Uncle Burley's big ol' Johnson

[earschplitinloudenboomer]

Uncle Burley's big ol' Johnson

Now you moderators kin take your fanger offen the panic button, Uncle Burleys big ol' Johnson is a short shaft, two stroker with a well lubed lower unit, a 'perpeller an’...uh...might keep that fanger on standby fer a little bit.

Y'all 'member Uncle Burleys other leg?... the one he misplaced? Well someplace called REHAB fixed him up with a false one...took right to it too...'cept on occasion when he had a snoot full...then he sometimes got it on backwards... took a purty fair tracker to tell if Uncle Burley was comin' or goin'...an' he sure as hell didn't know!...

... back in the holler they wuz basically two ways to get stuff...steal it...'er swap fer it. Buyin' was usually out, nobody in the holler had much money. Now in our neighborhood stealin' was generally discouraged ("blue whistlers" from a 12 guage can get real discouragin', if you know what I mean). Swappin', on the other hand, had become a highly developed practice. If you remember, Uncle Burley was a "thrifty" person by nature (only'est part of a pig that didn't get et was the squeal) so's he had took the art of swappin' to a whole nuther level. Only one other man had ever skint' Uncle Burley on a trade... that wuz Chubby Amick. That swap took the better part of 3 year an' involved Chubby's twenny' foot pontoon boat an' Uncle Burley's '54 Chevy pick up. Now Chubby didn't know about the cracked block an' rear end full of sawdust 'n' b'nanner peels in Uncle Burley's Chevy, and Uncle Burley didn't know about the rivets in Chubby's pontoon boat...both of which ended up down at the Salvage yard (after the pontoon boat was retrieved from the bottom of the lake). All Uncle Burley knowed wuz, that big ol' Johnson outboard, (that he always thought should have been part of the deal), was still layin' on top of Chubby's coal shed to keep the roof from blowin' off. Forty horse, she wuz...tiller steer. Deep maroon an' a prop big aroun' as a pie plate! Uncle Burley still wanted it.

The swap wuz a rough one, down an' dirty, Chubby didn't like Uncle Burley an' Uncle Burley didn't like Chubby. Even with the offer of Uncle Burley's banty rooster, Benny, a genuine cowhide biker wallet (with chain), an' seven dollars cash money...it still took that weed whacker he'd got back from Lo...rayne when they broke up...(yeah she done runned off with that LOTS feller that wuz 'spose to have some kind of claim on 'er). Uncle Burley wuz sure gonna miss that weed whacker...but the motor was his!

Only problem now was, what to put it on. All he had left was that little 12 foot 'lunamin boat (don't you just hate them folks what cain't pernounce 'lunamin?... they say loomeyun an' stuff...pitiful). If he could get the Johnson runnin', it would have to do for a test run anyway...at least 'til he could swap fer somthin' bigger. Now folks the thing about ol' Johnsons is...the dam things'll run. In only a couple of weeks Uncle Burley had 'er to where she'd hit purty often. After all that work, figgered he might as well go all the way...soaked them ol' plugs in some lamp oil an' wire brushed 'em...she'd have to start now! Time to put 'er in the water. They was just one more thing that kept gnawin' at the back of Uncle Burley's mind (front done been gnawed off by cheap likker)...mothballs. Back in "the days" when a feller wuz goin' out fer an' evnin' of drag racin' over on the bypass, he'd always slip a hand full of mothballs in the gas tank. Uncle Burley figgered if it was good fer a Chevy, it was good fer a Johnson...so he put a handful in the tank an' shook 'er up.

A distant cousin at Sandstone owned river front property an' with a good come-a-long an' 30 or 40 foot of rope you could launch a boat from it. About 10 foot from the water, Uncle Burley came to the end of his rope...hmmm...lets see..."hit wuz about a hunnert foot long when he inherited it from Granpaw...swapped about 50 foot of it to Kenny Meaders so's he could hobble that goat to keep from mowin' grass...10 foot 'er so to tie the boat on the truck...leetle bit to lash the cooler full of ice an' beer in"...never mind, he had a good sharp Boker...SPLAAAASHHHH!!!...she righted herself soon enough, but appeared to be a little light in the bow (it was a good 2 foot out of the water)...Uncle Burley hated to be that far from the beer but he moved the 48 quart cooler to the front for ballast an' lashed 'er down good, couldn't take any chances with the beer.

