Buck Greaser's Survival Guide for Skinny Runts.
OK, your license says 6' 1" and 145 lbs. , but we know the real truth, come on. You ain't never weighed 145 lbs. even with your pockets loaded down with fishing lures and your boots filled with quarters. (Lucky for you they don't actually weigh you when you get your license--those ladies would be trying to feed you a sandwich). Hey skinny runt, this blog is for you, and will help you survive in the fat world we live in.

BUCK GREASER
Here to help

Great Survival Tips for Skinny Runts
Ways to make it through life without getting
your ass kicked
so often.

 

Concrete Sidewalk

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This entry was posted on 7/5/2007 9:57 PM and is filed under uncategorized.

OK boys, here's how my day went down. She yanked me outta bed before noon today and said "gitch yur skinny ass over to the Ace and pick up that concrete so I don't have to step out in the mud ever time I get outta the car". This coulda been a nice day of peace and quiet if she hadn't got that crazy ass idea, but in all fairness I did tell her I'd do it about 3 months ago, and I ain't done it yet. Laid the forms about two weeks ago, and they've just been sittin there ever since. So, OK, I'm pouring a section of sidewalk today. The way she was yellin and pushin me around I knew I didn't have no choice in the matter. That's how lots of days turn out around here. So there I am, suddenly in my truck, stinkin from bein drunk last night, tryin to find a shirt to put on that I knew was somewhere behind my seat, drivin to Ace Hardware with the bright sun right in my eyes. I really just wanted a cup of coffee but she had me down the front steps and into the truck before I could even put up a decent fight about it, besides, I get kinda embarrassed ever time she starts layin into me on the front lawn, neighbors  watchin and all. We get outside the front door and buddy I just do whatever she says to keep her from whippin my ass right there in fronta God and all the neighbers--neighberhood kids all think I'm a tough dude and I aim to keepem thinkin that way, and that don't include gettin my ass whipped by my old lady on the front lawn.
So I bought six bags of concrete and three bags of sand down at the Ace. Drove around back to loadem in and do you know them bags of concrete weigh 60 freakin pounds now. I could swear they used to put them in 40 lb. bags, but now they weigh 60 lbs. I fought with one damned bag while the Ace kid loaded the other five plus the bags of sand. He asked me if I had some help unloading this on the other end, and I told him my old lady was at home waitin to do it. We both sat there and burned one while I got my strength back up to drive the shit home.
There's really more to this story, but my arms are beginnin to get tired from punchin it all in. I'll continue it after I rest up some.
 

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    • 7/24/2007 2:21 AM Ron wrote:
      I fully emphasize with your thinness. I was very thin in college, weighing as light as 118 pounds at 6 foot tall! Like you I had to be careful not to be picked on, especially by younger boys and girls -- who loved showing off their strength. I had a brat of a younger brother -- who as an eleven year old could not only outwrestle me, but could lift me over his head. He wore 5 shirt sizes larger than me, and he out-weighed me by nearly 60 pounds (he was huge for his age!). He also would sometimes pit me against his freind's younger brothers/sisters... to humiliate me.
      Reply to this
      1. 8/4/2007 9:27 PM Buck wrote:
        Wow, Ron, that is a familiar situation. Sorry to hear you were whipped by your 11 year old brother that way, and when you were in college, no less. I can identify. I used to beat up all three of my little brothers regularly, and I was one ruthless bully when it came to them brats. Then about the time I turned 14 we discovered that Brent, my next younger brother down (by 3 years) outweighed me by 15 lbs. He started by knuckling me in the chest, where that bone is, and it hurt like hell. Soon he was whipping my ass all over the yard, and sometimes 11 and 12 yr old neighborhood kids would take turns kickin the shit out of me. I actually weighed less at 14 than I did when I was 12, and through high school I kept growin taller but never put on any pounds. It got even worse, cause Brent kept fillin out and liftin weights, and by the time I was a senior he had at least 45 lbs on me, even though I was considerably taller. I had to buy him beer to keep him from whippin my ass in front of neighbors, or my girlfriends(but he still kicked my butt at other times, whenever he felt like it)For several years I had to wear all of his hand-me-up jeans when he outgrew them, and they were always miles too big in the waist and usually too short in the legs. He made a joke out of this by sometimes picking me up off the ground by the waist of the jeans (which hurts like Holy hell, by the way) and makin some comment like "pull up your pants, runt". He especially liked showin off in front of neighborhood kids by doin this.
        It ain't much better today, now that we're grown men. All three of my little brothers outweigh me now. Brent is up to about 290 lbs and pumps iron every spare minute. I have never been able to get over 135 lbs, and I'm usually far under that weight (I don't step on no scales in front of nobody, man) It happens about once or twice a year, whenever we get together for Thanksgiving or some holiday. I get my ass whipped out in the barn. My little brothers call it the "Buck Kickin" and kid about whose goin to do the Buck Kickin this year. He always waits till afternoon when we've had a few beers and I'm layin back on the couch--grabs me by the arm and says "lets go out to the barn and check out Dad's Oliver". That's when I know it's all over for me, dude, cause we ain't goin out there to look at no tractor. I got no choice in the matter once he grabs me by the arm (shit, he could probly pick me up and throw me 15 or 20 feet, his arms is probly bigger around than my waist, and I ain't kiddin). This year when it happened I was shakin so bad I couldn't even light my cig, and I was cussin him all the way out to the barn. What happens out there I can't hardly talk about--I mean he kicks my ass up one side and down the other, and he don't stop till I'm throwin up or pass out. I'm usually laid up in bed for a week or two after that. Almost stopped goin to Ma's for holidays just to avoid this annual lickin.
        Reply to this
    • 8/2/2007 11:21 PM Dagg wrote:
      You lazy fuck. Grow a pair and tell the ol lady where dune for. Life is too short to neglect the beer drinkin and work in the hot sun.
      Reply to this
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