Lizard Tales

by Ron Shirley

  Now, I knew I needed the money, so I swallowed my pride (along with a few teeth), went back up that ladder, and headed back to work. The rest of the summer, me and Jason were up and down like a hooker on Saturday night, but I didn’t ever let it boil over, ’cause I didn’t feel like getting boomed off another house—or out of a job.

  As the summer neared an end, I tried to get in all the hours I could before I headed back to school. One Thursday afternoon we were roofing a two-story house, working the very top section together. Naturally, Jason was nailing shingles and I was his laborer, bringing him heavy stacks of shingles when he needed them. I’d have to go to the ground, toss two bundles of shingles over my shoulder, climb the first ladder, walk across the first level, climb the second ladder, then walk the shingles over to where Jason was nailing. Now, it was hotter that day than a two-dollar pistol at an all-night shootout, so I had nothing on but shorts; I’d left my shoes, socks, and shirt on the ground. I could see one of them ol’ summer storms blowing in and I was actually hoping it would rain for a few minutes and cool everything off.

  When I came across the roof to drop some shingles, Jason started in on me about not having a shirt and shoes on. I said, “Bo, we’re roofers, not politicians—and nobody’s home anyway!” Then, before I knew it, he was up and all over me like a fat tick on a dead dog. I had finally had enough. I told him where he could stick his job and I headed to the ladder to get to the ground and leave. The last thing I remember was Jason yelling at me to go to hell, and I yelled back that I couldn’t ’cause they had a restraining order on me there.

  I had just started down the ladder when the lights went out. When I came to, my vision was real blurry and all I could see were bright lights and this beautiful face over me. I was just about to reach out to touch it and ask the lady if I was in heaven, when my eyesight started coming back. This lady was so ugly that if her face were her fortune she’d get a tax rebate. So I just figured I must be in hell. Then I heard the sirens and the lady was saying, “Mr. Shirley? Can you hear me?”

  I answered, “Does a one-legged duck swim in a circle?” I realized I was in an ambulance—my brother must have hit me again with something and knocked me off that roof. I tried to get up but couldn’t move my leg, so I knew I was worse off than a blind rat in an outhouse maze. I asked her what my brother hit me with, and where he was. But about that time I smelled something burning like grease in the bottom of an oven.

  “What’s on fire?”

  The lady replied, “Mr. Shirley, that’s you. I need you to stay calm. You’ve been struck by lightning.”

  Seems when I stepped on that ladder, it wasn’t Jason that hit me, but a right hook from God Himself. The jolt had blown all the ladders off the house and knocked me all the way to the ground; in the process, it had blown off all my fingernails and toenails and burned off my eyebrows, my mustache, and all the hair in my armpits! The lady in the ambulance also told me that when I hit the ground, I jumped up and started running around in circles like a top spinning for a wrecked doughnut train. She said I kept yelling, “I’m on fire! I’m on fire!” Then I ran over to the pool and jumped in. Well, apparently I hit my head and went unconscious, and then Jason dove off the top of the house into the pool to save me. He pulled me out, did CPR to revive me, and got the ambulance there.

  I don’t know what made Jason take that jump. He must’ve been suffering from halitosis of the intellect, but he saved my life. I had to go into surgery to fix my knee, which was more twisted than a box of fishhooks.

  As I was lying in the hospital bed that night, my door opened and in came Jason, wheeling himself in a wheelchair. He had poured ketchup on his head and rubbed grease all over his face. Ol’ Jason looked worse than a one-legged cat at the dog pound. I was lying in that bed, feeling worse than death with a hangover, and I chuckled, “What are you doing?”

  Jason said, “I just wanted to make you laugh—and didn’t want to leave you here by yourself.”

  We laughed and talked and he got me a mirror so I could see all the burns and stitches in my face. I have to admit: I looked like my face had caught fire and someone had beat it out with a bag of bent nickels.

