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 an467@freenet.carleton.ca (Ralf MacGrady) When I Was Young And Pretty by W. H. Awfuldin and his dog, Spot. When I was young and pretty, I heard a Wise Man say: "Give Marks and Pounds and Dollars, "But not your Bus away." But I was young and pretty, No use to talk to me; A Bus was just another car, And traded frequently. When I was young and pretty, I thought I knew it all; I had been driving, don't you see, For years in Traffic's crawl. I'd had my education, As much as I could stand; Why, I knew all there was to know, As much as Any Man! I'd had so many autos, I can't remember them; I'd bought, and sold, and bought again, With Credit, Cash, and Whim. Sedans, Two-doors, Convertibles, I'd several Buses, too ... And when I tired of what I had I'd go get something new. But now I'm older, sadder, No longer Wise Men speak; And if they did, I couldn't hear Unless they really shriek, And Buses that I once enjoyed Are memories in the past; If only I'd hung onto them ... I understand, at last. When I was young and pretty, I heard a Wise Man say: "Give Marks and Pounds and Dollars, "But not your Bus away." Since now I'm old and ugly, I pass this on to you: Remember what those Wise men say, It's true, it's true, it's true. 04/07/95 Joel Walker * Put the Top Down * (Traditional C-Chanty) As I was a'driving through Dixie so sweet, Way-hey, put the top down, A Vanagon Camper I chanced for to meet. Give me some time to put the top down. We had stopped at a campground, she'd gotten there first. Way-hey, put the top down, I'd been driving all day with one helluva thirst. Give me some time to put the top down. Says she to me, "I'm quite low on oil, Way-hey, put the top down, "Can I borrow some quarts so my engine won't boil?" Give me some time to put the top down. "Delighted!", I answered, "I've plenty to spare!" Way-hey, put the top down, So I handed two quarts to that camper so fair. Give me some time to put the top down. As she bent adding oil to her camper machine Way-hey, put the top down, I could feel that my interest was certainly keen. Give me some time to put the top down. With my hormones a-rising, and her standing near, Way-hey, put the top down, I asked if she'd join me for one little beer. Give me some time to put the top down. I sipped on a bottle, she chugged a six-pack, Way-hey, put the top down, I leaned over frontwards, she leaned over back. Give me some time to put the top down. Then I opened my pop-top, and asked her inside, Way-hey, put the top down, And there in that camper was a helluva ride. Give me some time to put the top down. She ruffled my curtains, she fondled my seat, Way-hey, put the top down, And down at my stove, she had turned up the heat. Give me some time to put the top down. But just our comfort began to unfold, Way-hey, put the top down, Her foot hit the gearshift, and we started to roll. Give me some time to put the top down. I jumped for the front seat, and grabbed for the wheel, Way-hey, put the top down, She thought it was funny, and let out a squeal! Give me some time to put the top down. And off through the campground and straight for a tree, Way-hey, put the top down, Rolled the camper, the pop-top, the woman, and me. Give me some time to put the top down. Well, a long story shortened: I managed to stop, Way-hey, put the top down, But not til the tree limbs grabbed hold of my top! Give me some time to put the top down. So, young men, take warning, whenever you slake: Way-hey, put the top down, Don't never fool 'round less you pull up the brake!! Give me some time to put the top down. 04/07/95 Joel Walker Gunga Van by Junkyard Keepling You can talk of being stuck As you're sleeping in your truck In campgrounds with a water pipe that flows; But when you're way out here, 'Neath the stars and sky so clear, Well, it's something else again when traction goes. Now in Arid-zona's clime, Where I used to spend my time On weekends in the desert off the road, Of all them off-road crew The finest one I knew Was my old Volkswagen Camper, Gunga Van. He was "Van! Van! Van! "You can make it, yes, you can!! "Just slip the clutch, "And stick it into low!! "You blunt-nosed old Vee-Dub, Gunga Van." The paint scheme that he had Was really pretty bad, And less than what he needed, that's for sure. But though he lacked for paint, In his engine, what there ain't Is something that my money can't procure. He was made of stronger stuff Than that plastic modern fluff, And if a goat could make it, so could he. And I'd often see surprise In the young kids' widened eyes As we clattered past them, stuck as they could be! It was "Van! Van! Van! "You're not worth the sweat of Man! "Use your grip, and grab the dirt! "Don't sling it out behind! "You worn-out rolling junkyard, Gunga Van." But the steel can't stand too much, Of the desert's tortured touch, A'fore the metal gives it up and has to go. Yet, holed right through the case, We still made it back to base, A'bleeding as we crawled along dead slow. The damage, though severe, Looked worse out