Lizard Tales

by Ron Shirley

  Amy came back to the room, took one eye swipe at us, and said, “What have y’all done?”

  “We haven’t done nothing, I was just helping this priest out with his Catholic duties and felt the lead to do so,” I told her.

  She told me to take the priest to the graveside service while she cleaned up the back room and to mind my manners. She had no idea we were as messed up as a blind man trying to open a revolving door. The priest and I went out to the parking lot and he tried to get in the driver’s seat of my truck, so we started having an argument about who was going to drive to the graveside service. Keep in mind that the cemetery was located just across the highway from the church, but we still had to drive over there. Neither of us could see the ditches, so there was no way to keep between them.

  “Bo, I’m going to drive because you’re drunk,” I told him.

  “No, Bo, I’m not drunk,” the priest told me. “I’m just filled with the Spirit.”

  “Bo, let me assure you,” I told him. “That’s not the Spirit you’re feeling right now—at least, not the Holy Spirit but maybe Boone’s Farm spirit.”

  We didn’t realize our argument was getting louder and louder by the minute, or that everyone in the parking lot was looking at us. The priest looked at me and condemned me to hell in front of everyone. I told him I’d been there, but was so mean they kicked me back out and if I could drink with a priest, I could fight with one too.

  “Bo, I’m about to smack you so hard the picture on your driver’s license is going to be swollen,” I told him.

  About that time, Amy and the owner of the funeral home came walking up. The priest was so mad, he was about to fight me. He really wanted to fight me! I told him it was a whole lot easier getting on this 250 pounds than getting off, but he told me he had God on his side.

  I said, “Priest, I don’t think God boxes.”

  The priest replied, “You never seen the Ali phantom punch?”

  Well, it was on like Donkey Kong after that! He sailed on me, and I hip-checked him to the ground and then there came the funeral staff.

  Amy broke us up and didn’t say a word. I knew from the way she was looking at me I was as done as a Thanksgiving turkey at a chicken slaughterhouse. She snatched the keys and drove us to the graveside service. That priest was like a pine tree in a tornado during that service, swaying back and forth the whole time. I felt like a chimpanzee on a laced bunch of bananas. I was just as tore up as he was. I don’t know what’s in that wine, but that holy wine is some good stuff. I know when Jesus turned water into wine, that must have been a heck of a party!

  The family was really upset. They were ranting and raving, and the priest was just trying to finish the service. I looked over at Amy and just saw rage in her eyes. I knew I was in for it now. She was hotter than a mess of collard greens on the back burner of a four-dollar stove.

  All of a sudden, Amy’s face turned bright red and she started screaming. I thought at first I might need to say my last prayer ’cause she’d had enough. But then I looked down, and Amy’s legs were covered in fire ants. It looked like she was wearing red socks. I’d heard of being hotter than a mess of fire ants in a flash flood, but this gave it a whole new perspective. She’d stepped right in a mound of fire ants and didn’t know it! I dove toward Amy to get the fire ants off her legs, and I guess the priest had caught on too. He dove at about the same time to save her. When we reached Amy, we collided and bumped heads. Well, you know that went over like a trapdoor in a rowboat, and when I stood up, the priest was knocked out cold.

  Amy just looked at me and said, “You’re about as useful as a restrictor plate on a Yugo!”

  I said, “Yep, but I am now blessed and the priest says I’m filled with the Spirits—or, at least a spirit.”

  She left me right there at the graveside madder than a toothless man eyeing a rib-eye steak. The man’s family left because the priest couldn’t finish the service. It was the most horrible thing I had ever been a part of. I might have lost my girl and definitely lost my best source of income. Man. I was as tore up as Noah with a woodpecker. I had to call Jason to come pick me up at the church. The priest was sitting with me and had an egg on his head about the size of a softball. It looked like he went headfirst into a bull. My arms were both swollen from the fire ants, and it looked like I had hemorrhoids the size of grapefruits growing out of them. I was just miserable.

