Uncle's Tale of Rural Depravity

He slashed away it what he done. You want to hear it prettier? He struck me numberedly with the razor. For all I know, their names were Cletus and Jethro. I had pulled off for a bite to eat about 20 miles outside of Greensville, then havin' eaten my quality bacon burger, chili fries, M-T-Dew and a milkshake (I remember the good times)I thought I might round the respectability of the of the whole affair and get a haircut. I may have grown up on dirt floors, but I still have my priorities straight enough to keep my hair sheared so as not to look like one of the hippies or ladyboys what avoided the war of Vietnameese aggression. Hell, the sign said the haircuts only cost $5.  So I steps into the ramshackle, screen-door, fancy panties trailer. "Got more hair n' ya need?" asked  the bony peckerwood. "Yes, sir," says I, "just wantin to look decent while I still got money in my pocket." There was some fat piece of shit sitting on what some know as a couch in the parlor room or something, reading smut that would have turned a beatnik red. He gave a chuckle when he heard me use the powerful word "decent," but I didn't think nothing of it at the time. Nervous geeks, pinheads, and other mongoloids is prone to laughter my pastor  always said.  Well, the bony motherfucker says, "Now then, come on up and sit in the chair, papa, come'n now." Immediately I backwashed in my mind, trying to figure if I'd crossed the plain around here before, but I was in the clear so far as I could remember. Still, I knew things wasn't quite right when he pulled a trashbag over my head to keept hair out of my skin. "Never seen a trash bag used for that, Mister" I said. He didn'  say nothin' but "don't you worry, poppa, you'll be lookin decent alright you'll be lookin decent." Damned if he didn't whip out a pot but like what you boil beans in. He suds up the water n' pulls out a razor. And at this point, the lard-ass with the boobies, butts, and cooters magerzine is standing right behind me, grinnin-he's wearin' a ‘Stars and Bars’ T-Shirt I notice, which is respectable, but his arm pits were sweatin through the shirt and his odor were unattractive, but I digest. He's shaving me alright I guess the warm water and soap and the luxury that comes with it had me closing my eyes and relaxing. The next thing I knows,  the fatboy, with his two meat hocks fer arms has in a vice-grip like what the stocks feel like when you get vegetabled for siding with the loyalists. The bony Appalachian starts whoopin it up, "Time to clean you right up, shitbird, make sure an hold him tight, poppa"-this time he wasn't callin me "poppa" either. He starts slicin and dicin me real thin like he's some kind of slant-eye chef cutting up vegetables fer his watch. I seen my blood in the pot, mixed with the soapy water, but for whatever reason, I haven't reacted yet. That peckerwood took him a break for the slashin, liftend up a window, but not for air. Some big Rottenwhiner son of a bitch( as must be the case for science) sticks his head in the window ad is whining while licking blood and bits off of the flat of the blade! "Now, now, Poppa," said the fat one, too excited for for his words, "give-give 'em the finishing touch." So Elmer, or whatever that lanky bastards name is, pulls his razor away from the dog and pulls it across my cheek to my ear! They both start laughin so hard that I can finally out to  the door and back to the rig. I'm bleedin like a bunch of whores without a planted seed in em, but I still  go right to a pohlice station. I guess there's only so much they can do for there. I get some guaze, too many bandy-aids, and a whole bunch of ice like what was produced at the Chicago fair and I  apply some pressure.  I told the police to go nail them river bandit sumbitches. I suppose I could've compromised my principals and gone to one of them quack farms they call a "hospitable," but my manly good looks ain't goin to be less for a couple of scars, and neither is them scars the difference between me and a beauty queen. In fact, the only time my family ever had such honors is when Uncle Jimmy was doin a bid up the river, but again, I digest.  Forget about all that, I done told the sheriffs where that barber-shop was  is, and they really had the nerve to tell me, "No sir, no such address." Well, I can only think to say, "There is such an address, and I was jus there, asshole!" The situation never resolved itself to my satisfaction, so onward I rolled my stones.

