Chapter 2: I've Got Those Hard Travellin Blues

With breakfast consumed, beer and 6$ sparkling wine in tow, it was back to the open road.

The gps was set. We finally worked our way out of Gatlinburg to the interstate. And with the faintest remainder of a buzz, it was time to consume yet again.





Ah the times that were had. Laughs abounded, the occasional punch thrown, a slew of empty bottles lining the floor, and the odd man out (passed out that is). But all good things must come to an end, as did our first 12 case. Clearly it was time to leave the interstate and seek a refill station (and not for gas either).

Now, well within the confines of Alabama, the deep south. We entered the small dingy gas station for our bevies. We grabbed a few giant cans of tequila cocktail, and another 12 pack. Whilst on our way out we couldn't help but notice a stand of take away fast food items. We decided to indulge. Whilst not usually one to trust food in a gas station, it looked too good to pass up. They had a large assortment of foods available (all fried of course), fried chicken, deep fried Shish Kebab, fried sausage, country fried steak, and the like. Myself and Billy ordered some fried chicken.


Mmmmm. Who the hell would have thought that what could possibly be some of the best fried chicken I've ever eaten, would have been purchased from a gas station! A fucking gas station! Far-fucking-out man.

And with that delicious meal in us, and good deal more booze, it was back to open road. We cruised down the interstate for another good few hours before seeing a sign for a scenic overlook.

We decided it was time to stop.

What a relaxing hillside. It was hugely refreshing to be outside the car, sittin down, havin a smoke and another tall tequila beverage. At least it was... until...

Is that you yelling surprise Bill?

Shit despite what you may argue mate, I'm fairly certain thats still considered rape.

Time for vengeance!

Ah fuckery what have I gotten myself into now...

Ah shit, I really did it that time...

Run! Fuckin' Run!

Hm, well such as Johnny Cash in the Cocaine Blues, I made a good run, but I ran too slow...

God damn that hurt.



Ya ya, alright no hard feelings.... ya rapist cunt.

And with that, it was back to the road... at least till we found a gas station for another 12 pack.

After a few hours, plenty of beers, and quite possibly another stop off for another 12 pack, it was little wonder that a lower Alabama piss break was imminent. With that in mind we pulled into the nearest rest stop. A very scenic rest area, lush trees, and no shortage of greenery.

After enjoying a ciggy or two a few bottles, and at least two or three piss breaks, it was back on the way.

After several hours of driving further, countless more beers, piss stops, beer stops, gas stops, smoke stops, spills in the car, pass outs and the like, we reached Jackson Mississippi.

Apparently, unannounced to all of us (or perhaps just most of us), Jackson is a dead city, nothing open even as early as 10pm. Not a pub, a pharmacy, convenience store or the like. We did at least manage to secure lodging for the evening. We unloaded the beer mobile, unpacked in our room, grabbed a few brewskies, and a litre of vodka, and it was to the streets! With not a soul on the street (unless you count the shavings of bacon driving around), it was nothing but myself, Anton, Billy, the booze, and good conversation. We progressed around the streets seeing bits of the town here and there, and guzzling vodka. We then progressed into a constant worsening state. Eventually we ended up infront of a historic building with cannon's and large church like bells on the lawn. A few plaks, several hedges.

After nearly finishing the vodka, Billy approached the bell. Returning with a look of dissappointment that it didn't work.

I took a gander over myself, reached in and slammed the clapper to the bell wall. Boy did that fucker work after all, a loud resonating clang echoed throughout the city. Well lads, time to call it a night I'd say.

After a small black out period towards the end of the evening, I awoke back in the hotel. All limbs still functioning, no missing appendages, no signs of being arrested, all the lads still around. We enjoyed a complimentary all you can eat hot breakfast, and had a chat with the hotel concierge. After breakfast, and of course a beer or two, it was back into the car, and on to Baton Rouge.

The moral?

1968, Johnny Cash "I'm goin' to Jackson"

2011, Tim "Let's get the fuck out of Jackson"

Stick around folks, next time we answer the age old question; "What happens when a Canadian, a Kiwi, a Belarussian, and an Irish woman walk into a bar?"

(Jackson pictures were taken courtesy of Denise, the morning after the shenanigans, whilst I was in bed sleeping off my hangover - or attempting to at least)