikes on his shoes. I hated those shoes.