This ain't Politics; This is Comedy

   Hey folks,


      My name is Montoya and I still argue with gas station clerks over the price of candy, but I also, on occasion, read the news and pay attention to the politics. For the record, I normally don't give two gangrenous rats over the minutiae and fluctuation of the politics of our declining empire, but I do enjoy the obscene and absurd-which sounds like a strange soap opera.
  China, Saudi Arabia, and Pakistan, besides being this year's lovely vacation spots (Spring Break Islamabad!) they are also Orwellian fucktard states that are irony proof. To wit:


          1This week China called upon Momar Ghadaffi to "respect the will of the Libyan people and step down." I guess this means wait for the approval of  51% of the people before you imprison, shoot, and harass the other 49 %
         2 Pakistan sent troops and police officers to Bahrain to help maintain stability and keep the peace. Cause you know, aside from having several regions of  its own country that it has no governmental authority in and being unable to control the Taliban and Al Qaeda types in its mountainous regions and countrysides, Pakistan is a model state where security is concerned. I read some Islamo-fascist genius comments to the effect that "If you are a friend of the United States, you can't survive; if you are a true enemy of the United States, God willing, you will live forever." I wonder if Osama Bin Laden thought the same thing before Seal Team 6 shot his breakfast out of his intestines and on to the wall.
      3 Best of all, Saudi Arabia told Syria that it's been committing huge human rights violations. The Oil wealthy, feudal monarchy let Syria know that it needed to make "necessary reforms." Take it from Saudi Arabia, before homosexuals get their heads chopped off in the kingdom, they get a final phone call, a coke, and a smile from their friendly executioner.

The Words We Hate

Do you ever hear an oft repeated phrase that is annoying enough to make you squirm? There are certain disorders that cause individuals who hear "trigger words," certain  emotionally powerful words or word combinations,  to feel nauseated, enraged, or otherwise overstimulated. Sadly, I don't know anyone who's shot their wife or lover for saying the words "Snicker's Bar," but I do know some people with interesting word hang-ups, myself included.
  If you've ever seen that Monty Python movie with the "Knights who say neep," then you can, in part, imagine a pal of mine's torment and visceral disgust at my use of the word..... well it means the same thing as buddy and rhymes with bend. I once used the word repeatedly, directing it at him, doubting  true revulsion to so basic a word, but in truth I was being cruel. He really does hate "the f-word." In his ideal world, when children are asked what they did "today" by parents, they would respond, "Oh, I just fucked around in the sandox with some associates of mine." The "F-word" you and I refer to as "The F-word" is of no import to him. It's the root of the word "amicability" that bothers him. If he sees John McCain greeting a crowd of supporters in such terms on C-Span, he flips off the television screen without fail. If he hears a song played on the radio, he flips off the radio, then turns it off or twists the dial. To his credit, he puts his hand in his pocket when he flips off people who unknowingly transgress to his face. To be offended at the very existence of the word seems extreme, but I do understand some annoyance with how insincerely the word gets used. There are a lot of people at work, on facebook, in the twitterverse, old aquaintences, familiar waitresses who describe me using the non-traditional "f-word," but if most of these people saw me in person, or on their doorstep, or out of a comfortable situation, chances are they would avoid lengthy conversation or even eye contact. Which is to say, if you call Big Ray Ray a "fri--d," be aware that I will show up to your home next Friday  with some chips, soda, and a few of my favorite Star Trek DVD's-just saying. One last parting shot on this word: have you ever noticed how bad guys in movies often address someone they're torturing or trying to kill as "My old friend"?


 Perhaps life in Mr Montoya's neighborhood is colorful. Someone else I know used to be averse to being called  "human" or "female." The individual in question is not triple XXX material but she is definitely XX material, thus the use of the pronoun "she." Neither of the individuals I've described are psychotic or at all insane, just distinctive. The woman who at times preferred not to be thought of as such viewed her physical body as a small part of her greater self, a detached consciousness waiting to be made whole.


 The words we love is another post, but I, myself, also have a few words and phrases that irk me. I'm throwing myself to the wolves with this confession, (if you can call 6 buddies who feel sorry for you and read your blog "wolves") but the record will reflect I often get uncomfortable around people who use words that end with a long "e" syllable. I feel like I have to scratch and itch just thinking about some of those words. My demanding father used to tell me to gather up the "empties" into a paper bag before we went to the store, and all I could think was that he was being too lazy to say the words "empty pop bottles and cans." I hear pretty  young ditzes refer to machines, techonologies and penises as "thingies," and I, uncharitably and sometimes inaccurately, think "damn, she's sumdumbitch." Then there's the word "icky." Again, that's a word used by sumbumbitches (misogynist much?) who usually think animals, bodily functions, and thinking are "gross."