  The priest looked at me and said, “Well, there’s only one thing to do at a time like this.”

  “What’s that?” I asked him as I started to bow my head.

  “Bless some more wine,” he said.

  I smiled and said, “Father, I like the way you think.”

  I finally learned that day that rapture isn’t what you get when you lift something that’s too heavy.

  [Ronnie’s Guide to Living]

  1. Do not walk behind me, for I may not lead. Do not walk ahead of me, for I may not follow. Do not walk beside me, either. Just leave me the hell alone.

  2. The quickest way to double your money is to fold it in half and put it back in your pocket.

  3. The more you complain, the longer God makes you live.

  4. Ham and eggs: a day’s work for a chicken but a lifetime commitment for a pig.

  5. Eagles may soar, but weasels don’t get sucked into jet engines.

  6. Don’t worry too much about anything. Just do the best you can and let the rough end drag.

  7. Don’t sweat the petty things and don’t pet the sweaty things.

  8. I was thinking about how people seem to read the Bible a whole lot more as they get older. Then it dawned on me: they’re cramming for their finals.

  9. Borrow money from a pessimist; they don’t ever expect to get it back.

  10. When everything’s coming your way, you’re in the wrong lane and going the wrong way.

  11. Duct tape is like The Force. It has a light side and a dark side, and it holds the universe together.

  12. A conclusion is the place where you got tired of thinking.

  13. You never really learn to swear until you learn to drive.

  14. The problem with the gene pool is that there is no lifeguard.

  15. The sooner you fall behind, the more time you’ll have to catch up.

  16. Love might be blind, but marriage is a real eye-opener.

  17. Before you criticize someone, you should walk a mile in his shoes. That way, when you criticize him, you’re a mile away and you have his shoes.

  18. The main reason Santa is so jolly is that he knows where all the bad girls live.

  19. Bills travel through the mall at twice the speed of checks.

  20. Never underestimate the power of stupid people in large groups.

  21. Sure you can trust the government. Just ask an Indian!

  22. Conscience is what hurts when everything else feels good.

  23. Love is grand. A divorce is about one hundred grand.

  24. Some people are only alive because it is illegal to shoot them.

  25. You don’t stop laughing because you grow old. You grow old because you stopped laughing.

  23

  I Married Miss Right … I Just Didn’t Know Her First Name Was “Always”

  The day I married my Amy I was happier than Hugh Hefner in a sorority house. With all the bad I’d had in my life, I had spent many a year feeling lower than a mole’s belly button on digging day. But for once, I felt luckier than a five-legged rabbit.

  I had learned from my first marriage that you can turn a housewife into a whore but you’ll never turn a whore into a housewife. So this time around, I was bound and determined to be more successful than an ice-water vendor in hell. I decided to ask Pops what the key to a long and happy marriage was. After deep, intense pondering for about five seconds, he said, “Son, you have to be the king of the castle. From day one, you have to love her unconditionally but let her know who makes the rules and sets the standards.” Then he added, “Women are like tiles: if you lay
’em right the first time, you can walk all over ’em for life.” So I started thinking of ways to lovingly let Amy know that things were going to have to be “my way or the highway” between us.

  We had decided to get married on Halloween and have a costume wedding. All my groomsmen were knights with swords; Amy’s bridesmaids were princesses; and we were the king and queen of Rontopia. All our guests wore costumes, and if you happened to drive by and see the festivities, you would have been as confused as a cross-eyed ’coon trying to cross the road.

  Well, the wedding was a success and we had more fun on the honeymoon than a fat dog at a tire factory. When we returned home, I carried my bride across the threshold and remembered what Pops had said. I figured I’d better go ahead and lay down the foundation right away—but I also figured I’d have to be slicker about it than grease coming out of a barbecue biscuit. I set Amy down on our couch, walked into the bedroom, and came out with a pair of my pants in my hands. “Here, baby,” I said, handing them to her. “Try these on.” Amy looked at the pants and then looked at me as confused as a blind ’coon in a corn maze.

