ODE TO C.B.
It seems that I am a C.B.'er in this old town of ours.
I didn't plan on owning a 'base', Just 'mobiles' in our cars.
But then I got to thinking it over, what fun it could really be...
That while driving around in my mobile, my home base could talk to me!
Well, that's where it all started.. we became C.B.'ers this year.
We got a base and hooked it up, and Lordie! What we didn't hear!
They're not called men or women, those people on the air...
"Bucket-Mouths" or "Pukes", they're called, and worse by HUGGY BEAR!
One guy whispered, another cussed, I couldn't believe my ears!
Then all of a sudden another voice yelled: "I wish I had more beers!"
On C.B. you need a 'handle'... That's a name by which they will know
Who's 'keying-up' and talking, so I chose old "Papa Joe".
Well, I took a breath and swallowed hard, and reached out toward the key...
It took all the nerve that I could drum-up to say, "Breaker" over that C.B.!
My fingers shook, my stomach turned, I thought that I'd get sicker...
But the friendly voice that came back to me said, "HI! I'm GRAVEL PICKER!"
From that time on, we've had a ball... T.V. is a thing of the past!
We enjoy talking to all of them, and their handles are a blast!
There's Bachlor, Boomer, Big D of Big O, and there's Grandma and Granmpa Jones...
Snorkel, Northern Pike, Cricket and Bull, one even calls himself Bones!
There's Lectro, Pink Poodle, Uncle Dudley, Slow Joe and ALL the other handles we hear.
Papa Joe and his family just want to say, "MERRY CHRISTMAS AND HAPPY NEW YEAR!"
jac 12/25/78