Craven's blog

Last month when I left you, my dedicated readers, you will recall my disgust at visions of over-blown celebrities escaping the long arm of the law by notoriety alone. This in itself led me back out to the road where the playing field is level. I like being out on the road, just the bike, and me and whatever adventure befalls us. Together we serve every purpose in the world and absolutely no purpose at all. A parallel universe must also exist in this space, as the time seems just to pass by, without regard or recognition. It’s sort of a time warp. Like amnesia.

I suppose that I sometimes dwell on thoughts that do not have any basis. I was once just what I was, but for some reason unbeknownst to me I have been magically transported into a parallel universe where thing are, for the most part, very different. After a couple of days in my brand new doublewide, I began to enjoy the modern conveniences that most folks already enjoy. I mean, for the first time in many years, I do not have to walk outside to the porch to get a beer out of the fridge. In addition, the new hot tub in the bathroom with indoor plumbing is a hoot!

The next evening, when I attempted to leave my Government sponsored motel room, I was immediately accosted by a duo of Gov-goons, that made it very clear that I was not to leave the premises, and should remain inside. A quick scan of the parking lot revealed that very same “Airstream�? looking RV that the head Cod - Knockers were using for their command post remained. A few of the black Suburbans also appeared to be parked nearby. “Hey man, you guys said that I couldn’t go home for 24 hours�? I stated in a loud tone. “ I wanna go back to my trailer, and be somebody!

The next morning, I awoke to find all the girls gone, along with all of my money. I couldn’t imagine what trouble they could get into with a few hundred bucks, but I was wondering what I was going to do without any dough. Although I live this way all the time. Broke I mean… I estimated that it would be almost a week before I could get any money from my gig at the Longbranch, so I went out to the pole barn to get my shovel. Now…. If I can just remember where I buried that coffee can with the money in it!

When I left you, my dedicated readers last month, I was faced with an unexplainable dilemma. Here before me just inches away from the chicken wire mesh that surrounds the stage at the Longbranch, were the Ol Lady, Christi, Paula, and some other broad that I didn’t know sitting on barstools with beer bottles in their hands.

Editors note: Craven’s graphic description of his sexual escapade with his little friend from the restaurant has been deleted from this story. We at Born to Ride Magazine feel that it is our duty to do our best to keep family values, and bring our readers the finest in literature, features and events coverage. After reviewing the first few paragraphs, most of the staff members (both male and female) either left the office for parts unknown, or spent extended amounts of time in the restrooms, or possibly the coat closet.

While I was away on my Mexican vacation, my faithful attorney was able to get the criminal assault charges dropped from the incident at the junk yard. This of course came at the cost of a promissory note signed in blood regarding ownership of my first born son, and titles to the last two pieces of my personal property. There were other considerations and sanctions but I won’t bore you, my dedicated readers with the gory details. As it were, enough problems arose recently to give me the realization that the adage “A wooden bed is better than a golden coffin�? makes a lot of sense.

My escape from Florida was a blur of misery combined with regret, plus the underlying urgency to escape incarceration. In simple terms, I was a fugitive of justice. As my faithful readers will recall, I was being sought by the local authorities for my Christmas shoplifting spree at Grady’s junk yard, just a few days before the Christmas holiday. With the local constables circling the trailer park like buzzards, I had to devise a plan to escape without detection.

For some reason, I still haven’t recovered from the disasters that came to me during the Thanksgiving holiday. It seems that the more I drink to try to forget, the more I remember. Drinking however, is a good thing. Nothing is quite as omnipresent as the power of positive drinking!

The essence of life is, of course, the ability to live without being incarcerated, incapacitated, or persecuted by those individuals that would keep you down, and prevent your intrinsic right to be free. Freedom as we know it however, comes at a very high cost,
especially during the holidays.

It’s always a good reason to fight. Thanksgiving that is. I remember how I was raised, and taught that the real meaning of thanksgiving was to celebrate the Pilgrim’s moratorium on the elimination of Indians. In the old days, it was prophesized that the original celebration involved the sharing of food between long standing adversaries. This tradition, in my life has never changed.