there than here; Still it's a cost to bear when'er I can. And though he's dead for now, I'll build him back somehow, An' I'll ride again in hell with Gunga Van! Yes, Van! Van! Van! You faithful-hearted Gunga Van! Though I beat you and I flayed you, By the German steel that made you, You're a better bus than any, Gunga Van." 04/14/95 Joel Walker 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 One more time, Oh let me hear The Volkswagen Pep Club Morse Code Cheer: DIT DIT DIT DAH, DIT DAH DAH, VAN-BUS-BRICK-LOAF, RAH RAH RAH! 04/28/95 wself@viking.emcmt.edu (Will Self) Waving at Buses Waving at buses, waving at buses, Waving at buses so happily, As we drive down the roads And the highways of this universe, We'll all be waving at buses we see. Once there was a Microbus, Camped beside a flowing stream, Under the shade of a big fir tree, And he sang as he sat, And waited til his water boiled, You'll come a'waving at buses with me. Soon another bus, This time a somewhat newer one, Rolled down the road to the big fir tree. And he waved at the Microbus, popped his top and settled in, Singing this song, oh, so happily. Later on that same day, more buses joined the campground crew, Bread-loafs and Vanagons and Eurovans, too. And they sang as they sat Around their little camping fires, We'll come a'waving at buses with you. Now we drive the highways And the crowded boulevards, Looking and watching so carefully, To catch a glimpse of buses, No matter what the model is, And we'll be waving so happily. 04/18/95 Joel Walker Slap-Happy Wanderer? I love to drive my vee-dub bus Out in the countryside, And as i drive, i love to sing, My big mouth opened wide! Feedle-dee, feedle-dah, Feedle-dee, feedle-rah-hah-hah-hah-hah-hah-hah-hah, Feedle-dee, feedle-dah, Out in the countryside! The only thing that gives me grief Out in the countryside, Is bugs that fly between my teeth When my mouth's opened wide! I wave at every bus I see, And sometimes they wave back, But often they stare back at me, Like I crawled out from a crack! I stop for gas at country stores, When full my tank is not, Where Bubbas ask what kind of car Is that thing that I've got. I carry food along with me, In case I want to eat, Cause road-kill don't agree with me, Especially in this heat! I carry drinks along with me, For thirst to overcome, I don't like drinking from a ditch Or from a pond with scum! As I go out a'wandering, Along the mountain track, I take my maps and compasses, To find which road leads back! 04/18/95 Joel Walker Lessons of Life, Nbr. 354673-A Oh, that En-Route Refueling, Don't leave much time for fooling! Oh, the driving ain't keen, When there's no gasoline, You depend on that En-Route Refueling. I left out of Reno, it was early one morn, And headed out east, where the new day is born, On the highway to Ely, and on further east, Where a new job was waiting and poverty ceased. I'd loaded my bus with essentials so bare, sold all the rest at a yard sale back there, With the money I'd paid off each one of my debts With a little left over for a couple of bets. Then long around midnight, I cranked up the bus And got on the road with a minimum fuss, So sure I'd forgotten not one little mote, Why, I even remembered to look at my notes. I drove on for hours, it seemed like much more, And sat at the wheel till my buttocks were sore, Then sputtering, coughing, the bus ceased to run, And coasting in darkness, I knew what I'd done. The fuel tank was empty, the needle did say, And there was no traffic at this time of day. No stations in sight, not for mile after mile, And nothing to do but just wait here and smile. Soon the dawn rose up slowly, far out in the east, But the heat rose much quicker. I thought so, at least. As the sun kept on rising, the temperature, too, Til inside the bus was a hundred and two. In the sweltering heat, by the side of the road, I sat in the desert with the seeds I had sowed: The gauge stood at zero, my spirits did, too. Then one lousy trucker pulled into my view. "Whot ho!", called the trucker, an arrogant ass, "Have you run out of fuel, or just making time pass?" I told him my story. He laughed, kinda cruel. Then I asked if he'd help me by giving me fuel. "I'd like to be helpful," he said like a weasel, "But all that I've got is some number two diesel. "I'll send someone back if it's here you would stay, "But it's gonna get hotter, much hotter, today." Well, I rode into town with that trucker so deft, And from there I just got on a Greyhound and left, That's the end of my story, I'm sorry to say, And my old bus still sits in that desert today. 04/28/95 Joel Walker 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! 05/05/95 Joel Walker 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. 05/05/95 Joel Walker Jack be nimble, Jack be quick, Jack got caught On the gearshift stick! 05/05/95 Joel Walker 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. 