Serialization of the WACKY MISADVENTURES of WARBLE McGORKLE - CHAPTER 15 (of 70)
Warble Considers Forming a Band in Nashville
CHAPTER 15
Warble Considers Forming a Band in Nashville“I have a question to ask you, Colonel,” Mary says as she and Warble head back onto the expressway after stopping for lunch at the Citizen Page on the outskirts of Jackson, Mississippi.
“Shoot,” Warble shoots back.
“You should be glad I talked you out of getting a gun, Colonel,” Mary teases. Her stomach is full, the sun is shining, and she is--for the moment, at least--enjoying herself.
“I am glad about that, Miss Mary--that copper back in Westwego may have acted a little differently if he would have espied a firearm in our little beauty here,” Warble says, giving the PT Cruiser's dashboard an affectionate pat. “And by the way, you won't have to call me 'Colonel' much longer.”
“Thank goodness. That's what I was going to ask you about. Does that mean we're leaving the South?”
“Yes, ma'am. We're heading for Dayton, Ohio, to the domicile of my old compadres Wayne Wax and Bob Shiska.”
“More old shipmates?”
“Yes, indeedy. They both live in that city. After tiring of the sea, Wayne went into some sort of service-oriented business and Bob plies his trade as an electronics technician.”
“Do they know we're coming?”
“Of course! I told them I'd look them up some time. And this is some time, wouldn't you agree?”
Mary remains silent. It is sometimes embarrassing being Warble's wife; on the other hand, she has to admit that it is more interesting than being married to some old predictable, steady and dependable 'normal' person.
Mobile, Alabama provokes a monologue from Warble about Big Jack's, the club Elvis made famous in his song Guitar Man. Montgomery, on the other hand, conjures up images of Rosa Parks, who, according to Warble, once hijacked a bus and forced the driver to take her to Woodstock, where she led the crowd in a Sly and the Family Stone sing-a-long of the old Andy Williams spiritual, ‘Born Free at Last.’
Montgomery also makes Warble think of--and talk about--Martin Luther King who (again, according to Warble) was the great-grandson of Martin Luther, elder brother of B.B., and who became famous for smashing his guitar over the head of a catholic priest while singing, ‘You picked a fine time to leave me Lucille, with four hundred children and a crop in the field.’
When they arrive in Nashville (Warble has already informed Mary that she should pronounce it Naysh-v'l), Warble's eyes light up. “Mary, I've always wanted to try my hand at being a country music singing sensation. I've got an idea--I'll start a band and get rich and famous here in Naysh-v'l. I'll call my combo 'Cowboy Warble McGorkle and his Warbling Warblemen'.”
“What do you know about being a cowboy, Warble? I'll bet you don't even know the difference between a cow and a cowlick.”
“Oh, yes I do--a cow is a large dairy animal that says 'moo,' and cowlicks are those squarish white things that grow in cow pastures.
“All I've got to do to become Cowboy Warble is to dress the part--buy a cowboy hat, cowboy boots, one of those oval belt buckles with my name on it, and say 'yahoo!' and ‘yee-haw!’ a lot.”
“But Warble, honey, you can't sing.”
“I won't need to,” Warble replies. “I'll cover all the 'talking' cowboy songs: Sixteen Tons; I Got Stripes; Up Against the Wall, Redneck; and These Boots Are Made for Walkin'. I can talk, you know.”
“Yes, you can,” Mary agrees, rolling her eyes and shaking her head. “You certainly can talk. All right, fine; but where are you going to get the Warblemen?”
“Are you kidding, Mary? Didn't you see all the derelicts around these hyar parts? All I've got to do is offer a few of them a bottle of booze a day and the odd pretzel and I'll be all set.”
“You're going to have a band of derelicts?”
“Sure, why not? That's the customary way of doing it, isn't it? They'll pretend they're playing instruments (some cheap ones we'll rent from some broken-down old music store), but the real music will be coming from a karaoke machine hidden backstage behind the curtain.”
“So your band of booze-and-cheeseburger derelicts will be faking it?”
“Sure; they'll play air steel guitar, air bass, air banjo, air mountain dulcimer, air drum sets, and air cowbell. Wait a minute--I just thought of something,” Warble says, his countenance darkening.
“I thought I heard a strange sound.”
“Hardy har har--very funny, Mary. You're a real card. But I just realized--I can't go through with this.”
“Warble, are you getting a conscience after all?” Mary asks, unable to mask the tone of hopefulness in her voice.
“No, it's not that,” Warble replies, dismissively waving his hand. “For me to follow through with this plan, I would have to chew tobacco--in order to play the part of a gen-yoo-wine cowboy--and I can't do that. All the teeth would rot out of my head, and where would we be then? Can you imagine me up there sing-talking like this (Warble curls his lips over his teeth and talks while exaggeratedly moving his mouth up and down like Kermit the Frog giving Bert and/or Ernie a piece of his mind) 'If you see me coming, you'd better step aside; a lotta men didn't, and a lotta men died'?
“I would be the laughingstock of the entire country music industry! No, my illustrious career, which would most certainly have garnered me a spot in the country music hall of fame before all was said and done, is over before it even began.
“Oh, well; let's get out of this berg. I don't really like country music anyway. Besides, we've got more important business on our agenda.”
The McGorkles watch Nashville gradually recede from sight in their rearview mirror. The next stop is Frankfort, Kentucky, where the name of the city inspires Warble to gorge himself on frankfurters at a deli on the outskirts of town.
After a good night's rest in a room at the Motel 92.8, the McGorkles head towards Cincinnati the next morning--after a quick breakfast of cinnamon rolls, coffee, hash browns, and scrambled eggs at the Citizen Page nearest their motel.
Shortly after crossing the Ohio State line, Mary asks Warble, “How much further is it to your old crony's homes in Dayton, Colonel?”
“You can cut that 'Colonel' crap now, Mary,” Warble says, a little irritated. “We're not in Kain-tuck anymore; we're out of the South. People here would think I was some sort of a dope if you called me that here.”
“And how would that be any different than usual, Warble?” Mary asks, smiling sweetly and innocently.
Warble just frowns, shakes his head and mumbles something incoherent in reply. He turns off onto a gravel road, finds a secluded spot, and stops the car.
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NOTE: The second volume in the trilogy is the Zany Time Travels of Warble McGorkle; the final volume, now available on Kindle Vella) is Warble McGorkle’s Delusional Visions of Paradise.the Wacky Misadventures of Warble McGorkle can be purchased here: