An Enema Conversation in a Blue Collar Bar in Appalachia

The following is one of the most unique and funniest stories I have ever heard and told.

My husband is from a relatively small city in Appalachian. One of his childhood friends owned a small blue-collar bar close to some glass plants. To say it was a dive would be the understate of the century. It was in a building that looked like it would collapse at any moment. The floors were warped with age. You walked downhill when going to the restrooms. It was like one side of the building’s foundaton sunk into the ground with time. There was no air conditioning, but it was clean and the hot dogs were out of the world and the beer was ice cold. I might add here that they had everything that you could imagine fathom putting on a hot dog, even cold slaw and the people were the salt of the earth.

We were coming back from a golf course in a nearby down where we played in a golf tournament. It was about 3 o’clock in the afternoon. We had Brunch, but no lunch and my husband suggested that we would stop at “The Box”. A couple of beers and hot dogs sounded great, so I said. “Sure!”. We entered the bar before the shift exchange and my husband greeted us warmly as the other customers. My husband bought the house a round of beer. We ordered hot dogs. When we got our beers, my husband toasted the crowd. “Here to the dedicated beer drinkers or the world who don’t need the modern-day comforts to enjoy a beer and good company. It was in a similar setting that Patrick Henry. “Give me liberty or give me death!” And help start a revolution. We had been to the Tavern where Henry spoked his famous words and according to historians he was drinking at the time.

Everyone toasted my husband, but his toast started a conversation among the patrons of the most adverse conditions ever drank. One patron who worked on the Alaskan Pipeline was talking about how cold it was and how he used do a couple of shots before he could get the beer down after work. Another talked about drinking warm beer in the hot jungle sun at a base camp in Viet Nam. The partron setting to the left of me said that he had a story but was reluctant to tell it in the presence of the lady. Hubby said at once. “Don’t worry about my wife she has probably hear worse and told worse. She doesn’t have “Virgin Ears”.

The guy started his story. “I was wounded in Viet Nam. By the time I got to Walter Reed I was beginning to feel myself again and get back to my old habits of smoking. I won’t say what and alcohol. At first, we had access to whatever we wanted alcohol wise. Booze was prohibited in the hospital, but the rules were laxed in the physical therapy. After all we were combat wounded and recovered. We had afternoon and sometimes evening partes. Then a straight error doctor started complaining that the patients reeked of booze and the floor had a crackdown. A young Army nurse sympathized with us and said. “With what you guys have been through our country should be catering to your catering to every whim. We of course all agreed.” The nurse continued. “Now if I can swear you to secrecy that you didn’t hear this from me. I think I can help you out.” We all agreed readily. The nurse continued. “The closet in the middle of the hall has at least 5 gallon bottles of alcohol in it at all times and nobody pays any attention of much is being use. Supply just fills it. One of the guys injected immediately. “You can’t drink that shit!” The nurse smiled and retorted. “No, you can’t but I know a couple of you are Rangers and Green Berets. Hell, you are the most resourceful men on this planet. You ate snakes and probably worse.” The story teller resumed. “She said. ‘Your body doesn’t distinguish how alcohol gets you buzzed.’ One of the guys shook his head and said ‘Thank you but I am not going to injected alcohol intravenously.’ I was pretty sure with where this was leading but I stayed quiet only thinking to myself I don’t believe that I am hearing this. The narrator resumed. The nurse said. “No that is not what I am suggesting. You cut that alcohol with two parts water to one alcohol and injection a cup or so at a time say where you eliminate and you soldiers will be laughing and telling men stories like you are at the PX Club the day you graduated from basic or got you Ranger patches and Green Berets. I’ve seem it happen here. And there are plenty of enema disposable bags in that closet.”

“The guys that objected to taking the alcohol intravenously shouted a big ‘Hoorah!’ Another said “Let’s get to work soldiers’”

At this point my mind is conjuring up a picture of four combat wounded soldiers sitting around an IV pole with nozzles inserted and telling stories. I asked in they all had their own bag and how many IV poles there were. I was told that each had there own bag and there was only one IV pole which was in the middle.

Then the storyteller, who could tell a good story, started with the jokes. The first was from the man that yelled “Hooray!” “Bartender Jack Dainel please.”

“How do you take that?”

“Straight! As in straight up my ass!”

I am sitting there with this picture of 4 men with nozzles inserted into them and enema bags hanging for an IV pole in the middle of them.

Then one exclaimed “I hope this doesn’t make me queer.”

“What?”

“Having Jim Beam slip into my backdoor.”

Another retorted. “Hell! You been taking him orally since you were in high school!”

I’m in hysterics.

The whole bar gets into the conversation. I hear. “I can’t believe that I am hearing this. And “I hope you are making this up.” The guy telling the story swears up and down that it’s all true. I still think that it’s might probably the hardest that I have ever laughed.