Part III Of the Trip to Find Billy Jack.

Frankly folks this happened so long ago I can barely remember anything that happened. A friend offered this bit of advice. "Just write we met a bunch of old chicks and they wanted to get busy with us. At least then it's over."

I will include an excerpt from a post that explains the Cougar phenomenon:

What is a Cougar and why are they dangerous?

Definition: An older woman trying way too hard to look young. Usually heavy makeup and way too tan, sometimes orange. Generally has leathery, smoking damaged skin, short skirt, and may have obvious breast implants. See any big city bar scene.

Part III. We are Attacked by Four Wild Cougars in Jerome, Arizona.

My friends want to sit at a table far away from the door and pool table. But I object. “I want to sit on the bench.” I tell them the bench is the only seating located next to other people in the bar.

We spot cougars...

The table located next to us has 4 very drunk women seated at it. The band we hoped to see had just stopped playing. I got asked if I liked to dance by the drunkest of the four women, Nurse Betty.

“No.” I replied.

“Darn. We were hoping for some action.”

I took a sip of my beer and rolled my eyes at her.

“What... you mean we aren’t enough action for you?”

I glanced over at her friends and waived my hands toward them. She took my bait and all 4 of the cougars joined us. And in one voice assured us that were that we were "all the action they could need."

I wore a baseball cap. So did Card Shark. Drunk Nurse Betty wanted to look under Shark’s hat, but he told her he was bald. That didn’t bother any of the cougars. They claimed to like bald men. "Pat" put an end to any refusal we could offer by claiming to love combovers. Pat thought combovers were sexy.

Nothing could dissuade these women from looking under are hats. Shark finally freed his tussles from under his cap. The girls took turns running their fingers through his long hair.

Next they turned all that post-menopausal attention towards me. They wanted to see what was under my hat too. I was not dressed for sex play. I had on jeans, a hooded sweatshirt, and a baseball cap. “I’m balding.” I told them. “You aren’t going to want to see what’s under my hat.”

But when cougars see their prey they get aggressive. They are like 14-year-old boys. All pent up sex energy. But unlike a sexually immature boy, an older woman feels entitled to satisfy her urge. Now that nature had released them from child-bearing, they molested us with abandon. They relished in the child's play of desire.

“We want to see what’s under your hat.” They repeat. I relent. I give them a peek. They see for themselves the receding hairline. Maybe it reminds them of getting old, because they quickly turn their attention away from it.

But they don't want me to feel bad. They start in on me. Telling me how they each like hats on men. They encourage me to keep it on. With my hat and casual clothes I could be mistaken for someone 25 years their junior. I think they like that part of me best of all.

We drive to Clarksdale because Clarksdale has a band. Married Guy sits up front with Card Shark and two of the Cougars. Joe and I make the trip in the back of the pickup bed along with the other two Cougars.

It's cold and windy. And we all anticipate getting frozen on the trip. Joe does something that astounds me. He snuggles up with the only half way cute cougar. Probably in her 40's, she doesn't wear tapered acid washed jeans. She still colors her hair. And she is decently in shape. Her face gives away her age, but at least the giveaway says "Milfy" not "Gilfy."

I am left to fend with the most obnoxiously drunk older woman I have ever seen. She had little or no self-awareness of her drunken state. The following conversation is not verbatim.

Drunken Nurse: "Do you want to snuggle, why don't you want to snuggle with me? Are you gay? Do you like women?"

It is precisely because I like women that I am not turned on by you.

I am annoyed at myself for allowing this turn of events. I know I can give no encouragement to Drunk Betty. I know any encouragement I give to Nurse Betty will become hands tugging away at my limp manhood. I don't want that. I am still hopeful that Milfy will give me a try.

But my my hope for a turn with Milfy dies as I watch Joe snuggle. I underestimated my competition in GI Joe. I assumed he would be lackadaisical. I was not prepared to deal with his assertiveness. I should have been angry about the way things had turned out, but instead I felt only a begrudging respect. The old man had a few tricks up his sleeve still.

I stayed warm in the back of the pickup because I borrowed a jacket from inside the truck. I stay warm with out the any of the human contact that Nurse Betty so desired. She complained the entire drive about how cold she was even after I allowed her some side-to-side touching. I know women are always cold, and it was 30 degrees with 60 mph winds, but I had already offered her my jacket. I was not about to offer my loins.

The Cougars who sat up front in the cabin were hungry. They asked if we carried any food or snacks in the truck. Card Shark kept a wary eye on his third cookie and did not share it. Even when asked directly, he refused.

***
A side note to women everywhere. When you first meet a man. And you ask him for a favor. If he turns you down. Assume he finds you ugly. ***

Clarksdale, Arizona.*
Home of the 10/12 Lounge and the One Class Act Blues Band.