  We had a good talk that night. And when Jason got ready to leave, I knew I had to thank him and tell him I loved him—but we just never talked to each other like that. As he was heading out the door, I started trying to thank him, but my tongue kept tripping over my eyeteeth.

  Jason just smiled and said, “I know, brother. I’d fight a tiger in the dark with a switch for you, too, but you ain’t gotta say it. In fact, save your breath. You might need it to blow up your next date, looking like that.”

  And with that he closed the door.

  [Insults]

  1. If I wanted to hear a butthole, I’d fart.

  2. If I want more lip from you, I’ll peel it off my zipper.

  3. If you sow your wild oats, I’m gonna pray for crop failure.

  4. I’ve seen freaks like you before, but I had to pay admission.

  5. I’m not being rude, you’re being insignificant.

  6. I do understand, I just don’t care.

  7. I don’t know what you drank last night, but your breath smells like the bottom of a birdcage.

  8. I hope you get the fleas of a thousand camels in your crotch and your arms are too short to scratch.

  9. Life is really good. Why don’t you go get one?

  10. Last time I seen a mouth that big, it had a hook in it.

  11. My imaginary friend says you have serious mental problems.

  12. Someone ruined a perfectly good butthole by putting teeth in your mouth.

  13. You don’t need a makeover; you need to be run over.

  14. Your momma should have hit you over the head at birth and sold the milk.

  15. Your trailer park called and said they wanted their trash back.

  16. You’ve gotten all up in the Kool-Aid and don’t even know the flavor.

  17. Bo, you make more noise than a blind fox in a henhouse.

  18. One million sperm … and you were the fastest?

  19. Go tell your momma. I’m sure she values your opinion.

  20. I had your cake and fed it to my pet gorilla.

  21. Take a long walk off a short pier.

  22. It’s destiny that we met—maybe as a punishment to me.

  23. You’re the reason a man has a middle finger.

  24. If dumb was hair, you would never need to shave.

  25. I’ve seen more appealing boogers on a bathroom stall.

  [Easy]

  1. She’s like a hotel doorknob: Everyone seems to get a turn.

  2. There’s no I in “slut” … but there is a U.

  3. Her jeans are so tight I could see Lincoln smiling on the penny in her back pocket.

  4. The trouble with a milk cow is she never stays milked.

  5. Easy as herdin’ chickens.

  6. Easier than sliding off a greasy loaf backward.

  7. She let ’em ride her like a borrowed Corvette.

  8. Up and down like a hooker on a Saturday night.

  9. I do all I can … and the easy ones twice.

  10. Easier than telling a pig to roll in the mud.

  11. Easier than making a blind preacher cuss.

  12

  Being Big Don’t Make You Bad … No More Than Being Born in an Oven Makes You a Biscuit

  From the time I was eighteen until I was thirty-one, my best friend was a mountain of a man named Johnny. At the time of his death, Johnny stood six-foot-six, weighed 385 pounds, and had twenty-six-inch biceps. He held the “Fourth Strongest Man in the World” title, which he won at the Met-Rx World’s Strongest Man Championship in 2002. Johnny and I lifted weights every day. He also helped me lead my wife, Amy, to a World Powerlifting Championship in 2002—and she still holds more than twenty state, national, and world records.

  Me and Johnny were more beefed up than Brahma bulls on a twenty-four-hour IV feed of Pump-n-Grow. But th
ere was one thing we were not, and that was cocky. In fact, we were the humblest big guys you’d ever meet. See, when we were in our early twenties, we thought we were tougher than two-dollar steaks, and prettier than any cow chewing her first cud. We liked to frequent the bars down on Hillsborough Street by North Carolina State on the weekends, because the bars there would always have penny drafts and girls who were hotter than a mess of collards on the back burner of a four-dollar stove.

  Normally we pretty much just walked to the front of the line and got in free, ’cause around these parts, we were pretty well known. One night we rolled into a normal hotspot and started gettin’ wilder than a peach orchard hog.

