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“Parting Words from Moristotle” (07/31/2023)
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By Roger Owens
Jack was called Crazy Jack because Jack was, well, crazy. “As a shithouse rat,” he’d say, after introducing himself as Crazy Jack. In 1972, at the age of seventeen, Jack had been sent on an all-expenses-paid vacation to Southeast Asia, courtesy of the US Army. The things he had seen and done there had permanently rearranged the contents of his head, and definitely not for the better.
By Roger Owens
So, when we left off the Camper Saga last October, I promised a “whole ’nother story,” and here it is.
We’re in Virginia, having camped our way up the coast. We had yet to experience the great Camper Saga; that was on the way back. As I said in the Camper Saga, it was tough setting up and tearing down the very next day on the way, but having only used the camper three or four times, it was a good training exercise. And we only ran the AC at night, for maybe eight to ten hours. Now we’re on the swampy coast of Virginia. It hot, humid, in fact flooded. At first, I thought the horse pasture was a lake. We’re there for a week; the AC is running twenty-four hours a day.
