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CHAPTER ONE AUGUST 6, 1988 “Aw heck!” said Jim Bob, from his seat atop the hood of his newly washed, tan 1969 Chevy Nova. “Heck,” repeated his buddy Pencilneck as he slumped against the driver’s side fender of Jim Bob’s car. “Awww heck!” repeated Jim Bob with an added tone of disgust. “Heck?” asked Pencilneck, having noted the added tone of disgust. “Yeah, Pencilneck, I said ‘heck’!” Jim Bob slid off the hood, landing in the dirt road. With a quick jump through the open window of his tan 1969 Chevy Nova, he was in the driver’s seat. His head slumped forward and hit the steering wheel. The horn blarred. “Awwww HECK!” “Easy there Jim Bob,” Pencilneck stopped his slumping. He bent down and leaned into the open window. “I didn’t mean to get ya all riled up. Heck, if a man wants to say heck, I mean, it’s his prerogative. I mean, geez!” It was morning in Cheestown and Jim Bob and Pencilneck had just returned from Jinky’s Carwash Calvacade. Neither one had been home since the previous morning. They’d eaten little and drank much. Washing the car was an attempt to get rid of the evidence of a night spent road drinking down the dirty, dusty roads that ringed their po-dunk town. “Hey Jimbo?” asked Pencilneck. “Whaddya say we grab a twelver and go back out drinkin’ down Millerfog’s Road? Hell, I don’t gotta be to work for another couple of hours. We could grab my Wilma Tilly tape from the house and party down. I got a couple of cigs left. Whaddaya say, dude?” Pencilneck’s effort to cheer up Jim Bob had failed. The idea—a pretty good one—fell flat with his dejected friend. Pencilneck sighed then spat a big gob of saliva into the dust between his Trixx® tennis shoes.
Pencilneck felt a bit like he was walking on egg shells, but Jim Bob’s statement begged the question, “What do you want out of life, Jim Bob?” “I want,” answered Jim Bob, as a smile began to crawl across his freckled and sun-reddened face, “I want to road trip across America!” “Yeah.” was Pencilneck's unenthused and dismissive response. “I’m serious, Pence. "I want to road trip across the U.S of A.” “Get real,” replied Pencilneck. “We can’t just road trip across America. That’s insane.” “Naw, man, it ain’t insane.” Jim Bob was starting to get excited as the idea crystallized in his head. Pencilneck could tell the idea was starting to get ahold of his friend. He could tell by the color of Jim Bob’s ears. They seemed to grow larger as Jim Bob became more animated, and they seemed to be turning slightly purple. This only happened when Jim Bob got really excited. “Holy shit, J.B., check out them ears!” “Think of it, dude,” said Jim Bob dancing wildly in the dust. “We’ll load up the car with supplies, quit our jobs, grab some dough and blow this little hick Cheesetown for-frickin’-ever. “Man, your ears are buggin’ out purple, Jim Bobby,” remarked Pencilneck. “They look like big old purple potatoes or somethin’.” “Do you realize, Pencilneck,” continued Jim Bob, not even listening to his friends remarks, “that I am twenty-two years old and I’ve never even seen the World's Biggest Gunny Sack?” Pencilneck was now slightly hunched and squinting against the sun to get a good look at the hue and tint of Jim Bob’s ears. “Dude, your ears haven’t been this purple since you made Jimmy Jay Jr. eat that toadfrog last spring.” “Pencilneck!” Jim Bob shouted. “Have you been listening to a word I’ve said?” “Goddamn purplist ears I have ever seen. Holy goddamn.” Jim Bob amped up the decibels a tatch, “PENCILNECK!” Pencilneck snapped out of his trance. “What, dude? What?” “Let’s do it, Pence, let’s get out of here. I’m serious. We’ll go to the East Coast, then we’ll go to the West Coast, then we’ll go to the South Coast and if there’s a North Coast, we’ll go there too, and then we can do it all over again.” “Yeah?” asked Pencilneck, allowing the idea to penetrate through the mop of uncombed hair atop his noggin. “Yeah.” answered Jim Bob. “We’ll be bums, we’ll rob banks and shit like that.” “Yeah?” asked Pencilneck, as the idea started to seep into the many cracks and fissures of his battered, thick skull. “Yeah,” answered Jim Bob. “We’ll flirt with pretty women and give ‘em fake names so they can’t find us after we make love to ‘em.”
“Yeah, Pency, we can do all that and much more. So much more.” Pencilneck began to dance wildly in the dust. He didn’t even notice his nose. “Goddman, Pencilneck, I haven’t seen your nose get that friggin’ green since you tricked old Mrs. Millerfog into taking that extra sample of Cheese Glop® outside of McFarlan’s Grocery Store!” |
Jim Bob lifted his head from off of the steering wheel. “No, it’s my fault, Pencilneck, I didn’t mean to be such a jerk.” Jim Bob got out of the car using the door this time. He leaned against it and spat into the dust. “It’s just that... I’m bored, that’s all. I’m bored to death.” Jim Bob paused and fought back his emotions. His voice trembled. “I gotta get out of this town, Pencilneck. I gotta do something. I gotta—I don’t know.” Jim Bob stared down at his mud-caked cowboy boots. He was bored. Bored with his life. Bored with the town he grew up in and lived in all his life. Bored with the people. He was bored with being bored and he was angry at himself. Pencilneck was bored too. It wasn’t any secret that Cheesetown wasn’t the most exciting place to live.
The idea had penetrated Pencilneck’s brain pan and was swirling around in whatever part of the brain processes crazy ideas and makes them sound like well-reasoned ones. “Yeah, Jimmy? Yeah? Do ya mean it, Jimmy? Are you serious? Can we do that, Jimmy? No shit?” Pencilneck was getting excited.