Technically this tale doesn't belong here. Its a story
about feathers, not flies. It's a tale of motorcycles and chicken
fighting and high dollar machine guns. A little something for
everyone.
Years ago I practiced pharmacy in a different part of town.
It was a 3-day-a-week 14-hour job that let me fish and still
work a regular job. I carried a 45 like I did in Nam, cocked
and locked, a 38 in an ankle holster and a 25 in the pocket
of my smock. Not the ideal professional environment, but
I could fish 4 days a week.
During the course of my practice I ran across several
interesting individuals. Ron and Dan will forever be
etched on my mind. Two great guys that just lead
different life styles. They were stereotyped bikers,
tatoos and dress. Leathers and such. These were
not low life people, just people that had pursued a
different path. I could relate to them because I put
25,000 miles on a bike south of the border and
12,000 miles in Europe.
Usually on Saturday night when I closed we would
meet in the parking lot and drink imported German beer.
We would discuss life and in the course of these
discussions my fly tying habit came up. The comment
that "We go to the local cock fights," elicited the
response from me "well just bring me the loosers."
That night Ron said "Let show you this nice piece,"
I looked for the honey but Ron opened his vest and
there was a 380 Uzi with a funny little leather rig that
slicked that gun out faster than you could spit. Dan
and Ron both had these "toys." They said a Uzi
stopped a lot of trouble. I could believe that.
About a week later an hour or so before closing
here came Ron and Dan with a Bulky Las gunny
sack full of half frozen chickens. Boy did they stink.
I dragged the sack into the back room and just hoped
the night would end quickly. I ask "Where did you get
them," and the reply was "At the chicken fight." I just
couldn't believe that they would allow two guys to just
pick up evidence.
I took them home and cleaned them. My wife locked
the bedroom door and I spent four to five hours cleaning
and boraxing those nasty chickens. She never again complained
about the price of my chicken necks.
A week or so later Ron and Dan showed up for our
weekly beer do and I ask "Why did they let you take them."
Ron said, "Dan took out his Uzi and I just put the chickens
into the gunny sack." "Nobody said a word."
I can believe that. ~ Old Rupe
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