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Good morning, y’all. It’s so quiet tonight you could hear a cricket break wind. I don’t know if this sobriety thing is sharpening my senses or not, but I am aware of the old adage that a girl that is a 6 at 6PM is always a 10 at 10PM. Sometimes less clarity is a good thing.

Speaking of clarity, I mentioned before that the last thing I remember from the night of the 29th was going into the backseat of a cruiser. I awoke in the drunk tank in the Union county jail. As I admired my form fitting, stylishly tailored jumpsuit, I surveyed the concrete cell with four sets of bunk beds and an open air toilet. Arraignment was set for 11AM, a long time to hold your water. Shy bladder qualifies as cruel and unusual punishment in my opinion.

At the arraignment, Judge “Bald and Rude” read the charges. I was quick to notice that the unique item in this go round was a charge of property destruction in the amount of $1,500. The goes-without-saying charge of, “leaving the scene of an accident”, bumped my worst day ever into a new category, felony. According to eye witnesses, I left the parking lot of the Double Shot Liquor and Gun Store and drove straight across the highway to the Busy Bee Cafe. The Busy Bee Cafe had just that week purchased a large bumblebee to act as their logo, kind of like a Shoney’s Big Boy.

Accounts vary as to how many times I backed back and forth over the bumblebee after knocking him free from its mooring. By all accounts, I didn’t leave until the job was thoroughly done. My work finished, I headed off into the night, crossing county lines and negotiating treacherous mountain roads until my eventual rendezvous with the local constabulary. I recall none of these actions.

Now, I’m not going to make light of the vehicular homicide of a fiberglass bee. I am thinking that if I can get a jury trial, the Georgia faithful will undoubtedly set me free. According to my attorney, Adam Dimwit, my wife Mulva was not remotely interested in going my bail. Mulva was quoted as saying, “he can rot in jail until he rots in hell”. I guess the bloom has gone off the rose.

To summarize, rather than waiting a year for a court date, we took what they were offering. I spent a little over six months in County, did regular psychiatrist evaluations and developed a court approved wellness plan for my probation. I paid my fines, made restitution to the Busy Bee Cafe, and got fitted for a charming piece of electronic jewelry. All and all, it’s a better deal than rotting in jail, and the hereafter. Big bonus, I learned how to setup this website.

Paying my debt to my family is a little harder. Mulva is still madder than a wet hen. My kids, Bud Jr, and Melody have been ignoring me since their teens. I’m not sure they’ve noticed a change. Thank God Bud III, or Trey as I call him, is too young to know what’s going on. We’ll talk more about family tomorrow.

Good morning y’all. Looks like I’ve found a sweet spot in the time to do my daily posting. Seems that posting after midnight lessens my anxiety in sharing the community computer and reduces my homicidal tendencies. Now that my sleep pattern is altered by sobriety, I seem to have more day. Not that a caged rat needs any more hours in a day.

As promised, today I’ll detail the events that led up to my last incarceration. It started with a squib, or perhaps ended with a squib, depending on your point of view. On November 29th, 2014, my beloved Georgia Bulldogs were playing the Georgia Tech Yellow Jackets in our final home game of the season. The game was far too close, resulting in more consumables being consumed than usual. As we went up 24-21 with 18 seconds left in overtime, our coach decided to squib kick to the Gnats, resulting in excellent field position for the self-same Gnats. The Gnats score and we lose 30-24 in a game that should not have been close. The shock of the loss is something akin to going through the windshield at 70 miles per hour; the only treatment prescribed is self induced coma.

Unfortunately, all of the coma inducing medicines had already been consumed, necessitating a trip to the closest purveyor of distilled spirits. As luck would have it, I live in a dry county, surrounded by dry counties. The closest store is over a winding mountain road that is so crooked you think you’re seeing your own tail lights ahead of you. My rage and fury guided me safely to the Double Shot Liquor and Gun Store. My time spent in the parking lot self medicating, while listening to the post game wrap up, got me closer to the coma needed to stop the constant replay of my Dawgs embarrassment in my head.