A truly terrific band. Like most blues fans I am white. And like many whites I trace my love of the blues back to Bill Cosby. The appearance of legendary bluesman B.B. King on the Cosby show when I was in the 9th grade changed my musical tastes forever.

The lead guitarist and singer walked around the room as he played. Much like another Arizona bluesman, Carvin Jones. The band was elated to see a group such as ours enter the bar. We shouted along with the band. We cheered and applauded their efforts. It felt like destiny. The band played inspired.

Most Cougars love to dance. And these cougars were no exception to the rule. I danced with all 4 cougars. One cougar gave me the "fuck you eyes." I cannot express to you how disturbing it is to have a women 10 years older than your mother look you up and down like a piece of meat. She was ravenous in her sexual hunger. She did not mind showing me her desire. She showered it upon all three of my companions.

Her eyes said "I will fuck you tonight." Her mood was was confident and secure. She seemed to be saying that, "I know I am not what I used to be. But I am willing. And men enjoy that. Moreover; I am ready to abandon myself to the instinctual."

I will not play with that kind of fire.

But I danced for the first time in several years. I remembered what it was like to have the attention of a woman. I recalled why I missed that attention. A woman makes a man behave and feel differently. I felt more alive though I was dancing with death. I grew in confidence. I thought I could be valuable. If not to the world like any man of substance desires, then to a woman, and if not to these women, then to some women somewhere.

I saw my friends sharing that same feeling. They would not be dismayed by life completely either.

We drove the cougars home. Back to their hotel room in Jerome. They were sorry to see us go. But Married Guy needed to get home. They understood. G.I. Joe needed to feed his dogs. Dogs that love to lick me. Now I would not get laid because of Trixie the Dog.

I could have stayed. They wanted to cuddle. I am not sure I can satisfy 4 hungry cougars. I am not sure there is enough meat to feed such a hungry group.

But I think I would have liked to have stayed.

* The actual name of the city is Clarkdale, but the sound "Clarkdale" in my head disturbed the story for me.

Here is the long overdue post about my Billy Jack choose-your-own-adventure story. The Trip. Part 1

You may not realize this. But this blog post is way overdue. You had probably forgotten about it, or you paid it no mind the first time I mentioned it.

But either way the post is overdue. Out there someone is waiting for it. They are disappointed that it has taken so long for me to write it down for them. Perhaps they are very angry about it. And they have decided to "never forgive me for how long it has taken."

"That is," they say "unless the post is really great." If the post can capture the spirit of that night. If it does not intrude too much into their memories. Destroying the affection they still feel for that night. That instead it simply reminds them of a funny anecdote, or it allows them to repaint their imaginations again with my reminders and descriptions.

"I should not fuck this up." They have told me. This night will go down in history. But maybe it is better if that history remains told by memory only. Orally. Recanted in smoky bars or over games of poker. Each time its truth being twisted an tugged at from different positions. Followed by loud angry disavowals.

That's probably best. And the way it should be recalled. By the particulars themselves. One at a time. To throngs of admiring friends, who hang on every word. Who bellow out laughter at every inside joke and every nuance of character betrayed by action.

But that is not how this story will be told. Instead I will tell this story. As I remember it. It is a story of 4 men who decide to make trip to Prescott, Arizona in hopes of meeting Billy Jack.

You really should read my posts about Billy Jack in order to understand why we needed to meet him.

I should tell you a little about the men who went with me on this trip.

G.I. Joe- drives tanks for a living. Well actually he used to drive tanks for a living. Though I am not too sure that one ever really stops driving tanks.

The Married Lawyer Guy- He is the only married guy I know. He is also the only person I know who gets visibly angry when people ask me to correct their grammar or spelling for them.

Card Shark- He thought there were lots of little reasons we should go to Jerome and Prescott. Billy Jack was one of those reasons. When asked if he thought that was a "good reason?" he replied that it was only a "little reason" and he never said "it was a good reason."

Romius T.-known throughout the blogger land as one cool kat, man.

Maybe I should get back to the action. Move the plot on and such. It's what good writers do after all. They would not languish here. In the set up for so long. Where is the fun in that? After all this story is long. And there are lots of things to get through. Many of them will be funny. But not to you. Because you were not there. And those funny things may not lend themselves to the kind of description I am good at.

But here goes.

After meeting up together the four of us all pile into Card Shark's full- sized-cab truck. Some of us were excited. Card Shark had his ipod with him, and took strangest perverse pleasure in finding his craziest music to play for us.

I forgot my ipod, so I could not break up the stream of bad music. Instead I described a particularly funny podcast called Distorted View to my friends. I mentioned how the show often played audio clips of gay fisting noises.

"You mean the actual sound of gay fisting?" Asked the married guy, who tried as best he could to imitate the sound of gay anal fisting. That is, the actual insertion noises that one would hear with fist sliding into ass. The "hmmmpftt hhmmppt" sound effect.

