Tuesday, August 24, 2010

Mississippi stuff

Geezer thinking about who's buried under that there gumbo

View from the Jet Ski, up Shit Creek.

I sat down at the computer the other morning to get down to google business with the latest round of pharmaceuticals that I received from my doctor. Now this rant is not about doctors. I got away with a co-pay of 25 bucks and script, two kinds, for only 24 bucks. Actually, I had a Gatorade and a coke too, so the meds must have been only 20 bucks. I felt my doctors visit a good value. Because I was sick and needed help.

I contracted some kind of lower intestinal stuff, some badass, gut kicking, bend over and hold your stomach blues. I have had this before, but it seems odd that I would get this in the shadow of the sewer epic, dolled out by our friend the Geezer. the jet ski trip up the Mississippi proved to be the ticket. The up "shit" creek epic.

We wound up a creek when we ran out of gas and pulled in to an outlet that we would later find out was where the Arsenal Street Water Treatment Plant had blown a pipe. It was a huge spill and you could see the black water pouring in. it was on the news, Geezer landed us there when we ran out of gas.

I am surprised that Paul didn't get sick as he was the first to plunge in to the black gumbo mud stuff in an effort to hale somebody down to buy us gas. We both sunk to our knees and the water was a splashin. That Geezer, heh, I bet he's glad he didn't play Rambo by smearing mud and gumbo all over to blend in for stealth... begging. We were successful in getting one of the employees of a barge company to go and buy us 40 bucks in gas. He mentioned the spill while we were there. Said the flood kept them from fixing it.

Anyway, I must have gotten some of that gumbo mud "innerd". And like clockwork, became ill, a case of diverticulitis, which I am apparently prone to, which came about as a result of the bacteria that I somehow got in to my system. No, I am not on the river doing the MR340, no, I have not been able to exercise since last week, no, I am not selling my boat. I will do the race next year and likely pound out an epic float just to say that I did. I logged over 600 miles training for that race, I am very dissappointed.

So the epic thing goes like this... I am thinking about starting at the headwaters of the Lake of the Ozarks and doing the whole lake from tip to tip, then jump on the Osage and come down to the Missouri. thinking October. Who wants in? Great Cyclocross training.

So I am a little embarrassed and laying low until the end of my meds. One of which is Cipro. Have you ever taken Cipro? It covers most of the 3-4 crazy infectious bugs, but I have another for the whatever that might have missed. Cipro makes me feel bad, I think, so I called my doctor to make sure that I am not having some sort of reaction. He said, "you are sick you idiot".

Anyway, I wrote a song about the river but it doesn't really reference the break in the pipe at shit creek. Nope, another song about the river and some people living near it, the backwoods of Missouri. I like writing about the small town stuff and most of it usually has something to do with somebody getting their ass kicked or killed, or for some local doing something stupid in a small town. I just can't get enough of that redneck stuff. Facinating people. There is a law in the town where my subjects live, or a lack of law. Things happen and there are stories written or spoken about for years. This one was called Mississippi Bottom Blues.

And it goes like dis... (you can hear the Browndogs perform this tonight at Lone Wolf) This is one of our swamp blues/rock songs for our CD. Enjoy.

Mississippi Bottom Blues
Jimmyleg and the Browndogs, copyright 2010

Saw the old brown dog take a hard left,
at the bottom of Old Grove Road.

He took a point at the Creek
leading out to the river,
where the boats and dredges unload.

O, it rained and knocked
all our shadows down
to the shore where water runs cold.

The mud's down to the Mississippi bottom,
where the dead water runs
and the graves and the sins live.

Cry, brown dog cry
Cry, Brown dog cry
The Mississippi mud took the blues from another.
Cry brown dog cry.

The cherry wine, like the rain was red.
Her brother didn't like the things I said.

Struck him down like lighting
in the back of the head
then he landed face down in the gumbo bed.

Jenny jumped down tried to set him free
they both sunk to the bottom by the cottonwood tree.

The mud's down to the Mississippi bottom,
where the dead water runs
and the graves and sins live.

Oh Cry, Brown Dog Cry
Cry, Brown Dog Cry
The Mississippi mud took the blues from another.
Cry brown dog cry.


Trail Monster said...

Yo Jimmyleg is Tuesday the BDBB night or Wednesday, has Cipro carved your mind into swiss cheese? Very Bad gut stuff ya got there. When yer raised on the Mississippi ya kinda get acclimated to shit creeks an all. You should take up dippin Copenhagen, that juice kills 99.9% of riverborne bacteria...just ask them rednecks. ;)

Ralph Pfremmer said...

"...being raised on the Mississippi kinda gets you acclimated to shit creeks..."

That is about poetic. And yes, Wed instead of Tuesday. What have I been drinking, and it ain't shine...