Giant Hillbilly Jesus

A Hellbilly in Albucrazy

Y'all probably won't believe this but this is true.

Yes every word.

Once upon a time a Hellbilly from Tennessee, wandered west, crossed the Mississippi, tromped over the ozarks, the plains, and through the badlands and high deserts of New Mexico to this odd town in the middle, wedged between a watermelon mountain and several Pueblo nations.

Albucrazy ( otherwise known as Albuquerque) is a special place. A melting pot. A fondue of cultures, weirdness, insanity, beauty, confusion and assorted oddities.

In short, a very unlikely place for an over tall Tennessee Hellbilly to find himself amused, bemused, confused and sort of contused.

I reckon that I should explain what a Hellbilly is before I continue.

In short, I, me, myself, am, or more properly, izzz, A Hellbilly.

A Hellbilly is the result of an natural born Southern Appalachian American Hillbilly raised on Johnny Cash, Hank Williams Sr, Led Zeppelin, Alice Cooper and Black Sabbath. Throw in some Rob Zombie, Dylan Thomas, Edgar Allan Poe, Albert Einstein, Schroedinger’s cat, and Carl Jung along with the inspiration of moonshine and madness.

Mix that all together and pour it into a long haired, bearded, strawberry blonde six foot five, hazel eyed misfit and voila. Welcome to the madness.

Now dress that up like an Alice Cooper- Johnny Cash gone biker man in black and you get the visual. Plop that unholy experience down in Albucrazy New Mexico. Anyone else sense impending mayhem?

Well, it's true, no lie, there I was, just stepping off of a bus on Central in beautiful Albucrazy on my way to an appointment. That was when I met that day's adventure.

I should have known that interesting issues were impending when, a few minutes earlier a murder of crows cawwed at me in a cacophony of warning while I waited at the bus stop. Did you know that Crows have regional dialects? This is likely the reason I mistook a warning for a good morning. At any rate, I digress from the true telling of the tale of mayhem.

I walked the brief block and a half along Central, quietly, relaxed, and only slightly caffeinated. Upon reflection I probably should have paid attention to the nice man that had followed me off of the bus. Later I realized he had been hurrying to keep up, which would explain why he was slightly out of breath during our brief un-requested conversation.

I had to be a bit over a full foot taller than he, at the least. He caught up with me at the corner as I waited for the blinking red walking sign to give permission to cross the street by turning a bright blinky green.

There is a certain unpleasantness to the aroma of stale beer, booze and urine. I tried in vain to position myself upwind. Unfortunately , the morning breeze was no match for the aromatic stench. The smell traveled against the wind.

" What time is it? " he asked. " I don't know, no watch. " I replied. " Can I use your cel? " was next. " No cel sorry. " I replied. The light changed. He followed me across the side street. " Bum a smoke? " he asked. " Sorry, I Don't smoke. " I lied.

He rushed in front of me, now waving an opened folding knife. " fck you give me the phone and your wallet. " he wheezed drunkenly. "Why?" I replied stepping back. This confused him.

I managed another step back opening distance between us. He recovered and stumbled towards me. I introduced his forehead to my elbow as I side stepped . Amazingly he did this drunken limbo like contortionist dance step before falling.

I , thinking the unwanted conversation was over, managed several steps away before he lurched to his feet. Evidently I had not expressed my unwillingness to accommodate him clearly enough

I turned to face him, slightly off line. He charged me Knife still in hand. I have no idea what he was yelling, it was neither English nor Spanish. I met his unwanted advance by taking a single step forward, using his knee like a rung on a ladder. It collapsed beneath my weight.

I took another forceful step forward. His face and my right knee introduced themselves quite intimately and enthusiastically. The conversation ended as I stepped past him.

He now lounged uncomfortably on the sidewalk clutching his knee with one hand while pawing at his face with the other. I kicked the knife that he had dropped in his distraction into the street.

The man fell over to lay on his side. I approached, made sure he was breathing and conscious. While I debated whether to call police and or an ambulance for the gentleman. A helpful shop keeper that had witnessed the whole discussion, resolved that question for me.