"No, no." I corrected. "Just the yelling the dude would make." I paused and then tried to imitate the grunts and groans of gay men who are being anally fisted.

While we all agreed that none of us were into into anal fisting, per se, we thought it too bad I didn't take my ipod with the anal fisting show with me.

After our discussions about music and podcasts our attention turned to food. I wanted to eat at an A&W. I was on a road trip without Funions, so naturally my mood was apprehensive. I pushed the A&W idea, suggesting to my friend Joe that A&W was a great place for road trip food.

"Think of it. Shakes. Hot dogs. All prepared by beastly women with cigarettes in their mouths who fail to wear gloves, or to cover up their moles and age spots."

Joe dismisses the idea. He has a much better idea. He wants to eat at the the ice cream shop from the movie Billy Jack. When Joe talks he leans forward in sharp bursts like an autistic boy would. Out of breath and in between bows he speaks with short, terse sentences.

But I wondered if the shop had any food other than ice cream.

"Sure it does. Hamburgers."

That settles it for me and I throw my weight behind the decision to eat at Billy Jack's ice cream shoppe.

Now that we had on plan for food we decided to visit that land of Hippie chicks and Urbanity called Arcosanti.

There is surprisingly little to see there. Arcosanti is a village commune designed by hippies. I think the hippies have been building this "town" for 50 years. If hippies can't build a place to live in fifty years it's no wonder it has taken them so long to make due on their promise of building a new society.

Maybe the 60's movements have not failed failed. Hippies are just sorta disorganized and lazy. It's just going to take them a while to get around to everything.

At least Hippies make good cookies. Card shark bought three cookies from a lady behind a counter at the cafe. After buying three cookies he warned us that if we wanted a cookie for ourselves we would have to buy one because he was planning on eating all three by himself.

We all got in line to buy cookies. I think Card Shark felt guilty about eating three whole cookies, because as each one of us got to the counter he offered to buy our cookies for us. But we all refused his offer. We wanted to buy our own cookies to make sure he would feel the full intensity of his shame. The buying and eating three whole cookies just for himself. People in Kenya never get that lucky.

We sat down in the picnic area next to the cafe to eat our cookies. Married guy found a chess set. Their are chess sets everywhere in Arcosanti. Hippies love chess even though I think chess requires a certain kind of logic they rarely posses.

I am not very good at chess. Married guy convinced me to play a game with him. He also got me to believe I was in checkmate when I wasn't.

We kept playing after the Card Shark helped me find a way out of married Guy's mate. I then missed a 2 move checkmate myself, which meant Married Guy luckily escaped from becoming the first person to ever lose a chess match to me.

On our way out of Arcosanti we met a few hippy chicks. I mentioned to Card Shark as they walked past by, "That I liked hippy girls, but I wished they shaved more." I am not sure the hippy girls stopped long enough to hear me talking to them. Because they gave no reply. I guess hippy girls have a lot more things to do than you think.

We are now on our way to Prescott.

G. I. Joe lived in Prescott as a boy. He said that his physics teacher taught him that the Earth was flat. Which when you think about it seems like a reasonable belief. Otherwise we'd all be sliding off the globe like a miniature plastic army men trying to conquer Nigeria.

Stay Tuned For Part II. A Trip to Prescott. And Part III. We are Attacked by Four Wild Cougars in Jerome, Arizona.

Dr. Stephanie is on hiatus. That just means there is even more pressure for me to blog everyday. And I don't deal well with pressure.

All this pressure has caused my sleeping pattern to crumble way off. And I don't just mean "way" off. I mean "way off!" I can't seem to stay asleep. I am up for 2 hours fall asleep for 4 hours wake up for 6 sleep for 13 hours. Nothing makes sense. I haven't seen the sun in three days?

Do you know if it's still out there? I hope so. Otherwise it could get pretty cold out there.

In other news I have a headache. It's either from too much sleep or not enough sleep. Since I am not sure how much sleep I am actually getting. I can't be too sure what the reason for the headache is.

But I can tell you that my brain feels like it has been moth balled. And my acid reflux is acting up. My throat is on fire. Which will probably give me throat cancer. I don't think there is a cure yet for throat cancer. I hope somebody is searching for the cure. They'll probably find it just after I die. And no one will notice the irony.

But death is preferable to watching movies with my roommate. He forced me to watch Billy Jack. Billy Jack combines the 70's hippies movement, karate, Clint Eastwood violence, and street theater. Lots of street theater.

BILLY JACK IS JUST A GUY WHO PROTECTS

CHILDREN AND OTHER LIVING THINGS

By forcing them into hours of street theater performances. That's not my idea of protection, but then again I hate hippies. It's called deodorant. Look into it. If the French hate it so much it has to be good.

Go read Bathos for more of my take on the Billy Jack movies and the Billy Jack the man.