Facing backwards, Uncle Burley grabbed the start cord an' give 'er a yank...PAAAAAAAAADDDDDDDUUUN...she started...wide open....in gear !!! That ol' Seahorse got one whiff 'o them mothballs an' went berserk...jerked Uncle Burley off the seat...landed on the floor an' got sumthin' hung on one of them 5.0 trebble hooks he'd been usin' to snag with. Alls you could see of Uncle Burley wuz two huge eyes peepin' over the gunnel (ever see "KILROY WAS HERE")? Kill switch...kill switch...gone...wunner what Chubby traded that fer?!!!

http://i3.photobucket.com/albums/y90...ncleBurley.jpg

[earschplitinloudenboomer]

Lester Gwinn was a little late raisin' his trot line fer the summer...moss had already started runnin' bad. He had the line wrapped around one oarlock to hold his boat in the current while he tried to remove a gob of moss bigger'n a number 3 wash tub. Busy as he wuz, Lester didn't hear anythin' right at first... then he did...sounded like a swarm of them blackflies, screamin' fer blood... an' above Uncle Burley you could hear that Seahorse too!!! Lester looked up, the only thing he could see above the bow of Uncle Burley's loomeyun boat (Lester was one of them people that couldn't pernounce lunamin) was the rooster tail she was throwin' up. That rooster tail looked like it was shot from a salad shooter, what with all the moss. As Uncle Burley blew by the prop grabbed Lesters trot line...ate it all... along with Lesters oarlock and purty near everything else in the boat...'cept that gob of moss...Uncle Burley ended up wearin' that 'round his head...over his shoulders...down his back...snaaaaaapin' in the breeze... Lester wasn't impressed an' as his doggy paddle was a little rusty, he headed fer shore...while his boat headed fer Meadow Creek.

Even with all this goin' on, sumthin' caught Uncle Burley's attention...it was Sandstone Falls...he was just below 'em an' gettin' there quick! Uncle Burley would have to think of something fast... he'd have to kill the Johnson...kill it with what? Somethin' still had him snagged to the bottom of the boat, couldn't reach the fuel line...had to be somethin'...anything...HIS LAIG...yep, that ought to do it. Quickly he unbuckled it, slid it off, hoisted 'er up by the ankle an' Uncle Burley had a weapon....found he could stand up now too...so that's what had had him hooked to the bottom of the boat!

Cut to ABC's "Wide World Of Sports"...Curt Gowdy...cowboy boots, white hat...bolo tie...black and white footage of salmon making their way upstream...NOW FORGET THAT Bu** Sh**...what those rafters saw was ESPN...livin' color..in thier face...raw, uncut, shock and AWE!...an' that was before the wake hit 'em. The campers, at least, had the advantage of distance...for a little while. What they saw, in the distance, was straight from Melville...the tiny boat clearing the top of the falls...Uncle Burley, statuesque...standing amidships...on one leg...pant leg an' moss flowing back from him...his heaving chest glistening, covered with bits of moss and chopped fish... his left hand grasping the lashing of the cooler...in his right, his prosthetic leg, raised high above his head poised to strike....AAARRRRRGGGHHH!!!... "TO THE LAST I GRAPPLE WITH THEE; FROM HELL'S HEART I STAB AT THEE; FOR HATE'S SAKE I SPIT MY LAST BREATH AT THEE"...."THOU DAM'NED JOHNSON"....an' he'd give 'er another whack!