A Drunken Hack Writer Lets Loose

I am a hack writer. I used to write scholarly, journalism quality articles for a pittance. In other cases, I've written pay per view self-assigned articles that earn money depending on a number of factors that must not be named, lest I incur editorial and media mogul wrath. It's nice to continue to write and to be published, but the thing is "they" know that. They know writers will accept flat-rate payments that wouldn't pay a phone bill in exchange for professional work and the thrill of being published.Those bastards know when you write your own articles for them you'd be lucky to earn $20 in a year if you didn't know what you were doing, and they won't make it clear what it is that earns revenue. Again, I'm a man of exceptional personal integrity, schooled in all major religious and philosophic texts and vouchsafed by the pope, so I'm not going there. I only seek to point out to other writers that although professional opportunities are out there, your ignorance of these scam industries may deprive you of what you deserve


 Again, I say little. The robots, scientologists, and atheists are watching what I write, so I won't complain about some of the topics that these "studios" or clearinghouses offer up as subjects  you can write about for a few dollars:

How to build a Floating Desk

High  Speed Arts and Crafts

Build a Paper Hindenburg

French style hovercrafts

  Do you think I'm exaggerating, grasshopper? Do you think I haven't seen things like this?  I'm not. The truth is if I were capable of writing articles or performing such feats of carpentry and engineering, then maybe, just maybe, I wouldn't be writing well researched articles for $15 a piece. I'd be a wealthy engineer  who would view such assignments as fit for the insects I crushed under my feet everyday while walking into my garage to get into my Lexus that I'd drive to work.


  In the meantime, I'll continue to self-publish work I did in grad school, poems I've written over the years, and anything else I can publish. I make tens of cents over a matter of weeks. I'll continue to write new articles on strange religions, professional wrestling, and I'll continue to opine on issues everyone is sick to death of. Lastly, I'll continue to vent these disjointed, anti-social ramblings and sincerely appreciate the people who regularly read them.


                 Good night, turn the damn lights off,
                                    Ray Ray Montoya

Applachian Wisdom: Zombies

 I was sitting in the general store awhittling away my version of Mrs. Potatowhore and her many tater-toddlers toys when on the television came the cinematic depravity known "Night of the Living that Ain't Dead." It was an abomination in the sight of the man, and I want that known for the record. I watched every minute of it just to verify that opinion.  Cannibalizing ain't a pretty subject and Romeo or whoever made that crap really should apologize fer preachin it or glamorizing such truck.
  I remember as a boy of 15, 16 years old when my paw took the barrels from the still to town. He told us he was gonna be gone for a spell. He told us not to stay out too late, and not to get into the hooch locker unless for medical purposes or to put the baby to sleep. Paw didn't come back right away though. I seen the sun come and the sun come down. These young obsese youngsters don't know about the hunger like I did.  We had some provisions, squirrels to shoot, the well to drink from, and mold potaters in the mold room, but they run out. I had my father's collection of runts and bastards to look on after, and I had to celebrate the holiday of Thanksgivin-If you love your freedom from the Indians, thank a vet by eating turkey, but I digest.. Things was desperate them winter days in the woods.  Thinking of those days reminds me of my ole huntin' hound, Roofus. My but he could tree a varmint or a Mormon. without much time passed.Ole roofus was a good  reliable dog, specially  on a spit ,with some whiskey flavorin too.  It was a tough time fer me and the brood, ya see.My pa, as mentionified earlier on, had a lot of mouths to feed up, 33 children if I recall correctly, and I rarely do.  Well, it got to the point when no one wanted to go to the woodshed with me because of my salivation, but  I figured the less family, the more food, especially when family was becomin.... Well I suppose I shouldn't go into all that, I think you get the pitcher...  Needless to say, two weeks later, when Pa finally came home he were none too pleased. "You demonseed, you hadn't even eaten all the potatoes, and I stepped on a fat squirrel on the way up the trail to the cabin!" I apologized, figured the damage was  done, and was trying to finish the ribs-they was good with the old 'juice- when the old man, not sated with whuppin' me pulled out the Smith and Wesson. Well, I run pretty fast and been a ramblin man by and large ever since.
  Of course, let me get back to the Zombie fixanation you little shits seem to to have. If there are zombies its likely cause they were eaten before they woke up and that's all they remember! It's a known fact that before modern history, Indians ate each other like Kentuckians! The redskins ate each other jes like my clan used to eat the mice, squirrels, stray cats, and other rodents that fell down the well or strayed a little too close to the house, outhouse, inhouse, henhouse, penthouse, well, I digest, you get the idea.It ain't like them Indian ALL have some burning resentment that could bring em back fromt their graves only to wreak havoc on the livin' white men, is it?