05/05/95 Joel Walker Mary had a little bus It's roof was white as snow. And everywhere that Mary went That bus was sure to go. She drove the bus to school one day Which was against the rule, But even so, the kids all thought Her Microbus was cool! 05/05/95 Joel Walker Little boy blue, come blow your horn Your van won't go and you're all forlorn. Where's the boy from the driver's chair? At the back of his van, kneeling in prayer. 05/05/95 wself@viking.emcmt.edu (Will Self) Old Father Hubbard--the guy with the cupboard-- Kept Volkswagen parts stored inside 'em And a mean junkyard Doberman, trained to guard over them, Drooled as he hungrily eyed 'em. Old Father Hubbard went to the cupboard To get his poor doggie a C. V. But the poor doggie's point, when he asked for a joint Was a piece of the Old Father's knee, see? Old Father Hubbard, the guy with the cupboard, (Old Pegleg, as he is now known) Still has the C.V., he'll keep it till need be, And the poor dog at last has a bone. 05/05/95 wself@viking.emcmt.edu (Will Self) A van child would exploring go, Heigh-ho cries Rowley. A van child would exploring go, Whether his mother would let him or no. Heigh-ho cries Anthony Rowley. He travelled on pavement till't was no more, Heigh-ho cries Rowley. He travelled on pavement till't was no more, Called Heigh-ho Synchro with pedal to floor. Heigh-ho cries Anthony Rowley. He drove his bus to the water's brink, Heigh-ho cries Rowley. He drove his bus to the water's brink, And kept right on, shouting swim or sink, Heigh-ho cries Anthony Rowley. He crossed the sea to Helsingor, Heigh-ho cries Rowley. He crossed the sea to Helsingor, Shipping only one gallon in the passenger's floor. Heigh-ho cries Anthony Rowley. He blasted off for outer space, Heigh-ho cries Rowley. He blasted off for outer space, And won the Galacteal VW Race. Heigh-ho cries Anthony Rowley. 05/05/95 wself@viking.emcmt.edu (Will Self) There was an old woman who lived in a bus, She only wore flannel, it caused her to cuss, She made up a shower to keep herself clean, And kept it inside her Volkswagen machine. 05/05/95 Joel Walker 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. 05/05/95 Joel Walker 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? 05/05/95 Joel Walker Old Fat Joel Was a very old soul, And a very old soul was he. He drove an old bus And he caused quite a fuss And he gave out opinions for free. 05/05/95 Joel Walker Mary, Mary, quite contrary, How goes your Vanagon? With coolant leaks, and throttle tweaks, And a temp light that's always on! 05/05/95 Joel Walker 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?" 05/05/95 Joel Walker 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. 05/05/95 Joel Walker Jack Sprat, he wore a hat, His wife, she wore blue jeans, They drove their Vee-Dub bus around Just hoping to be seen. 05/05/95 Joel Walker Around and round the Microbus Mechanics chased the mallet, The owner thought it was all in fun, POP! goes the wallet. A penny for a nut or bolt, A penny for a washer, That's the way the money goes! POP! goes the wallet. 05/05/95 Joel Walker Alternate version: Around and round the Vanagon Mechanics used their greasel They all had thought it'd easy be ... Oops! It's a diesel! 05/05/95 Joel Walker Make a bus, make a bus, Volkswagen man! Make me a bus as fast as you can! Weld it and paint it and mark it with a V, Send it to the dealer for baby and me. 05/05/95 Joel Walker Monday's bus was made apace, Tuesday's bus will win the race, Wednesday's bus has far to go, Thursday's bus has loads to tow, Friday's bus is fair and true, Saturday's bus has nothing to do, But a bus that's made on the Sabbath Day Just doesn't exist -- that's all I can say. 05/05/95 Joel Walker 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! 05/05/95 Joel Walker 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? 05/12/95 Joel Walker how many of you older types can recall that famous hit television series, the Volksy Bus club ... Volksy Bus, Volksy Bus, Forever let us hold our banner high, high, high!! Come along and play with us, And join our family! Vee Oh El, Kay Ess Wye, Bee, uh, You Ess, see? Vee Oh El ... Hell, we want to see you at ALL these campouts!! Kay Ess Wye ... Why? Because we LIKE you!!! Bee, uh, You Ess, see? (and the host was this vw bus, see, with these HUGE elephant ears mirrors on the sides of his head ... :) 05/12/95 Joel Walker just a few little selections of Songs My Mother Never Sang for Me: 05/12/95 Joel Walker Vanagon Gals (an old traditional favorite of the Wagen Trains, while travelling across the Great Prairies) Vanagon gals, won't you come out tonight? Come out tonight, come out tonight? Vanagon gals, won't you come out tonight, And dance by the light of the moon? In My Vanagon (sung by Will-He Maelstrom) (inspired by little Ricky Golen) :) In my Vanagon, Just can't wait to get in my Vanagon, My life is driving highways, and that's where I belong, And I can 't wait to get in my Vanagon. Sweet Westy from Pike (another traditional ditty of the Wagen Trains) Oh, do you remember sweet Westy from Pike? Who crossed the Rocky Mountains with her driver, Ike? They struggled and climbed up those mountainous peaks And came right back down and they had no oil leaks! El Gringo (a perennial favorite, by Marty Poppins) Out in the west Texas town of El Gringo, I fell in love with Volkswagen machines, Kombis and Pickups and Campers and Panels, Buses of all sorts, that's just what I mean. These Are A Few Of My Favorite Things (by Julius Andrews, alias Valve'sa Poppins) CV joints greasy and new rubber booties, Bright shiny bumpers for bus's patooties, New wiper blades, and a windshield that's clean, These are a few of my favorite things. from that famous broadway hit by Jerome Kern, ShowBus! (original idea from Mikie Wrong) 05/12/95 Joel Walker Ole Man Highway He don't haul taters, he don't haul cotton, and them that does, well, they is soon forgotten, that old man highway keeps right on rollin' along, rollin' along. You and me, we sweat, sweat and strain, Windshields all smeared up with bugs and rain, Dodge that dog, and drive like hell, Hit some little punk, and you land in jail. I is weary, sick of driving, My legs are aching and my eyes are crying, but Ole Man Highway keeps right on rollin' along, rollin' along. 05/12/95 Joel Walker 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. 05/12/95 Alistair Bell 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 (to the tune of Manana (spanish for "tomorrow")) Volkwagen, Volkswagen, Volkswagen is good enough for me! I'm driving down the highway, and my window's open wide, I'm letting all the bugs come in, so they can hitch a ride, I'd like to roll my windows up, but there's one little thing: I can't afford to get a bus with air conditioning! My windshield, it is split in two, it makes a happy face, And speed is something I don't need, I'll never win a race, So everybody passes me, because I am so slow ... But still I get there just the same, wherever that I go! My friend, she bought a Vanagon, an older camper van, So now she sleeps inside the bus, whenever that she can, She made some silly curtains, from flannel that she'd found, And wants to add a shower, too! I think she maybe drown! Way down in california, down in San Diego land, A fellow that I know has got a big old camper van. It's full of stuff he's added on, and now he calls it "Boat", It's blue, that's true, and very tall, but I don't think it floats! Way up in New York City, on Manhattan, by the way, A fellow has a Syncro Bus, he loves to go and play Way back out in the countryside, where just for fun and pranks, He crashes over rocks and trees, just like those Army tanks! Way out there in Montana, where the cattle mope along, There are some silly fellows who still drive these Vanagons, And one of them is Diesel-run, which leaks oil with such ease, That now his neighbors call his bus "The New Exxon Valdez!" Away down South, in Dixieland, where Haute Possum is fare, A fellow with a Vanagon is really rather rare, You cruise along the highways, but all you ever see, Are Chevys, Fords, and Chryslers, and those silly Japanese! There are so many others, I don't know where to start, But they have all endeared themselves so closely to my heart, And one day soon, I hope that I can travel all around, So I can get free food and booze from all those silly clowns! That fellow who's a lawyer, he drives a Eurovan, And loves to brag and carry on, whenever that he can, But just in case his rough approach should irritate your mind, Remember: "Lawyer"'s just another word for "Crooked, Cheap, and Blind." A fellow down Atlanta way has lost his A/C pump, And cannot find the one he needs to cure his "comfort slump." So now he rides with windows down, and breathes the lovely air Of all those MARTA buses spewing diesel everywhere! 05/19/95 Joel Walker Ode to BBTA/GNATT Bus, Bus, Buses by the Arch VIII! Tramping through rain, and muck, and mud! While we waited for the day For the rain to go away, The mosquitos flew around and sucked our blood! From New York to Show-Me-State, They had often tempted fate, With their horde of food and engine parts to spare. Then some food went in the fire, As the flames got higher and higher; Soon ... KaBOOM, and there was Tuna everywhere. All of Texas seemed to be, Gathered round for revelry, At least a dozen cowboys came to stay ... With their really neato camp, They shrugged off the chill and damp, And they had a blast with every passing day. From Diego's sunny land, There came Dave's enormous van With the solar panels mounted on the top. The only problem came: That his power output's lame, Cause he couldn't get the stinking rain to stop! Sami brought his camper there, But it wasn't really fair, Cause his wife drove out and brought their Honda, too. So while we were stuck in place, They could crank it up and race All the way back home ... at least a mile or two! From Virginia's rolling hills, Came Pete Sellers, seeking thrills, As he westward drove his newer Eurovan. When he set up camp with pride, All the stuff he had inside Took up room enough to park two other vans! Then in Sunday's morning hours, Did it cease the rain and showers, And the sun began to dry our little sewer, So we packed and sallied forth, As we headed farther north, On the Great North Am Ter-ran-sport-tator Tour. With the wind across our bow, We still struggled on somehow, Until we late had made it to the camp, Where Mike Wright would drive die Frau And he found us all somehow As we slept beside the Mississippi damp. 06/02/95 Joel Walker When I Was Young When i was young, and dreams were new, I loved a bus, all white and blue. I saw its face on every street, I thought that it was really, oh, so neat! But i was young, and dreams were, too. I had no job, no point of view, No way to purchase that bus of mine, And so I had to dream a long, long time. But now I'm old, with dreams that fade, I bought a bus, no longer made, Around the town, I drive it daily, And wave at other buses that I see. :) 06/09/95 Joel Walker Prologue to the Canterbury Buses by J. Furry Chosser When the showers of April sweet The droughts of March hath soaked complete, Throughout the land and countryside, The Buses roar, with skill and pride. Through country lane and city street Doth throngs of buses 'verging meet To seek each other's company In solace and in misery. 'Tis once again the season milde When Buses ride the highways wild And gather at each hill and dale, For Buses Rule! And will Prevail!! 06/09/95 Joel Walker Campground sing-along Oh, I don't want no more this Camping Life, Gee, but I want to go, But they won't let me go, Gee, but I want to go home! They say that in Volkswagens, The heat is mighty fine, Well, I can't say that I agree, Cause ain't no heat in mine! They say that in the Buses, you have a lot of room, Well, just to keep it clean inside, you need a mop and broom! They say that in the Campers, it's all so very nice, They've even added cabinets where you can keep your spice! They say that at the Campground, where Bradley lurks behind, You never look straight at the fire or you will soon go blind! When Buses get together, and gather round the fire, The Rangers start to worry, as flames get higher and higher! 06/09/95 Joel Walker Blowing in the Wind. by Bob Dylan Thomas Wolfe Blitzer & Dasher & Prancer & ... Why does a bus weave all over the road, And never seem to stay in one lane? Yes, and why does it slow down so much on the hills, And make your job of driving it a pain? The answer, my friend, is blowing in the wind, The answer is blowing in the wind. And then why do those trucks seem to fly past your van, As you rock back and forth, side to side, And then why do the muscles in your arms and your legs, Seem to ache at the end of your ride? The answer, my friend, is blowing in the wind, The answer is blowing in the wind. Why do you think, as you drive down the hill, That your speed is a bit more than norm? And then why do you think that the rain jumps around On your windshield as you drive through the storm? The answer, my friend, is blowing in the wind, The answer is blowing in the wind. How do you drive when the weather is bad, And it's raining too hard for you to see? And so, how do you drive when the snow hits your van, Hits it hard enough to make you want to pee? The answer, my friend, is slowing in the wind, The answer is slowing in the wind. As you drive in your bus on the freeway at rush, How do you keep your anger subdued? Yes, and how do you calm all your innermost fire, When those boneheads are right in front of you? The answer, my friend, is driving with the Zen, The answer is driving with the Zen. And so how do you make up these silly old songs? And then how do the words find their way? Yes, and how does this happen each week after week, And always it seems on Fri-day? The answer, my friend, is going round the bend, The answer is going round the bend! ;) 06/09/95 Joel Walker Old Beer Bottle 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 Buses Oh, there are no Microbuses down in Hell, Oh, there are no Microbuses down in Hell, Oh, the place is full of Vettes, Lots of people with regrets! But! There are no Microbuses down in Hell. Oh, there are no Buses left in I-o-wa, Oh, there are no Buses left in I-o-wa, When the GNATT tour rolled on through, They all left and went with you. Oh, there are no Buses left in I-o-wa. Oh, there are no Vanagons in Ala-bam, Oh, there are no Vanagons in Ala-bam, Bubba drives a Ford instead, Or a Chevy that is red, But! there are no Vanagons in Ala-bam. Oh, there are no Eurovans here in the States, Oh, there are no Eurovans here in the States, They are off on foreign shores, Driven round by high-priced whores, But! There are no Eurovans here in the States. Oh, there are no Microbuses way up North, Oh, there are no Microbuses way up North, Cause the Eskimos decided They don't like the snow insided! Oh, there are no Microbuses way up North. Oh, the California Buses are the best, Oh, the California Buses are the best, Cause they shimmy and they shake, And it feels just like a Quake! Oh, the California Buses are the best. Oh, the Vanagons have engines in the rear, Oh, the Vanagons have engines in the rear, And the deck is low and flat, Now, what do you make of that! Oh, the Vanagons have engines in the rear. Oh, the Eurovans have engines in the front, Oh, the Eurovans have engines in the front, And the pistons now are five, In a line! Ain't that some jive! Oh, the Eurovans have engines in the front. 