  “Ronnie,” she said, “you know these are too big for me. I can’t wear them.” Smiling from ear-to-ear, I replied, “That’s right, honey, and you always remember that. You’ll never be able to wear my pants in this house. As long as we both understand that, we’ll be as happy as a mule munching on briars.”

  Amy just smiled and said, “OK.”

  I left that room stepping higher than a high-socked rooster in a pigpen. Well, a few hours flew by and we were getting ready for our first night in our house together as husband and wife. When I pulled the sheets down on the bed, there was a set of Amy’s jeans lying on my pillow.

  “Baby, why are these on my pillow?” I asked her.

  She walked in the room and said, “Oh, I wanted you to try them on.”

  I just started laughing. “Amy, you know I can’t get into your pants. I’d have a better chance of trying to nail Jell-O to an oak tree.”

  Amy just smiled. Then, as she got ready to turn out the light, she looked me in the eye and said, “That’s right, honey. You can’t get into my pants. And until you decide to let me wear yours, you’re never gonna get into them again.”

  With that, she snapped off the light and I was surrounded by darkness. As I laid back on the bed, knowing that sleep was all I’d be getting that night, I realized two things: one, never take marital advice from a man who sleeps in his own room alone; and two, I had definitely married Miss Right. It just took me until that moment to realize her first name was “Always.”

  [Leaving]

  1. Make like a cow turd and hit the trail.

  2. Make like a baby and head outta this mother.

  3. Make like a tree in the fall and leave.

  4. Headed off like a herd of turtles.

  5. Outta there like a fat kid in dodgeball.

  6. I’ll leave you behind like you were chained to an oak tree.

  7. Outta there like a one-legged man at a breakdancing contest.

  8. Outta there like a ponytail at an old-fashioned barber shop.

  9. Outta there like a fat man at the New York Marathon.

  10. Break out like inmates with a soap set of the guard’s keys.

  11. We’re off like a prom dress.

  [Lying]

  1. As full of wind as a pig eating baked beans.

  2. She’s lying like a flat snake in tall grass.

  3. It’s your lie: tell it like you want to.

  4. Don’t piss on my back and tell me it’s raining.

  5. My cow died last night, so I don’t need your bull today.

  6. He’s lying like a cheap rug in a Laundromat.

  24

  There Ain’t No Sense in Beating a Dead Horse … ’Course, It Can’t Hurt None Neither

  One of the things I’ve dreaded most over the last few years is Saturday-morning breakfast at Momma’s house. Now, don’t get me wrong. Everyone knows her cooking is so good it could make your tongue jump out and lick the eyebrows off your head. And if she ever got to making them cat-head biscuits and molasses, my tongue would pure drill a hole in the roof of my mouth and slap my brain around till it told my mouth to take another bite. The problem was Amy.

  See, she always pulled a double shift at the funeral home Friday night into Saturday, and that meant she had to pick up bodies at various places and transport them. She drove this big ol’ spooky van that we referred to as the meat wagon. Normally, I’d rather have hemorrhoids the size of grapefruits than to be around when she showed up in that thing. As I mentioned earlier, I didn’t take a liking to being around the deceased or anything that had to do with them; it just really always creeped me out. But if Amy had a call, she would always swing by Momma’s in that meat wagon afterward, roll up inside like nothing was different, and sit down to breakfast with us.

  Now, needless to say, every time this happened I was outta there like a one-legged man at a breakdancing contest. Amy always found it funny. And she knew if she called and told everyone she was on the way, then there would always be plenty of food—’cause once I got that info I’d feel sicker than Lady Gaga’s blind date after the introduction.

  My momma could slap-cook some country breakfasts, and it got to where Amy was ruining them almost every week. So I finally broke down and told Momma I was gonna fix Amy the next time she came by on a Saturday morning. I figured I’d leave like I normally did when she arrived; but instead of driving off, I’d park up the road, run back through the woods to Momma’s house, and climb into the back of that meat wagon. I’d hang out there until Amy started down the road, then I’d jump out and scare her so bad her eyes would bug out like a toady frog in a hailstorm. I figured this might break her from the habit of coming over if I started messing with her every time she did. Problem was, I told Momma my plan in front of Jason.