Health Care Wisdomry

  I noticed that the quality folk were makin' their presence known on this health-care debate.  Them that support this legislation seem to be the scienticians, the thinkers, queers, punks, pagan idolaters, just the type of people you'd never want by your side in the case of an Indian raid on your settlement. No these people who've been teabagging against this boondoggle is jus the opposite-the folks who split the logs that build the fort, the farmers who know to circle the wagons and hide the children, wives, whiskey, smoked meat and other valuable properties from the heathen- I ain't a racist, I know not all Indians raid in such a way, just most of em, but I digest.
   Well, being a peaceful man, I find it a right shame that it ever had to get this far, this truculent. The fact is a few Appalachian home remedies could solve most of this affair.   Take one such example, my ma used to have to sit in the shed during her moon-time, but she weren't worried about wilting during that shameful and unhygienic time, nope, she weren't. Her Grandmammy's Grandmammy all the way back to Mayflower or some such told her a simple solution: the rusty nail. Now I ain't gettin excessive vulgar with ya: I mean to say you put a rusty nail in an apple. The professor used to say the little irons in the nail spread throughout the fruit and get the women upright in their shamefulness, but I think the Reverend may be more on the right track. It was the woman who first bit the apple and screwed the human race and puttin a nail in the apple shows how the feminine apple pickin' screwed us. So long as they remember that and take a rusty apple for the team, they get a little bit back from the old man upstairs. On the other hand, anemics should be careful before takin' a bite, always ask granma if there's a nail.
  Now when it comes to venery, grab-ass, rotten-crotch, crotch-crickets, and other filth, take it from a man who has survived a thousand and one Appalachian nights: the answer is a little moldy bread in whiskey and a little medicine rubbed on the wound. Depending on your circumstances, that documentarian from Russia named Borat was a little closer to the mark with his suggestion of gypsy tears- given that Jews, gypsies, certain Catholic orders are responsible for a  good deal of plaguery, it stands to reason that they'd have a natural immunization to'em.
   Doc Ramson used to tell me that when it doubt, call on mister Jim Beam. Ye can put it on wounds that are infected, silence teething infants, cure the doldrums, and drink it during extreme cases of cabin fever.  
   In cases of extreme diseases like so called "cancer," "hepatitis,"  "fatal Aids" and other misfortunes a little witchcraft may be in order. A God-fearin' man ain't proud to use what black magic he learned from the Weird Sisters in the Appalachian Mountains, but you'd be surprised what making a poppet out an Indian’s sock, a little grave dirt, human hair and toad’s blood will do.   Ya gotta make a graven image of the being in question and affect it powerful in some way, but pard, ya probably shouldn't practice witchcraft unless you know a reliable midwife, lesbian, or some other devilry practitioner.

Life Imitates The Jerry Springer Show

It wasn’t all that long ago (just under a decade) that I was “seeing,”  if that’s what you want to call it, a woman a good deal older than me. Exact ages don’t matter, but think of Eminem juxtaposed against Joey Ramone. This woman was a bit chaotic and the house was something like “Neverneverland” where her adopted adolescent vagabonds hid away from the terrible world of school, parents, and sobriety. I remember buzzing on the couch, feeling as if I might pass out at any moment while the ultra violent movie American History X played. Two goth 18 year olds were staring at the ceiling, quietly out of touch with their surroundings. One of Ms. Ramones’ sons stealthily reached for my beer. “Hey,” I slurred. “Get your own

beer!”

  Jump ahead about 10 years. Many things have changed, but I guess once you get the nose for a type, you just don’t lose it. 4 weeks ago I learned after hearing the name “Ms. Ramone” that I was dating her niece--this time think of Eminem as contrasted to Snoop Dogg?!  My life has officially become a bad comedy. Don’t get me wrong. It’s never been a show worth seeing, but with this twist we’ve entered sit-com material. Oh hell, let’s take the dive into Jerry Springer country.

Jerry Springer “Our guest today is Ray Ray Montoya. Ray Ray Montoya has been seeing Bible Thumper for over a year now and says they enjoy a nice relationship, but today Ray Ray has something he needs to tell Bible Thumper.”

Ray Ray Montoya
“Sweetheart, you know I love you, and I’d never do anything to hurt you, right?”

Bible Thumper

 “ Well, I love you too, but you took me on Jerry Springer, so I wanna hear what you have to tell me…”

Ray Ray Montoya

  “Well, ten years ago, you aunt and I…”

Bible Thumper rushes Ray Ray Montoya, slapping him repeatedly.

Springer’s heavies pull an angry Bible Thumper away. They both return to their Seats.

Jerry Springer “Well, Ray Ray, we have some more excitement for you. Everyone, would you please welcome Ms. Joey Ramone!”

Ms. Joey Ramone “First off, I’d never do this in real life, but since this is Ray Ray Montoya’s ----- up little day dream….”

Ms Joey Ramone runs towards Ray Ray Montoya. “Who the _____ do you think you are? Are you that desperate for a blog entry?” Bible Thumper joins in on beating. Estranged family reconciles. Ray Ray Montoya checks into internet addiction rehab.