Well it's been a pretty good week for ol' Buford. Today's mail brought a HUGE sigh of relief. When I started hearing about all of this Octomom stuff and the Octuplets well, let's say I did have some cause for concern.
Let me catch you up. Back in the late 50's ol' Buford was riding with the Basillicians out of Dyersville, IA. Tough Hell-Raising group made up of about 40 to 80 members (depending on the time of year several were farmers and had milking and harvesting to do) In order to make ends meet and buy parts for my panhead, me and a couple of the boys would deliver a weekly package from our "friends in Chicago" to our "friends in Los Angeles". As it turns out often those deliveries were met with anxious nervous dudes taking advantage of their right to bear arms and they would often relieve us of the packages without the proper compensation. Keep in mind we would not see those same fellas on the next trip so we assumed our friends in Chicago convinced our friends in Los Angeles to eliminate those positions.
But, in those times we would find ourselves without money for the ride back to Dyersville. Now, Sprocket and Axle would often do whatever necessary to find gas money perhaps a friendly liquor store had extra cash they were not in need of and would make a donation. Or perhaps a group of fellow but non-friendly riders would have a stash of cash in their clubhouse and Sprocket would allow ourselves access to that. However, I tried as hard as I could to live up to my moniker the "Altar-Boy" and would try to find my cash as honest as possible.
This one particular weekend we found ourselves in a little rougher area of South Los Angeles with a little gas and little cash. There was a sign in big painted pink letters on a little shop screaming out. Donate here! Get Paid! I wheel my Harley straight up to the front door, dismount and yell out. "Buford Pickleberry has arrived to donate".
Turns out this donation was something brand new at the time, the first in the nation sperm bank. Well to not go into too much detail, lets just say Buford left a half hour later a few ounces lighter and eleven dollars 63 cents richer! That good bank had some award-winning Buford to share with those who were unable to share on their own. It was a win win win situation.
Flash forward to 2009 and I'm watching the TV when this Octomom comes on the tube and these reporter types are harrassing her about who the father is and her need to disclose. Well, let's just say I had a few sleepless hours there for awhile.
It occurred to me that perhaps Ms. Octomom may have gone into Buford's former trading post, got to looking through the menu, reading all the temptations and may just have picked herself out a serving of one Mr. Buford M. Pickleberry Vintage 1958.
I thought "Oh Boy, Buford may have to go back to work full time if that turns out to be true". So, I get Wendell on the internet and on the telephone and we start to do some research. We located that particular bank and much to Ol' Buford's relief it turns out that particular location housing Prime Pickleberry had been burned down in 1992 during the Rodney King Riots.
While this caused me much relief knowing that there are not 14 little Pickleberrys running around Los Angeles, it did sadden me that the Pickleberry line may be running out of racetrack. I guess I'll have to step up my search for the trophy wife. Housewives of Butler County, you're officially back on notice! Buford is feeling the need to leave a legacy. (keep in mind it may be just my gall bladder acting up however).
That's all I got for now. Leave me alone, I got a lot of stuff to do around here today. - Buford.
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