  You’ve gotta remember that Jason’s sneaky enough, but when it comes to smarts, if brains were gas he wouldn’t have enough to run an ant’s go-kart halfway around a Cheerio. Now, Jason is the type of brother who is just like a billy goat—hardheaded with a stinkin’ tail—so I should have known at some point he was gonna throw a kink into my plan.

  Well, sure enough, the next Saturday rolled around and we were eating hot grits and link sausage with red-eye gravy when the phone rang. It was Amy and she was coming over. I will tell you I was happier than a starving bullfrog at a blow-fly convention. She rolled in, gave me a kiss, and asked me if I was staying and eating with her—with that smart smirk across her face that she does so well.

  “If you believe I’m staying here with you and that van, you must think Grape-Nuts are a venereal disease and Peter Pan is a hospital utensil.”

  She just laughed as I kissed her good-bye. Then I made like a baby and headed on outta there. I just couldn’t wait to sneak back around and finally ruin one of her Saturday mornings! As luck would have it, she left the door unlocked. So I climbed in and then froze. I’d forgotten how horrified I was of this van in the first place! Once I got in, I realized this might not be the brightest idea I ever had. Then I remembered that Pops always told me courage was being scared to death but saddling up anyway, so I eased into the back.

  I had never seen the inside of one of these things. There were two stretchers lying there: one on each side. Problem was, they both had these black body bags laid on them—but one was full and zipped all the way to the top. Now, I could tell that wasn’t a bag of dirty laundry in there and I was more nervous than a three-legged cat trying to cover crap on an icy pond. I knew Amy never brought bodies over, but maybe this time she was in a hurry. I decided it wasn’t gonna take me but an instant to get out of that van. But when I turned to head out I saw her coming out the door. I was trapped—I knew exactly how a long-tailed mountain lion feels in a room full of rat traps.

  Well, I figured I could either man up or cut and run. But since I was this deep in the water, I figured I might as well finish swimming. I j
umped into the other bag and zipped it almost to the top. There wasn’t a zipper on the inside, so I knew I had to let my hand hang out of the hole so I could get it unzipped when it came time to climb out to scare Amy.

  Man, that bag was hotter than two furry rats banging in a wool sock in a sauna; I was sweating like a pig at a hot-dog plant. I could hear Amy get in. She cranked up the van and then turned up the radio. This was great because it would cover any noise I made getting out of the bag. I felt the bumps as we went out of the driveway, and I could feel the van turn to the right and pick up speed. Now, I had no idea that this ride would be as bumpy as the back of Fat Albert’s head, but she nearly slung me off the stretcher three or four times. It was a good thing that the folks who usually rode in this wagon weren’t alive, ’cause if they were she’d have killed ’em with her driving!

  After a few minutes of being shaken worse than a pit bull crapping hatchet handles, I decided to spring into action and give her the scare of her life. I eased that zipper about halfway down. I could hear Amy singing along with the radio, so I knew she wasn’t paying any attention to what was going on behind her. I slipped over to the side of the stretcher, just waiting until we got to a stoplight so she didn’t wreck when I jumped out at her like a bucktoothed mule on a patch of briars.

  Just as we began to ease up to a stoplight, I could see out the window that we were in front of a church—and the church was having a wedding. There were flowers all over and people standing around outside. I thought, Man, I’m gonna scare her so bad she’ll jump out and make a fool of herself in front of this whole wedding party. I bet she won’t ever mess with our Saturday-morning breakfasts again!

  That’s when I heard some moaning that seemed to be coming from the other bag. I figured I was just hearing some feedback from the rear speakers, ’cause there wasn’t any way that a dead person would be making those sounds!

  Or maybe the truck had a whine that sounded like a moan. But it kept getting louder and louder. It was at that moment I saw my life flash before my eyes.