Wasted Away Again In East Mosquitoville

The independent nation state of East Mosquitoville has been in existence for many a year. Nobody knows exactly when it was established. There was no war for its independence. There was no declaration or manifesto. East Mosquitoville does not have clear documented proof of itself, its birth, history or corporeal existence (fancy words-get’s ’em every time). It does not have a rich written history. But still it does have clear provenance, to be sure. Through stories, jokes, land letters. Though vicious rumors, local police logs, and occasional newspaper reports, tales of its existence are created. Some of the stories are true, some are more mythology than actual fact. And through these stories a rich oral can be created. A history with a rich, complex, zesty(yes, I said ‘zesty’) patena (I had to look that one up) of collective memories. Evocative memories of sights, smells, sounds, or even repressed trauma(well, this WAS back before cell phone cameras captured our every act and decision, good or bad, wise or unwise, safe or unsafe, innocent or legally culpable). Misty memories of Erb’s delivery pizza boxes, smokey lakeside bonfires, outboard motor gas and 2 cycle oil, fiberglass resin, stale beer, and endless naughty nights are conjured up in our little collective brains. Whether entirely true or not, all these memories happened. I was there. You was there. What’r’ya calling us liars? Additionally, memories and myth, fact and history is also created through song. Through such folk songs, tales are woven. A true living history can be established. But ya’ gotta write that shit down! Otherwise, you don’t got a written history.

So at a kitchen party long ago, cherry brandy was being poured into little plastic cups. Budweiser beer, straight from a keg installed in the kitchen refrigerator was being guzzled. Songs were being sung about a Boy Named Sue, Charley on the MTA, and Istanbul (which was once Constantinople). A guy named 3 Fingers Bob was dancing a jig by the old wood stove. The old cow farmer, Gerald, sits asleep with his head in his hand with a ‘full house’. A young Muddah, future leader of the independent imaginary but none-the-less sovereign nation of East Mosquitoville is mixing drinks up for the ‘adults’, while taking frequent samples for himself. ‘Tom T’, one of the original founders and patriots of our free land of no rules and unlimited leisure time, conjures up a song. Not just a song. Nay, an anthem! Sung to virtues and pleasures of sloth, of laying about, sipping beer right off the keg. “Light, but not too light, straight from the barrel taste”. Since it takes a lot of time and effort to come up with a full blown ‘anthem’, and Tom T had already been ‘in his cups’, so to speak, he ‘borrowed’ the tune from Jimmy Buffet’s ‘Margarita-ville’. Good time saver I thought. The words also came with inspiration, from Mr. Buffet, but seem pretty on the spot and apropos, even to this day. Really, I guess Jimmy Buffet should get most of the credit, when you come right down to it. But definite props should go to Tom T for capturing the sentiment of the day.

So the same guy who once built a submarine for himself, planned a design for a ‘fireman pole’ to go straight from his 3rd floor bed to his full sized pool in his cellar, designed a draft beer/keg system in his kitchen fridge so he could have cool fresh Bud, on demand, at all times, dragged a whole lakeside camp across the winter ice of our local lake…to make room for his swingin’ bachelor pad,…this SAME guy (well, these are all stories for another day…..

He wrote the anthem of a great nation (real or not)… So sing along with Tom T, errrr, …and Jimmy Buffet, I guess, to ‘Wasted Away Again In East Mosquitoville’. You know the tune….

Livin’ on pizza, swattin’ mosquitos, that flew in through the door where the dog chased the cat.

I didn’t work today. I never do no way. If I keep this up, I’m a gonna get fat.

Wasted away again, in East Mosquitoville, lookin’ for my last spray can of Off. Some peole say Muddah’s to blame…

But I know. It’s probably my fault.

Went down to the green lake. Got bit by a grass snake. That might sound strange if you didn’t live here. But the algae is growin’, sometimes it needs mowin, and in the middle of cove is a big herd of deer. Wasted away again, in East Moquitoville. Looking for my last spray can of Off. Some people claim, that yo’ mama’s to blame…. But I know, it’s got to be my fault.

(Actually, there are 4 to 5 more verses, each a little more raunchy, but I think you probably get the idea).

Anyhow……..

With regards you all from EMV USA….

“The way life should be”.

Non Illegitimi Corrundum

BFC