  Now, everywhere we went we were always the biggest and the baddest and did about what we wanted. That night, John Boy got locked on a girl who was finer than mosquito hair split three ways—but a girl that hot comes with a price … and usually a lot of problems. I tried to tell Johnny that we oughtta move on to greener pastures, ’cause I was sure a filly that tight was bound to have a herd of horses with her. But Johnny was more stubborn than a harnessed mule and had to have whatever he set his sights on.

  Well, it didn’t take long; ol’ Johnny talked smoother than a baby’s behind after a waxing and about had this girl ready to head out with us. But just then I noticed the bar got kinda quiet. Then I got this real hot burning sensation on my neck, so I spun around figuring I was gonna have to set some fellow in his place. That’s when I came face-to-face with the Tasmanian Devil’s brother. This dude was breathing fire! He was a right stocky ol’ boy too, and I could tell I was about to have my hands full. Just off to his left was a fellow about my height but about 340 pounds—didn’t look like he’d ever missed his momma’s dinner bell. Well, I dug in, ’cause Pops always told me the first punch usually wins the fight. I was about to go through that boy like a Sherman tank through downtown Atlanta.

  Then I heard a bellow. Johnny had caught wind of what was about to go down and he stepped up. Now, when I say Johnny was big, I mean he was so big I’d seen his shadow win a fight before. John Boy looked down at this miniature Spartan in front of me and slapped him right in the chest.

  “You ever been beat down so bad you were eye-to-eye with the ankle bracelet of a flat-footed pygmy?” he asked. Everybody in the bar busted out laughing.

  It was about this time that Raleigh’s finest rolled inside and got between us. I knew something was wrong when the cops put their backs to us and started talking to the other guys—almost like they were protecting me and Johnny. I heard one of them say, “Now, Bear, you know if you get in one more fight they’ll suspend you from the team.”

  Then the cops turned to us and said, “How ’bout you fellas start going ahead and leaving? We’ll keep these boys inside.”

  Of course, this made me and Johnny hotter than a deep-fried habanero in hell! We were bigger than these guys and tough enough to tear up a train track with a rubber mallet. But we knew better than to argue with the police. So we decided to head on outta there. On our way out, Johnny grabbed ol’ boy’s girl and stuck his tongue so far down her throat he must’ve tickled her belly button. She didn’t resist none either. Then Johnny looked back at the feller I was nose-to-nose with and he winked.

  We rolled out back, loaded into John Boy’s black Chevy truck with the six-inch lift and thirty-five-inch tires, fired that baby up, and let the dual exhaust sing. I was digging on the radio looking for some Hank when the truck cut off. I looked over at Johnny, who was looking bewildered, and noticed the guy from inside the bar standing on the step rail on the driver’s side with Johnny’s keys in his hand.

  In a deep voice, he bellowed, “Get on out, ’cause we about to finish this.” The Pillsbury Doughboy stood right in tow behind him.

  John Boy looked at me and asked, “Which one do you want?”—like we were in a supermarket picking out the steaks we were about to fire up on the grill. I told him I’d take Doughboy and leave him the light work. I figured that way he could finish quickly and enjoy me rolling this gravy-train-on-biscuit-wheels around the parking lot.

  Well, it was only a matter of seconds before I realized that I couldn’t have melted myself down and poured myself on this big boy. I tell you what: Getting on that 340 pounds was a heck of a lot easier than getting back off! That ol’ boy was beating me like an Indian drum on a wedding night. I started calling Johnny for help, but when I turned to see where he was, all I saw was his feet where his head shoulda been and his arms folded around like a pretzel while this other guy was pounding on his face like a prison crew on a pile of soft rocks.

  I haven’t ever been so happy to see flashing blue lights and hear sirens! For the first time ever, the police actually helped us. They broke up the fight and Johnny came and helped me off the ground. The two of us looked like two toads that had just been out in a hailstorm.

  The cops came over and told us to leave and they’d forget this happened. I was glad to head out with all my teeth still intact. As we were climbing into Johnny’s truck, I asked the cops who those boys were. He told us the doughboy was the starting nose guard for the state football team and the other one, who they called Bear, was the national collegiate heavyweight wrestling champion.