The trip back is forgotten except for suddenly being surrounded by the flashing lights of different colored police cars, obviously some sort of multi-jurisdictional issue. I remember one officer, who, if he’d been six inches taller would have been perfectly round, going on and on about a “failure to maintain a lane”. I recollect telling him that whichever lane I was in, was the lane I was maintaining. The last thing I recall was hollering, “hey, that’s mine”, as they were pushing my head down into the backseat of the patrol car. Officer Round was confiscating my bottle from the front seat, and I didn’t want there to be any confusion about ownership.

Well, as my dear departed Daddy, Bocephus Lite used to say, “I’m as tired as a fly in a nudist colony”, so we’ll continue my tale of woe tomorrow.

‘I’m Baa-aack!’ Since an appointed bed time was not part of my parole, I decided to take advantage of my park custodian position here at TackyToo to open up the Rec Room to do my daily post. The requirement is I post every day, there was nothing said about what time of day.

Before we discuss the events behind why I’m now a blogger, I probably should discuss the result that I, my family, and the court system, wants my blog to achieve. Apparently I have what is referred to as “anger management issues”, coupled with a “contempt for authority”. The judge, and a couple of shrinks, felt that by forcing me to release a little steam daily, I would avoid the seismic eruptions of the past. We’ll see.

Judge Baldwin Rood decided to give me one last chance, even after me snickering “Bald and Rude” when he was introduced to the court. Judge Rood chose to be the bigger man and didn’t add a contempt charge to my laundry list of crimes. Good for me.

In exchange for daily entries in a diary, more often if needed, regular AA meetings, and wearing an awkward piece of jewelry that beeps when I get more than 100 feet from my house, I avoid 2-5 years in the custody of the state of Georgia. Sweet. For all of those of you who think that three hots and a cot is an easy row to hoe, let me share with you what my public defender told me. “In twenty two years I’ve never defended anyone who didn’t prefer freedom to jail”. In spite of the fact that Mulva and I clearly needed some quality time apart, house arrest was definitely the way to go.

Now, almost eight months after the incident, I can see how releasing my feelings to the cosmos and getting the resulting feedback could help me gain perspective on my life, my family, and even my assorted addictions. I sense that breaking my pattern of behavior is necessary to keeping this old man from spending his final days in jail. Maybe this high IQ these shrinks say I’ve got will get used for something better than figuring point spreads, who knows?

 Well, butter my butt and call me a biscuit, it’s 2AM. Guess I’ll head back over to Number Two and see what kind of reaction I get from Mrs. Lite seeing me come back in after midnight sober. Could be a hoot.

Speaking of the lovely Mrs. Lite, I know it ain’t been easy, so I’m going to let Willie do my speaking for me:

 “Hello World” from the Rec Room here at the TackyToo Trailer Park. We’re only allowed fifteen minutes at a time on the community computer, so, I’ve got to type fast to tell my story. The sign up list for the computer is a mile long.

First, I must apologize for the photo, but it’s the only photo of me left around here after my wife Mulva pitched a hissy fit after my last arrest. It’s a pretty good photo, as far as booking photos go. I promise to post a new one when I’m allowed more than 100 feet from my trailer. Fortunately, I live in lot Number Two, which is just next door to the Rec room. Number Two at TackyToo is how I give my address to people giving me a ride home. It’s an accurate description in more ways than one.

The terms of my most recent release are an attempt to address my problem’s “root core”, as opposed to dealing with just my behavior. An ankle monitor and writing down my “feelings” for a year, while living outside of the county jail, seemed like a very doable solution to me. In fact, you might say I’m chopping tall cotton. Since we already had an AA chapter here at TackyToo, I’ll be able to attend my court ordered meetings without imposing on family or friends for transport.

The silver lining to my most recent cloud is being released from the weekly trip to Walmart with Mulva on Saturday and attending services at The Full Gospel Original Church of God on Sunday. Now, it’s true that both events are not without amusement, but I’ve got Mulva’s promise to document any mishandling of the snakes at the church. Any Blue Light Special where people get trampled, or other extraordinary stuff, and Mulva will be my eyes and ears.

Well, the line is growing longer and longer behind me. Since consideration for others is in my top ten areas of personal improvement, I’ll sign off before I lose my cool. Good Lord willing and the creek don’t rise, I’ll be back soon.

I’ll leave you with a song to keep you humming along during your day. This one says it all for me: