Date: Fri, 11 Aug 2006 22:26:31 -0500
Reply-To: joel walker <jwalker17@EARTHLINK.NET>
Sender: Vanagon Mailing List <vanagon@gerry.vanagon.com>
From: joel walker <jwalker17@EARTHLINK.NET>
Subject: Re: Zzzz . . . least interesting Friday ever
Content-Type: text/plain; format=flowed; charset="iso-8859-1";
reply-type=response
oldies!? you want OLDIES!!?? ;)
ok, here it goes. you might even recognize some of the names!! ;)
-----------------------------------------------------------------
The Second Rebuild
with big apologies to W.B. Yeats fans
Banging and knocking in the traveling van
The driver cannot hear the radio;
Things fall apart; the castings cannot hold;
Mere profanityy is loosed upon the world;
An oil-stained tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of Muir is forgotten;
The best lack the right tool, while the worst
Are making alternate plans.
Surely some expense is at hand;
Surely the Second Rebuild is at hand.
The Second Rebuild! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of The Bently Manual
Troubles my sight; somewhere in the sands of the desert
A shape with vanagon body and the head of a man,
A gaze as blank and pitiless as a dealer,
Is moving its stubby fingers, while all about it
Scurry bay-boys and parts guys.
The darkness drops again; but now I know
That ninety thousand miles of steady power
Were vexed to nightmare by a faullty wristpin,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Wolfsburg to be born?
03/31/95 Alistair Bell
-----------
Clutching the three bibles
To my chest;
Haynes, Bentley, and Muir.
Filled with thoughts, saintly and totally pure;
Ready to test,
That the bus's troubles weren't trifles.
03/31/95 Ralf MacGrady
-------------------------
The Manual of Bentley
(with more abject apologies to dead poets, this week W.
Stevens
Call the raiser of large cars,
The industrial one, and bid him jack
In solid steps safe sufficency.
Let the wrenches lie in rows
Upon the tray of red, and let the parts
Be laid on last night's newspaper.
Lets see front is front?
The only manual is the manual of Bentley
Take from the cabinet of tin,
With the decals, that meter
On which inscribed is tiny print
And connect it to here and there.
If the needle does not move, it tells
Of parts no longer live, or dumb
Owners, connections crossed.
The only manual is the manual of Bentley
04/14/95 Alistair Bell
---------------------------
MOTHER BUS
Nursery Rhymes
Jack and Jill went up the hill
To test a Vee-Dub Syncro.
Jill smashed trees, and just to tease,
Crushed poor old Jackie's ego!
Hickory dickory dock,
The chickens are in a flock.
My bus struck one, as it tried to run,
The rest of them got away without injury.
Jack be nimble,
Jack be quick,
Jack got caught
On the gearshift stick!
Little Jack Horner
Sat in a corner
Greasing his cv joints.
Along came his wife
And gave him some strife
And now he's out mowing the lawn.
Mary had a little bus
It's roof was white as snow.
And everywhere that Mary went
That bus was sure to go.
This little bus went to market,
This little bus stayed home,
This little bus had premium fuel,
This little bus had none,
This little bus went Beep, Beep, Beep,
All the way home.
Billy Bubba bought a bunch of busted buses.
A bunch of busted buses Billy Bubba bought.
If Billy Bubba bought a bunch of busted buses,
Where's the bunch of busted buses Billy Bubba bought?
Mary, Mary, quite contrary,
How goes your Vanagon?
With coolant leaks, and throttle tweaks,
And a temp light that's always on!
Little Miss Muffet
Sat on a tuffet
Fixing her bus's fuel pump.
Along came a spider
And sat down beside her
And said, "You gonna eat the rest of that donut?"
Humpty Dumpty drove in a van,
Humpty drank his beer from a can.
All of the doctors, policemen, and such,
Couldn't fix Humpty when he lost his touch.
Jack Sprat, he wore a hat,
His wife, she wore blue jeans,
They drove their Vee-Dub bus around
Just hoping to be seen.
A frantic mechanic,
An old fart pedantic,
What slows you even more?
You used to finish by one o'clock,
And now you're not done til four!
As I was going to Spokane,
I met a man with seven vans,
Each van had seven seats,
Each seat had seven pleats,
Each pleat had seven stitches,
Stitches, pleats, seats, and vans,
How many were there going to Spokane?
05/05/95 Joel Walker
This Old Van
This old van, he played one,
Slammed his door upon my thumb,
With a clang, bang, golly-dang!
Boy, it hurt like hell ...
This old van rolls really well.
This old van, he played two,
Rolled right back upon my shoe!
With a hot damn! push it, sam!
Get it off my toes! ...
This old van just goes and goes.
This old van, he played three,
Dropped his engine on my knee.
But the x-rays displays
Showed no damage there ...
This old van goes anywhere.
This old van, he played four,
Hit my head with his front door,
But the doc said, when it bled,
That it wasn't bad ...
This old van can now be had.
This old van, he played five,
And it's lucky i'm alive,
Cause I don't drink and I think
That it's lucky, too ...
Now this van belongs to you.
09/08/95 Joel Walker
This old van, it plays ten
Unka Joel is at it agin..
Writin' this stuff at tax payer expense,
I just thought i'd throw in my two cents...
09/08/95 Ric "Upstart" Golen
------------------------------
To all Vanagoneers, Make Much of Time
(apologies to Robert Herrick)
Drive ye Vanagons while ye may,
For electrons the iron is lustin,
And this same van that shines today,
Tommorrow will be rustin.
Hella, Hella. (I'm not going to apologize to Blake)
Hella, Hella, burning bright
In the Vanagon late at night
What relay size or guage of wire,
Could tame thy fearful 'lectric fire?
05/12/95 Alistair Bell
--------------------------------
It was only an old beer bottle,
Afloatin' o'er the foam.
It was only an old beer bottle,
Near a million miles from home.
In it there was a message,
On which these words enthrone:
"Whoever finds this bottle
Finds all the beer is gone."
Anonymous
-----------------------------------
Can She Dance the Polka?
(dirty filthy-minded old sea chanty,
sung by VW mechanics during their
work, but one that teaches a moral lesson)
As I drove down, along the coast, another bus I spied,
A'sitting lone beside the road, and looking like it died.
I stopped to see if I could help, and maybe lend a hand,
That bus was full of pretty girls! I never felt so grand!
<chorus>
So me old Volkswagen
Ain't for dragging,
Sure, she runs quite well,
But can she dance the polka?
They asked if I could fix their bus, they'd pay me with a treat!
And quickly I was 'neath that bus, a'working in the heat.
A simple fix, a cable loose, I fixed it right enough,
Then they said to follow them, they lived just down the bluff.
<chorus>
I followed on for just a mile, and pulled down to the strand,
Where they were camped upon the beach, their tents pitched on the
sand.
They gave me wine, it tasted fine, but it went right to my head.
Then they threw their clothes away, and they carried me to bed.
<chorus>
When I awoke next morning, all naked in the dawn,
My watch, and my wallet, and my lady friends was gone.
Now, I don't miss the money as some other fellows might,
But I wish I could remember if I had some fun that night!!
<chorus>
07/28/95 Joel Walker
--------------------------------
The PO
As I work into the dark,
Removing cancer from my arc,
I curse the PO, that dreaded scum
From whence my dear-heart's troubles come.
I cannot say if last or first,
Which damned PO I think was worse,
For all to me are wreched slags,
Who brought this rust that makes her sag.
And then as light it comes to me,
through sale or grave I'll one day be,
(to some unknown who then will own
my dear sweet bus), a dreaded PO.
So when I go beyond the grave,
I pray my soul for heaven save,
And with their thoughts new owners know,
That I was truly a Good PO.
08/18/95 Joseph F. Fournier II
--------------------------
Tales of the Workshop
by Robert W. Service-Advisor
The Rules
When they step up inside, as you go for a ride,
And the first thing they see are the tools,
Then they'll ask with a smirk if you do your own work,
Cause they have no idea of the Rules.
For it's Tried and it's True: What you carry with you,
Will help you get back; and it's certain
What you leave back at home, as the country you roam,
Will not help on the road when you're hurtin'.
As you go through the years, you will learn from your tears
All the tools you will need on the road,
And you increase the weight, in attempts to cheat fate,
Adding more and more tools to your load.
So the bus weighs a lot. Even more when you've got
All the spare parts your money can buy.
Hidden under the seat, stacked so careful and neat,
In the hope Murphy's Law won't apply.
Now, it's sad, but in trucks, fuel economy sucks,
And gets worse with all that piled aboard.
But the point we make here is that gas ain't so dear;
Don't let tools and spare parts be ignored.
But since Murphy still lives, and he seldom forgives
No matter how much you have pleaded,
The Rules make it plain, but we'll state it again:
Carry with you whatever is needed.
08/18/95 Joel Walker
--------------------------------
COUNSEL TO MAIDENS
Oh damsel fair, beware the car
Where seating space is wider far
Than any man of reason needs
Except to further his misdeeds;
The steering-column change eschew,
No good can come of it for you,
And likewise any motor shun
From which you can't bale out and run.
Let maiden modesty decide
To take a summer evening ride
In something of the vintage breed,
For virtue's friend was ever speed.
No vulpine sibilance can come
From guileless lips of vintage chum,
With passion he is never dizzy,
(His motor keeps him far too busy)
And vintage bucket seats preclude
The acrobatic interlude.
Nor can he sit you in the back,
For there a Jerrican, a jack,
An inner tube, some oily rags,
A pair of mouldy flannel bags,
A grease gun, several tattered maps,
Dead bottles left by other chaps,
A tow rope and a grimy glove
Leave not a lot of room for love.
Don Juan hands it to his betters
To flirt with triple carburettors,
And modern Casanovas thrive
On ultrhydramatic drive,
But vintage bod of stark appearance
Gives his poppets ample clearance,
He keeps his honour engine-bright,
Is never loose and seldome tight.
And should the half-elliptic ride
Bring bruise to tender underside,
Those precious nylons go to hell
Among the spanners in the well,
And gearbox cast a blob or two
On tiny white and cherished shoe,
These are but little things to pay
For being out of Danger's way,
The while you blind to Kingdom Come
And back again intact, to Mum.
The trouble is, the vintage brew
At length may prove too strong for you,
And if with him you ride a lot,
You'll end by marrying the clot.
So, all in all, it seems to us
You're safer riding on a bus.
By W. H. Charnock (an English poet)
Horseless Savages, 1952
Other works by the same author were
EPHEMERID, DOWN IN THE SUMPS (out of print in '52),
and UNBALANCED CRANKS (not yet published in '52).