06/15/95 Joel Walker Bless 'Em All! Bless 'em all, bless 'em all, The long and the short and the tall, Bless old man Nordoff for building this bus, But I know a guy who is raising a fuss, Cause he tried to go over a wall, In his camper that wasn't so small, The windows blew out and the wheels flopped about, Cheer up, my lads, bless 'em all. Bless 'em all, bless 'em all, The long and the short and the tall, Bless all policemen who watch me drive by, Then want to stop me to see if I'm high! And it's just cause I'm driving a van, That they just seem to not understand, All us buses aren't hippies, we're not even yippies, And we don't all belong to a band! :) Bless 'em all, bless 'em all, The long and the short and the tall, Bless all those clerks who work at DMV, Bless them for saving the world just from me! For, we all know how paperwork cures Every socially ill that endures And we can't have let you through, til we're certain it's you, And the van that you're driving is yours! :) Bless 'em all, bless 'em all, The long and the short and the tall, Bless those mechanics who worked on my car, I'd like to trust them, but can't throw too far! Cause you see, they don't seem to know much 'Bout my bus and its engine and such, They mumble and fumble, and leave me to grumble, My wallet is all that they touch! Bless 'em all, bless 'em all, The long and the short and the tall, Bless those suppliers who sell through the mail, I hope they rot when they get down to hell! Cause they never will ship what you need, They say it's back-ordered, you see, But they all take your money, and that ain't so funny, Well, no one said Learning was free! Bless 'em all, bless 'em all, The long and the short and the tall, Here's to the buses we've owned in the past, Here's to the ones that we now drive too fast, And to all of the buses we see, No matter what year that it be, Whether Euro, Bus, Split, Vanagon, it's a hit, So we wave and we smile, naturally. :) 06/23/95 Joel Walker A Problem With My Pop-Top Seal A problem with my pop-top seal? A look confirmed my fear; It seems the thing had begun to peel Along the sides and rear. I was quite gentle, used little force; To remove it in one piece; Cleaned out the rust, used too much glue And avoided getting fleeced! 06/23/95 Alistair Bell Frau Blucher's Adventure I think that I shall never see, a sight more scary than Frau B. As driverless she rolled along, Through a parking lot. Then BONG! To a Ford she struck a blow (she's always hated them, you know) And then she stopped, in need of rest And a Honda's side caressed. But was Frau dented in the fray? Negatore, nyet, and nay. Yet Ford and Honda, I confess Have owners who are humorless. And much to Frau's and my dismay These folks insist (small minds!) we pay! 06/23/95 wright@storm.simpson.edu (Mike Wright) Our Bus is here to stay 06/30/95 Joel Walker Ta-Ra-Ra-BOOM-de-A, Ta-Ra-Ra-BOOM-de-A! What else is there to say? Our Bus is here to stay! If you drive a Fifty-Six, Your transmission can't be fixed, Cause there ain't no parts around, You'll just have to walk to town! If you drive a Fifty-Seven, You won't make it up to Heaven, Cause you curse and swear with spleen, At your funky bus machine! If you drive a Fifty-Eight, You soon learn just who to hate, All those honking stupid jerks Behind your bus enroute to work! If you drive a Fifty-Nine, You must be deaf, dumb, and blind, For your life ain't worth a dime, What's your scheduled blow-up time? If you drive a Sixty bus, You can cause a lot of fuss, In the right lane down the road, Pushed by 18-wheeler Toads!! If you drive a Sixty-One, You can have a lot of fun, With your windows open wide, All the bugs can get inside! If you drive a Sixty-Two, Your repairs are never through, While the rust eats through your frame, You still wonder who to blame! If you drive a Sixty-Three, You're almost as dumb as me, That's the year they called them back, Cause of all the things they lack! If you drive a Sixty-Four, Your big butt will soon be sore, For your shocks ain't worth a flip, You get sore on every trip! If you drive a Sixty-Five, You're quite lucky if alive, Cause them brakes can't stop you fast, And in traffic, you are last! If you drive a Sixty-Six, You'll break things no one can fix, Things that cost both legs and arms, Things that do your wallet harm! If you drive a Sixty-Seven, Get it home before e-leven, Cause it needs a lot of rest, If you want it at its best! If you drive a Sixty-Eight, Don't get home 'fore half-past eight, Cause the neighbors spit and spark at your Bus before it's dark! If you drive a Sixty-Nine, Fill your pockets with some dimes, Cause the payphones on the road Won't take nickels when you're towed. If you drive a Seven-ty, It's the same as the last three, Not much change from year to year, That's the way they do it here. If you drive a Seven-One, You will have a lot of fun, Cause your brakes are round and disc ... makes your stopping less a risk! If you drive a Seven-Two, You know what you have to do: Junk those dual carbs you've got Cause they aren't worth a lot! If you drive a Seven-Three, It's as plain as A-B-C, Same old carbs as Seven-Two, And your wallet they will screw! If you drive a Seven-Four, It's some better than before, Cause it's now got E-F-I, Fuel Injection, squirts your eye! If you drive a Seven-Four, It's some better than before, One hundred extra cubic C's 3 more horsepower to fight the breeze! 