Just as the boat had stopped skippin' like a rock on the mill pond, things took a turn fer the worse...BAAAAMMMM!!!!! ....prop hit a rock...one blade sheared plumb off...(knowed he shouldn't of used a grade 8 bolt fer a shear pin)...an' folks, they wuz a whole lot of shakin' goin on!!! Ya'll have seen movies where they'ed wiggle the camera to make things look like they're shakin'...well this weren't no movie an' Uncle Burley's cheeks were startin' to slap hell out of the rest of his face! 'Bout now Uncle Burley shore wisht he'd learned to swim. He decided that if this was goin' to be a fight to the finish, he'd do it in his own element...dry land...so he cut 'er toward the camp ground.

Now you moderators might want to limber up that panic button fanger 'cause what comes next could be considered a little bit racey...an' if any of you fellers have some kind of condition...maybe you should excuse yerself an' check out the fly of the month posts er somethin' fer a little bit... stop shakin' yer head, leeO...you cain't make this stuff up!!!!

Twelve foot boat...40 horse Johnson high on mothballs...11 million RPM's...one blade broke off the prop, camp ground dead ahead...

...when she hit the impact sent the Johnson, along with the 'lunamin transom, flying over Uncle Burley's head, he had only some rocks, a log and a campfire to cushion his landing...he's mending right well though, an' even with the wires holdin' his jaws shut, he insisted on speakin' to me when I got to the ICU.

He wanted me to apologize to that lady in the port-a-jon...she almost made it...all that was left wuz that little "pat down" at the end...you know...the one that takes 3 rolls of toilet paper, and has fed countless plumbers throughout the ages...that was when the Johnson slammed through the back of the port-a-jon. The transom kept it from makin' a straight pass through, but it didn't keep the tiller from seperatin' her from her under alls.

...40 horse Johnson, high on mothballs...one prop sheared off...11 million RPM's...she didn't know who had dropped the quarter in but she was flat stayin' til the end of the ride!!!...harrrrruuuuuuuuUUUUUUMMMMMM...UMMmm...mm...m.

The Johnson, disconnected from its fuel supply, was at last, in it's death throws...'til the toilets supply of methane hit it!

...beeep...Houston we have ignition...beeep...countdown sequence at...beeep... we have lift off...beeep...all systems go...beeep...power up to 110%...beeep.....................................
.........good for splashdown............beeep........

The doctors think with therapy, and strong medication, she'll come out of it...may even walk again... but after such an ordeal, no one can explain to them why she's still smilin'.

[DogYeller]

[earschplitinloudenboomer]

...'preciate it, Butt Weet!!!

[skeet]

You remind me of Ed Zern...or onea them other righters that rit for them magazines back yonder

Seriously...good stuff...more.... more

[BILLY D.]

EARS

YOU ALWAYS BRING A SMILE AND HAPPINESS TO MY DAY. THANX A LOT.

HOW MANY OF THESE STORIES REAL LIFE EXPERIENCES?

HAVE YOU EVER THOUGHT ABOUT COLLABORATING WITH LILRED ON TELLING STORIES? YOU TWO WOULD BE A REAL HOOT. YOU'D PUT ZERN AND MCMANNUS OUT OF BUSINESS.

THANX AGAIN FOR YOUR HUMOR.

[earschplitinloudenboomer]

Thanx all;

Pat McManus was my hero. My parents bought me a subscription to OL when I was 9 years old. I read McManus first then the magazine cover to cover. My greatest difficulty is trying not to plagarize him. So to answer another question...all these attempts are based on a life experience. The first "Uncle Slim" was pretty much the way it really happened.
I am truley overwhelmed by the response I have recieved from these stories. To even be mentioned with the likes of Zern or McManus just blows me away.

best to you and yours
ears

[LoneWolf]

EARS,
I agree with everyone wholeheartedly on your stories. I split a gut every time I read one of them, and would invite you to come up with as many as you like and post them down in the "Hunting Tales" section. Keep em all togehter, and copyright them, and I think you have a best seller on your hands.

[BILLY D.]

VERY SMART THINKING BY OUR RESIDENT MOUTHPIECE. COPYRIGHT THEM SO THE IDEAS AND YOUR TALENTS ARE NOT STOLEN.

I DON'T CARE WHAT EVERYBODY ELSE SAYS ABOUT YOU FABS, YOU'RE OK.