Back in the day when I was an innocent little redneck lad I would test the waters to see just how much forbidden fruit I could digest.

If I was told not to get close to the river bank I’d  not only get close to it, I’d go swimming in it. Against the advice of my mother I managed to acquire a vicious and extremely agile horse that was so talented, he could buck, bite and kick you all at the same time while you were still in  the saddle.

From there I progressed to motorcycles  that outweighed me on a 3-to-1 ratio, one of which was capable of  breaking the sound barrier in one eighth of a mile. (Leo Parrish  and  J. C .Sexton and perhaps other officers of the law can affirm that fact.)           

I violated  Federal  firearm laws on numerous occasions before I’d reached puberty. I outlawed wild game, shocked catfish in the Coldwater River, mooned the band director upon  our return from a Christmas Parade (I really didn’t see any harm in that because she used to change my diapers when I was still in swaddling clothes).

I was a junkie when it came to courting trouble. I  stole watermelons, all because I was told not to do that kind of stuff, which made it more attractive.  From there I progressed  to growing and processing  and also consuming a wonderful  little plant of God’s own creation known as CANNIBIS  SATIVA.

I only cared about it because, like all the above, it was a wicked attraction.

When  forced by school authorities to scramble around and round up some cupcakes or brownies to raise cash for the  school Halloween Carnival I spiked the chocolate with  Ex-Lax  and made sure the doctored payload got delivered to the deserving recipients.

All of these miscreant acts did not cause the slightest twitch of remorse ‘cause I ain’t got a conscience .

I was so intrigued by the wickedness of it all, that I made moonshine whiskey in a “dry” county on church property and gave it away to inmates incarcerated in the Quitman County Jail.

I ran guns into a war zone in a blockade runner boat  that made a lot of money (for a while at least),  and  blew it all on drugs and hookers while my lack of morals steadily declined. In spite of my proper raising I was still attracted to the attractions of wickedness.

That was before  I met my ex-wife.  I only thought  I had an idea about wickedness.  It didn’t take long for me to discover that I was a complete amateur in the game. She could extract more drama and  intrigue on a daily basis on her own than the combined efforts of the CIA, the  FBI  the KGB, and the Waffen  SS  and not even break a sweat.

I found out  years later that she could field strip a  .50 caliber Browning heavy machine gun and put it to use. Unbeknownst to me, she was a master manipulator of a straight razor and  could outcuss anybody I’ve ever met (except for a Navy Seal that I met down in Vera  Cruz), but that was under unusual circumstances. I doubt he could carry  it off again.

If I ‘d only known all the aspects for carnage and mayhem she possessed  I’d either have forgone the rituals of matrimony in the first  place or never have divorced her in the second place and we could be goin’ to Hell in the same coal car and havin’ fun all the way down .      

Life don’t always turn out just the way you had in mind. Ricky Harpole’s  story was that kind.

Have fun y’all,
Ricky
(Contact Harpole at www.facebook.com/harpolive or www.colespointrecords.com)