Beefy's Thanksgiving

I believe I've established that my old buddy Beefy liked to take a pull or two at the bottle of the demon rum. Now we all know what that can do a man's thinking. Here's what it did to him one fine day.

Beef was still living at home with mom and dad when in his early 20s. Yet he wasn't like so many youngsters that he mooched off his folks. He contributed to the household, helping with the bills up to and including food for the holidays. Yeah, by his own admittance he drank too much in them days. But he did his part just the same.

He was sitting at a bar one night a day or two before Thanksgiving while a friend of his expounded on the value of fresh turkey. You buy it live, then dress and cook it yourself. It was much better than the frozen birds from your local market. The bar friend even told Beefy where he could buy live turkeys, even at that late date and that close to the holiday.

Sliding off his stool the next minute, Beefy resolved, even in his altered state, to treat his family to a fresh turkey dinner that very Thanksgiving. He went out and bought a fresh, and remember live, bird.

Now on his way home it occurred to Beef that if one fresh turkey was good, two oughta be a whole lot better. They really should. So when he arrived at home he took the one he had, opened the back door by the kitchen, and tossed a rather upset wild fowl inside, yelling, "Get that one ready Ma, I'm gonna get another!" 

I can't imagine what it was like chasing a live turkey all over a house. But I'm sure Beefy's mother described it to him adequately.

Attracting Deer

All right, I've been enough of a curmudgeon this week. Let's get back to fun stories.

There was this fella who came in the Shop all the time who we called Beefy because, uh, well, it fit his stature. Like so many Michiganders, he looked forward to deer season. It begins November 15 every year, so as that's coming up soon I found myself thinking of him.

Beefy managed a plumbing company. There was one particular employee whom Beefy didn't like at all, I'll call him Cloyce just to give him a name, who was an old friend of the company owner. Beefy didn't care for the guy because he was a slacker. Yet he couldn't do anything but deal with Cloyce because of the guy's friendship with the boss. That didn't keep Beefy from complaining about Cloyce every time he was in the old barn though.

One November years ago Beefy walked into the Shop with a couple small repairs. While tending to one I eventually asked a rather obvious question, just making conversation, "So you going out hunting next week Beef?"

"Yep," he kind of drawled. "Taking Cloyce with me too."

"What? You hate Cloyce, and you're going to spend a couple weeks with him in deer camp?" I couldn't believe my ears.

"Oh yeah, I even bought Cloyce some clothes for it. Nice brown suits. I'm going to tell him his job is to run out into the woods and scare up the deer for the rest of us," Beefy explained.

I don't think I stopped laughing for a half an hour.

Beefy Don't Get Rattled

I introduced you to my old friend Beefy awhile back. He was a great guy, and in a quiet, unruffled way. While our old buddy Cloyce would indeed upset him (see here: Cloyce attracts deer), by and large Beef was happy watching the world go by.

Beefy liked his drink. He had purchased a bottle of vodka on his way home from work one day, and then stopped at a favored watering hole for a couple beers. By his own admission, he was feeling it a bit as he left the bar an hour or two later.

He was driving down the freeway when he noticed the smell of something burning. That's when he saw tiny flames licking up around the edges of the hood of his car. It turns out a pair of frayed wires had caused a fire. Beefy steered the car well onto a fortunately wide shoulder which happened to be at that spot of the highway. When he had stopped, he jumped out of the car, not forgetting his precious bottle of liquor. 

Beefy climbed up the berm at the roadside and sat far enough away from the car, by then engulfed in flames, to be safe, and began to ease his pain by uncorking the vodka and taking a nip. Soon enough he took another draw at the bottle and then a third, morosely watching his car incinerate itself.

Naturally enough, the fire drew the attention of a Michigan state trooper. The officer pulled up (well behind the flaming hulk of metal of course) and climbed up to where Beefy sat. "That your car?' the cop demanded.

"Yep," Beefy affirmed, with another shot of vodka.

"Well, would you like me to call the fire department?" the trooper asked, sarcastically.

After another drink Beefy simply answered, "If you want to."

That's it. That's the story. Beefy lost a car yet saved his vodka.