" Don't worry, I called 911!, Saw the whole thing! " With a weary sigh, I lit up a cigarette, and waited. Looking down the side street, I saw my appointment , watching, waiting for me. Apparently he saw the whole debacle as well.

Great, today's counseling session would be even more interesting than usual. In an astonishingly short time, paramedics and APD arrived.

I sat on the curb, while the medics attended the nice man, and one of the police officers talked with him. Another officer talked with the helpful shopkeeper. From somewhere, a third officer had appeared and quietly stood watching me.

I slowly, carefully pulled out my wallet and withdrew my drivers license. The officer that had interviewed the nice man gathered up his partner, the one watching me, climbed into the ambulance with the nice man, who was now handcuffed to the stretcher.

I figured , well, here’s to a ruined day, and I was going to jail. The officers were laughing. I became highly perplexed, as I offered my I.D. to them. They waved me off.

One spoke, to me, still chuckling. " Are you ok? Yes? Good, have a good day sir. " I was thoroughly confused. " I do not want to know your name. I want to write this report as it was told to me. " " Huh? " I replied.

" Have a nice day! You made my day. I get to write a report that an unknown citizen, identified only as, " The giant hillbilly Jesus" Quote "kicked my ass. when I tried to rob him. " Both officers were laughing. "Have a good day sir."

I walked down the block, baffled. My counselor, who had witnessed the encounter from a block away, blew his hot chai out of his nose when I told him what the police officers said.

I did ask him why he didn't call the cops or try and help.

My counselor,

My court mandated PTSD counselor ( hitting a cop with a fire extinguisher is apparently frowned upon. But hey, I was unarmed and he had a gun so...He shouldn't have been pepper spraying my unarmed , seated, five foot two cute blonde. Just saying.) looked at me and shook his head.

I knew you had it managed, and remember that no contact with police part of probation?''

Damn,

Ok, dude had my back after all.

Albucrazy can be an oddly interesting place.

Albucrazy,

Only those that have lived in Albuquerque, understand.

The joys of Route 66,

Now Central Avenue.

The warzone, and international district.

UNM, Down town,

It's actually more odd than Breaking Bad pretends to be.

West of the big Watermelon mountain and The Apple Mountains.

Sandia Mountain, and the Manzano Mountains.

Is beautiful Albucrazy.

The whole east side is framed by beautiful mountains named for fruit.

Did you know, Albucrazy is higher in elevation than Denver?

Maybe the thin air and oxygen deprivation explains it.

When I last lived there in that elevated city, caught between the Rio Grande and the Big Watermelon. Sandia Mountain.

Surrounded by ancient Pueblo nations. Casinos, and Reservations and Casinos.

High desert and,

A secret Air force Base that rumors say has Atomic bombs, aliens and time machines.

I don't know about all that.

It could explain a lot though.

I lived there for several years.

During one period I worked at a combination Liquor store, gas station and truck stop. Talk about a recipe for interesting things.

No, I am not kidding. Gypsy Liquors

Was all three.

My lil truck

During my time at Gypsy, there were five attempts at theft and robbery. Only one got away.

One thursday an idiot stole a display box, that had only a heavy rock inside. I laughed and watched him as he fled. Damned near beat himself to death trying to run, bouncing off the front door in his hurry.

He saved the heavy Expensive Patron gift box. His face and head, not so much. I opened the door and held it for him.

I was worried he might do a squishy damage to himself and drip some of himself onto the floor. It was purely the eeww factor, not courtesy on my part.

The locations clients were always just this side of WTF, and or just the other side of what's that smell. We had decent folks pop in now and again. However, the visitors of various variable delights, were a steady stream.

That afternoon, forest, which is what I called all attempted runners. Took off at top speed. I called out “ Run forest run” until he ran out of sight back into the hood. Smoked a cigarette then went back inside.

Candy, a clerk, and close friend, answered an incoming call, then motioned me over holding up the Phone. She was laughing.

It was “big T”, the local weed dealer.

“ Hey Donn, You guys missing a Patron box?”

“Yes we are as a matter of fact. One just took off running a few minutes ago.” I informed him, intrigued. Big T laughed, “Why would there be a big heavy rock in the box by the way?”

