What kind of name is that? That’s what I heard every time my uncle Earl introduced me to his poker buddies. He’d take a few puffs on his cigar, clear his throat, crack a grin and say, “Stiff Britches, go in the back and grab me a jerky.” Laughter would erupt, chips would fly, beer would spill and some guy’s lawn chair would tip over because they were so amused. Yeah, I get it; it is pretty funny.
Growing up in Slab City was fun. My friends and I used to play cowboys and indians on the o...
What kind of name is that? That’s what I heard every time my uncle Earl introduced me to his poker buddies. He’d take a few puffs on his cigar, clear his throat, crack a grin and say, “Stiff Britches, go in the back and grab me a jerky.” Laughter would erupt, chips would fly, beer would spill and some guy’s lawn chair would tip over because they were so amused. Yeah, I get it; it is pretty funny.
Growing up in Slab City was fun. My friends and I used to play cowboys and indians on the old military base and well, that’s how I got my nick name, “Stiff Britches”. We had taken some red paint from Mr. Knight’s hill to simulate gunshot wounds. I went a little nuts with it and played like I was dead. Completely drenched in red paint, I laid strewn across one of the slabs and waited for my friend Billy to find me and freak. I laid there for a long time. Apparently no one saw me lying next to the pylons. The afternoon sun was really getting to me, so I gave up and went back to the trailer. There I was, the paint nearly dry, the cigar falls out of uncle Earl’s mouth. That’s it, the rest is history.
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