06/30/95 David Schwarze If you drive a Seven-Five, This loafs a blast to drive, But just in case you're bored, Valves still can't be ignored! 06/30/95 Steve Johnson If you drive a Seven-Five, go and take it for a drive, Cause it's now got E-F-I, Fuel Injection, squirts your eye! 06/30/95 David Schwarze If you drive a Seven-Six, You must learn a lot of tricks, Have to hold your mouth just right Or you have no lights at night! 06/30/95 David Schwarze If you drive a Double-Seven, You be ridin in seven(th) heaven Cause the year before was so right There's nary a change in sight 06/30/95 David Schwarze If you drive a Double-Seven, Uphill keep that engine revin, Cause if you don't it'll die, And there's no second try! 06/30/95 Steve Johnson If you drive a Seven-Eight, 2000cc's pushing extra weight, One less thing to be harrassed, Hydraulic valves at last! 06/30/95 Steve Johnson If you drive a Seven-Eight, To drive it you'll have less of a wait. Hydraulic lifters make me sway, No more valve adjust every 3K. 06/30/95 David Schwarze If you drive a Seven-Nine, You'll proudly say this ones mine, Sliding windows bring fresh air, Last of the bread-loaf fair. 06/30/95 Steve Johnson If you drive a Seven-Nine, Get yourself a glass of wine If you're tipsy you won't cry When those Vanagon heads run your wallet dry. 06/30/95 David Schwarze If you drive a Eighty bus, You won't have much need to cuss, Doesn't seem to have much woes, It just goes and goes and goes! If you drive a Eighty-One, You'll have lots and lots of sun, If you got the big sunroof, Now if it were just leak-proof!! If you drive a Eighty-Two, You can get a bus that's new! One without them sparking plugs, But those Diesels run like slugs! If you drive a Eighty-Three, You have things you cannot see! Now the engine's watercooled, Don't look now, but you've been fooled!! If you drive a Eighty-Four, It's the same as just before. Not much change from just last year, 'Cept no diesels shipped to here! If you drive a Eighty-Five, It's a fight to keep it live, Cause the dealers don't much care, When they fix it, it's so rare. If you drive a Eighty-Six, You'll need luck to find a fix, Dealers still don't give a crap, So the bus must take the rap! If you drive a Eighty-Seven, ... ... ... If you drive a Eighty-Eight, It's for sure your head ain't straight, Bumpers now are fibreglas, And they don't protect your ass! If you drive a Eighty-Nine, And you hear a whistling whine, That just normal for that year: Means you're losing your 4th gear! If you drive a Ninety bus, You won't have to fight with rust, Cause its skin is galvanized It just crinkles when it dries!! If you drive a Ninety-One, It's much better on your buns, Much more comfy on those trips, Now, if you could stop those drips! If you drive a Ninety-Two, You must be deaf, dumb, and blue ... Cause the dealer lied to you: There weren't no bus in Ninety-Two! If you drive a Ninety-Three, There are things you'll never see: No more engine in the rear! It's up front where you can hear! If you drive a Ninety-Four, and you're on the U.S. shore, You're just lying through your beer, Cause they didn't sell that year! If you drive a Ninety-Five, Just be glad you're still alive! Most folks here were killed outright By a case of Sticker-Fright!! In a Vee-Dub Bus Again. (to the tune of Wabash Cannonball) Listen to the rattles, to the rumbles from the floor, As we wind along the highways, through the hills and by the shore, Hear that mighty little engine, as it screams against the wind, A'Traveling through the country in a Vee-Dub Bus again! Oh, the western states are dandy, so the western people say, From the hills around St. Louie, to the Rockies, by the way, But if you drive a Vee-Dub Bus, I'm sure that you will find, The vista ain't so grand to you when numbness grips behind! :) Back east, the states are wonderful, the eastern people say, From the beans in Boston harbor, to Virginia and the Bay, But people drive like fools possesed, like mountain goats and rams, Your butt's still numb, and you feel dumb, in ten-mile traffic jams! Down south, below the Dixon line, where temperatures can soar Especially in the summertime, the heat you will deplore, There's lots of folks to help you find just what you desire, If you can understand their drawl, and light their butts on fire! :) And way up north, around the Lakes, in Minnesota land, They've smaller hills, and bigger farms, and lots of flatter land, But it's not fun when summer's done, to stay beyond