  Well, I learned two things that night … besides humility. First, never lock horns with a man named after a forest animal. And second, being big don’t make you bad no more than being born in an oven makes you a biscuit.

  [Afraid]

  1. That made my nuts draw up so tight, you couldn’t hit ’em with knittin’ needles.

  2. I ain’t never been scared of nothin’ but spiders and dry counties.

  3. Courage just means you’re scared to death but you saddle up anyway.

  4. It’s not the flying that gets you, it’s the landing.

  5. Scared as a sinner in a cyclone.

  6. Shaking like a toothless dog at a bear jamboree.

  [Speed]

  1. Slower than a herd of turtles marching through peanut butter.

  2. Faster than a jackrabbit on moonshine.

  3. Faster than green grass through a greased goose.

  4. Slower than molasses going uphill in a January snowstorm.

  5. Slower than a sloth in a peanut butter field.

  6. Slower than turtles screwing in molasses.

  7. As fast as green corn through an old maid.

  8. Slower than a herd of turtles racing uphill through superglue.

  9. Faster than a frog on a fly at a maggot farm.

  10. On it faster than a hobo on a ham sandwich.

  11. On it like Barry Bonds on a Randy Johnson fastball.

  12. On it like a bobcat with climbing gear on a phone pole full of catnip.

  [Ugly]

  1. She’s so ugly, she could run a buzzard off a gut barrel at lunchtime.

  2. She’s so ugly, she could make a train take a dirt road on a Sunday afternoon.

  3. She’s so ugly, they filmed Gorillas in the Mist in her shower.

  4. She’s so ugly, she’d scare the balls off a low-flying duck.

  5. She’s so ugly, she’d have to sneak up on water to take a bath.

  6. She’s so ugly, she could stop a bucket of calf slobber in midair.

  7. She’s uglier than three miles of Alabama mud.

  8. She’s uglier than a five-gallon bucket of buttholes.

  9. Everybody has the right to be ugly, but you’ve abused yours.

  10. If I had a dog that looked like you, I’d shave his butt and make him walk backward.

  11. You couldn’t melt yourself down and pour yourself on me.

  12. You look like the dog I keep under my porch.

  13. You got more chins than a Chinese phonebook.

  14. That right there is three pounds of ugly in a two-pound sack.

  15. He’s so ugly, his momma had to get drunk to breastfeed him.

  16. He’s so ugly, he couldn’t get laid at a whorehouse with a handful of hundreds.

  17. He’s uglier than a m
onkey’s armpit after a snot bath.

  18. He’s so ugly that if he walked into a cornfield, the crows would bring back the corn they stole last year.

  19. If her face was her fortune, she’d get a tax rebate.

  13

  Don’t Ride a Horse … Till You’ve Checked Under His Saddle

  One summer day Jason, Johnny, and I were walking the strip at Myrtle Beach (which is where we always went when we were broke). We knew we could find some chicks hotter than green socks on a billy goat and get them to let us crash at their hotel. All we ever needed was gas money and clean clothes and we could easily pull off a stint at the beach.

  Well, I remember that when we got there this particular day it was so hot you could sweat 150 pounds of fat off a 125-pound hog. So we figured we’d better hurry up and find some gals who wanted to hang out, and talk them into heading to their hotel until the sun went down so we could cool off and get some free grub.

  Jason was always the pretty boy. And even though he had Champagne taste and a beer wallet, he usually could talk us into a group of girls and get us set for a few nights’ stay. Now, I’ve heard it said that nothing is impossible—and I agree, because we had been doing both for a few years. But on this particular day, we were making about as much progress as a pogo stick in quicksand. It was getting hotter, we were getting tired and sunburned, and naturally our patience was wearing pretty thin. Jason had always made these trips worth the ride, but that day he was striking out like a blind batter facing Nolan Ryan.