UNDERGROUND A&R REPORT

Big Wormy

I seen his rig pullin in slow on the fuel line. New paint sparkling after his recent entanglement with a wild boar that ran off the road after eating a round of mash at the bootleggers. Damn he'd been proud of that tractor's pedigree.

As he put the nozzle in for the rush of go-juice I seen 'im smile, all three front teeth blacker than soot, his lip curled up tight in a grin like a doped up coon heading for the front line shitter.

I hit the switch and the fuse box shuddered. Big Wormy was back in town.

Wormy got his name from his distended belly, caused by a life of nightly 12's of brewski. His rotund appearance made him look like a blue tick ate up with the worms. After his nightly indulgence, Wormy could usually howl like the 'ol blue tick too.

No long ago, Wormy was making a killin' haulin' radioactive waste for the DOD out where the man hid his evil deeds from the public eyes, in a barren wasteland called North Dakota. There, the kingpins of hypocrisy hoped the stuff would stay hidden, out of sight, out of mind, for as long as it takes. They wished for alot.

Wormy had his hazmat license pulled after a truck stop jezebel he'd been ridin' cross the land got all freaked out on some local tweek Wormy had picked up from some jarheads guardin' a missle silo out in Oklahoma. When the law caught up with her runnin' naked across the Piggley Wiggley parking lot, she told them Wormy was the devil and he was makin' her eat rats. The lawdogs found Wormy passed out in his sleeper with courage cans scattered about, blunt halfway burned in the ashtray.

After bonding out, Wormy found out the man had sent a replacement driver to ferry the waste into the badlands, and that his hazmat permits were pulled. Wormy went on a six week bender that ended when he got arrested at Mardi Gras in 'nawlins riding a donkey down Bourbon Street in his drawers.

After he got that out of the way, he married that 'ol spun out gal that caused it all. It lasted 43 days.

As I pulled his open account to register his fuel purchase I asked him how the folks were back in Fort Payne.

"Damn crazy-ass bunch!" he spat.

"Really? Why's that?" I asked.

"Damn sister is pullin' for Old Bammer to run against Grandpa in the big race. Man, I don't understand it. Don't people know that'll be the end of this country if Old Bammer gets in?"

"Why's that man?" I asked. "He might be just what we need."

"Shit" Wormy gave me a cross eyed look that said a white southern boy makin' those statements was damn near crazy too.

As Wormy signed his receipt, Louie Whodat came through the door.

"Watch that son-of-a-bitch." Wormy whispered after he'd passed. "I hear he's a snitch."

"Na bossman, I hear he's the real deal captain." I answered back.

"Well I know for a fact he's in the wrong county man." Wormy shot back with a sneer.

"Big money means they go where ever they want, runnin' up bills for no good means man." I said.

"Another thing that's wrong with this country. Sorry fuckers on the tax payer dole doin' shit they need not be doin' and gettin' away with it."

"Check out his ride" I said. "Nice newer model sedan, probably confiscated."

"Damn!" said Wormy. "Does anyone give a damn anymore?"

"Na man" I said. "They're just wailin' the propagandha backed up by the gun. To them life means they get the paycheck, they win. You are just another piece of shit."

"Hell, I've dealt with the man" Wormy sputtered, voice rising. "That motherfucker ain't the man, he's a lackey."

"Amen brother" I replied.

"Amen hell!" grunted Wormy.

Wormy cranked up his rig, hollered out on the radio about hittin a choke-n-puke a few exits down and rumbled out of the lot.

The sedan pulled out slowly behind him, giving enough space so as to seem inconspicuous.

Big Wormy was headin' out of town.