DOES ANYONE DOWN THERE KNOW JACK SCHITT?

The woman's voice came from atop the bluff, descending like

a thundering avalanche. Normally quiet, birds of the morning

fluttered their feathery wings at the startling outburst.

Squirrels, rats, and lizards, darted aimlessly over the

"Road to Bizzare"(formerly "prehistoric dirt road"), unsure

from where the outcry came. It's 6:00 AM, an orange tinge

develops behind the sandstone cliff. Morning is here.

Except for the few regulars, the beach is empty.

THEBIGKOOK stands up, stretching his sleepy arms, faces

from where the sound comes, cups his hands over his mouth,

shouts, "We don't know Jack Schitt down here." I think they

aptly renamed our primitive dirt road, "The Road to Bizarre".

Speaking of dirt roads, it's always kinda'cutsey when after

a couple of Lite brewskis some guy in his forties decides he's

traffic enforcement. Someone drives down the Road to Bizzare

at maybe a tad faster than he should, and Mr.Traffic Enforcer

remembers what he saw years back when his daddy, after a couple,

sees a driver come down the road, in a forceful voice

screams, SLOW DOWN! SLOW DOWN! One afternoon a number of years

ago Bechtal Steel had an ironworker's party at the end of

"primitive dirt road". Short on ice, a worker heads toward

town after a few suds. As he passes, some "third generation

guys" intrinsically shout, SLOW DOWN! SLOW DOWN! But when the

ironworker returns, he not only has bags of ice but, he

has a pick-up full of union members, each sporting a 2X4 that

they used to quiet the "SLOW DOWNERS!" I feel this 4th of July

weekend there may be a repeat.

TUBESTEAK/SPLAT
Dateline (7/1/2004} Special to City News Service