It’s not every day you get to blast a man out of a
perfectly good deer stand. This day was one of those especially
beautiful, sun-filled, blue-skied, cool and crispy Fall days. A
day meant to be in the woods. My 15th birthday present, a single
shot, 12 gauge shotgun bucked a nice frisky mule kick into my
right shoulder and somebody was on their way back to Hell. I had
to smile. Friggin’ demons, whatcha gonna do? Ya know?
I haven’t always been a card-carrying, full blown hunter of
evil. No, I opened my big mouth one night to God and
volunteered. ‘Course I didn’t really realize what He had in mind
for me (who really does?) but I am a man of my word so there you
have it. I could of said “no” (maybe) but my life at the time
sucked big brown horse apples and I truly needed His help. When
you hit rock bottom in life’s barrel of desperation and you’re
on your knees in the dark crying and shaking with grief while
the tears, snot and pain roll out of you like an over-hormoned
lady rhinoceros going through “the change”-well, you’d just have
to be there, I reckon. I didn’t make any “deals” or “hollow
promises” ya see, nope I just cried out to God confessing,
talking and pouring my miserable life out to Him and hoping
(and knowing) that He would listen to me. He did y’all…and here
we are.
…Six days had gone by since my encounter with the head knockin’, purple smock wearin’ meth head and her ball bat swingin’ coward of a friend. To say I was itchin’ for a little payback would have been a wrong presumption. I was itchin’ for the defeat of Evil and all those who supported it. You know how long-time smokers who quit smokin’ become the total opposite and absolutely hate smokin’ and those who smoke? Or fat people who lose large amounts of weight and then become marathon runners or TV infomercial spokespersons and absolutely despise obesity? Well, I’m kinda like that with demons and the whole “evil” thang. I used to be a host for evil and associated with others who did the same. My life was consumed with bad thoughts and bad deeds. My family didn’t know half of what I did, or what I was going through. I was 100% Hell bound and didn’t care one little bit. So when I was saved on that cold, winter’s night, kneelin’ on the floor of that semi-trick’s sleeper cryin’ & dyin’, I became a true hater of evil and all that is evil. Kinda like my early childhood being bullied and picked on. They call it a “spiritual marker”. That event in your past where you and God cross paths and your life is changed one way or another. Think about that y’all; wrap your brain around whether you’d rather be cryin’ & dyin’ or havin’ a heart full of Love spendin’ your days stompin’ the ‘possum snot outta the Devil and lovin’ Life. So it ain’t about revenge y’all. Nope, it’s about being who God wants us to be and doing the right thangs in life to glorify Him. If that means I devote my life to feedin’ the hungry, payin’ off the financial debts of those that are slaves to bad money decisions, and huntin’ down demons on some kinda hellacious safari, then so be it. So, when later that night, over a meal of grilled pork chops, green beans & corn on the cob, Susannah told me the plan of attack, I nodded and quietly did a “happy dance” deep inside.

… Having friends who own junkyards, is always a good thang for a dude like me and this disposable battle wagon was just the ticket for this evening of mayhem. Mounted, old-timey patrol car style, solidly on the roof of this war wagon was a beat-up PA speaker resurrected from a 70’s vintage, retired am-ba-lance. Another gift from the junkyard king, y’all. I’d wired up an old Kraco 8-track tape player and was currently introducing Boston’s 2nd album to the ‘hood at an exceptionally delicious volume level. I rolled onward and watched the water temperature gauge rise accordingly. We had staged within a mile of the demon hideout and I’m pretty sure the whole world could hear me coming. I turned my last corner and was on a two-block straightaway toward the target house. I’d attached a few “possum spottin” off-road bright lights on the front grill guard of the dump truck and decided now would be a good time to light the joint up with some artificial sunshine. The street was deserted except for the few twenty year old cars parked in front of the hideout.
Although I could see them more than perfectly, especially with my aircraft landing lights on, I gently side-swiped all of the vehicles on the street to the tune of “oops, what was I thinkin’?” Realizing my motor vehicle operational error, I stopped a couple of first downs away and slid the old tranny into “R” for race, er, I mean “Reverse”. Revvin’ the raspy, smokin’ behemoth into a slight tizzy, I popped the clutch and introduced the rear of the dump bed to the front end of the much less fortunate blue Buick sedan parked closest to their driveway. I’m sure the joyous sound of metal mating carnage was soothing and oh so lovely, but I could not hear a dang thang over the mechanical commotion coming up through the rusted out floorboard of my sexy steed. Couple that with the big PA speaker pumpin’ Boston’s “Long Time” through the quiet neighborhood like a demented ice cream man and you had a scene outta my kind of “reality” show!