It was my turn to laugh. “We do that because those fancy expensive boxes try to escape too often. “

Big T laughed hard. “Ok then. Got something for you, be down in a few.”

Big T walked into Gypsy, with some of his crew. One was carrying the Patron display box. Two of the crew escorted “ forest”. I referred to runners as “forest”, as in “run forest run!” Big T was smiling. One of his guys handed me the box, complete with rock. Big T gestured at Forest. “ Punk, wanna say something?”

Forest, with a slight quaver in his voice mumbled something. No one could understand him. Two different hands made thumping noises on his head. He mumbled louder. “Sorry.”

“Get him gone” Big T ordered. They hustled him back out the door. Big T offered his hand, instead of the usual fist bump. As We shook hands he pressed a rolled up sandwich baggy into my hand. “Sorry dog, that shit won't happen again.”

He then bought a sleeve of Patron shots. Which he passed around to all the clerks. On his way out he paused and hefted a couple of the display boxes laughed, shook his head and left.

Moral of the story,

Not so sure it is a moral. Forest didn't run far enough. He would have been better off in jail. The dumbass did not even open it to check inside before he tried trading it for illicit joys from Big T. Some lessons get learned the hard way. Some folks will read the sign then go right on and pee on the electric fence.

The ballad of George and Eileen.

The Ballad of George and Eileen

“ Help me Jayzus!”

George was a regular up until this one final Friday evening. I should introduce you to George.

George, just about my height, 6’5”, maybe 320lbs, male, Navajo, wearing a light green and yellow sundress and bright red fuck me boots. He came in every day for his pint of importers vodka.

Importers, The drink of choice among Centrals lot lizards. Eileen, the other person of interest in the story, told me it was hooker gargle, gets the taste out. Yeah, things you really never wanted to think about.

Now, Eileen. Maybe five feet tall and ninety five pounds. I called her Eileen for two reasons. First, she looked a lot like my ex mother in law, Eileen. Except my ex inlaw, had both of her legs.

The second reason was, Eileen, was an amputee. She was very dedicated to her craft. Never missed a day on the corner there at Gypsy.

That fateful Friday, George came in, bought his Pint then left. He took a post on Eileen's corner. We all kept a sharp look out knowing Eileen didn't take no shit, she had a serious IDGAF attitude not to mention ninety five pounds of crazy in a five ounce sack.

I saw Eileen clamber out of a semi at the diesel stations on the back lot. Security cameras. Watching her on one good leg ,her right one, and a single crutch was always a sight. She could move quickly! Faster than most sixtyish two leggers out there.

I made it out the front door just in time to see her clear the corner of the building. She froze in place looking at her corner. George noticed her and the dumbass made a point of turning his back to her.

I had lit a cigarette and was banging on the glass door of the store. The two clerks joined me for the show. There were no customers in the store.

The air , did this odd shuddering shimmer around Eileen accompanied by an unholy screech. It was amazing. Eileen seemed to teleport across the lot.

We could hear the sound of the crutch whistling as she swung it over and over screeching and hopping around George on her one good leg.

“Halp, halp me jayzus!” George was screaming, crying burbling, curled in an over sized overweight foetal position. “ Hep me, hep me, oh hep me Jayzus “ his agonized mantra.

We Three were helpless. First, even had we wanted to interfere with the tiny one legged hooker beating the giant cross dressing Navajo hooker with a crutch, we were laughing so hard we were crying. We were incapable of movement.

When Eileen figured she had made her point, or gotten bored. Or both. Personally I think she only stopped because that aluminum crutch spontaneously rapidly disassembled.

It wasn't like she could kick him while he was down. She hopped over to us, I opened the door for her. She was very well balanced. Hopped up to the counter, bought a half pint of importers. Then hopped back out.

She hopped out and back to the back lot. There were conversations to be seen on the security video. Eileen climbed up into the cab of another semi. They pulled away.

George, eventually hobbled across Central to the bus stop across the street. Eventually several APD cruisers arrived. About an hour later they left. Not sure if they took George or not. We never saw him again.

The next day, Eileen showed up, with a new crutch, to man her post.

All in all, typical Albucrazy life.