the Fall, Cause Winters here are quite severe on people, cars, and all. Way out in California, where the earth plays Rock 'n Roll, You can drive from San Diego's heat to mountain's that are cold, Cause it's a state that's long and deep, with people everywhere, And lots of Vee-Dub buses on the highways here and there. Another state that's long and deep, the Lonestar stands alone, From Marshall to El Paso, Amarillo, San Antone, The roads are long, the cities big, and drivers are a fright, They pass you doing eighty on the shoulder to the right! Wherever you decide to stop for rest and gas to pay, As you pull up to the self-serve pumps, the people seem to say, "Now, there's a bunch of crazies, old hippies, that's fer sure, Still driving that old Vee-Dub bus, and fixing it by Muir." 07/06/95 Joel Walker Little Martha, My VW Pickup Truck My tool kit has a 19 millimeter socket, A 17, 13 and 10 You can tell by these numbers, If you've wrenched on german cars That I'm working on "Little Martha" again. She's a curious sort of a pick up, With a front like a VW Bus But the back is a flat bed With sides that fold down Nine-feet-four, lightly spotted with rust. She's made out of 261-' parts The rarest of rare as you'll hear They made 'em for a decade But like a tape being replayed "We don't have it", doesn't matter which year. At a junk yard we salvaged brake reseviors Blackened with age and debris We cleaned them with pipe cleaners We bought at a crafts shop And rags wrapped 'round wires for free. Under her pedals and and hand brake The cover was missing- one I'd never seen We found a replacement and Pounded its dents out And I must paint it grey with a sheen. I've bought a motor and seals and a door latch And CVs and boots clean and new I bought a brake master cylinder Twice, to get the right one, Not just one brake light switch tapped, but two. In Tijuana I bought a turn signal lens From the dealer for $35 bucks At the Kelly Park swap meet I bought the front emblem To shine up the face of my truck From two different mail order companies I bought replacement battery trays They were both the same part Though three times priced different And neither fit right, I'm sorry to say. Now its near time to install the motor After I paint a few pieces of tin And think I can rebuild the Side cargo hatch lock Which I drilled-out so I could get in Of course this story's far from over Up and running, new problems will show And I'll learn I suppose Why the Dread Former Owner Sold her cheap instead of fixing her mo' 07/07/95 wabbott@Megatest.COM (William Abbott) Barnacle Bill the Busman A Volkswagen Bus is right for me, Said Barnacle Bill the Busman, A big rolling box for the woman and me Said Barnacle Bill the Busman, I'll cram it full of camping stuff, We drive and drive til we've had enough, And we won't put up with ANY guff!!! Said Barnacle Bill the Busman. Pretty soon, you'll lose that grin, Pretty soon, you'll lose that grin, Pretty soon, you'll lose that grin, Cried the fair young maiden. Well, I'm rough and tough, and I know my Bus, Said Barnacle Bill the Busman, I'll fix what's broke without much fuss, Said Barnacle Bill the Busman, My whirling sockets give me class, My wrenches sparkle and shine like glass, And I've even got cushions to put on my ass! Said Barnacle Bill the Busman. You're out of gas, and can't go on, You're out of gas, and can't go on, You're out of gas, and can't go on, Cried the fair young maiden. Well, hell, I guess I'm stuck for now, Said Barnacle Bill the Busman, But I'll get moving again somehow, Said Barnacle Bill the Busman, I'll make some gas from cactus juice, Or from some leaves from a towering spruce, Or grab a tow from a passing goose!! Said Barnacle Bill the Busman. There's a cop, you must slow down, There's a cop, you must slow down, There's a cop, you must slow down, Cried the fair young maiden. To hell with the rules and statutes, too, Said Barnacle Bill the Busman, And if you don't like it, to hell with you! Said Barnacle Bill the Busman, I can outrun the cops with the greatest of ease, And drive my bus any way I please, I'll grind my gears til they turn to cheese! Said Barnacle Bill the Busman. Here's some flowers for his grave, Here's some flowers for his grave, Here's some flowers for his grave, Sobbed the fair young maiden. 07/14/95 Joel Walker Bessie, me Mucho Bessie me Bessie me Mucho Each time I cling to your wheel I hear music divine... So Bessie me mucho, Run for forever And say that you'll always be mine... This drive is something new, Aircooled enfolding you, Never such noises before, Who ever thought I'd be Splitting an engine case Washing off oil from my floor. Dearest bus, If you should valve drop, I'd cry out "NO!" Feel your heat, And my life would be through.. So Bessie me mucho Run for forever And keep all your valve train in time... 07/21/95 rvanness@neuron.uchc.edu (Ron Van Ness) Oh, My Darling Clementine (to the tune of "Oh, My Darling Clementine." :) In a junkyard, on a mountain, Rusting there beneath the pines, Sat a sagging old Volkswagen Camper bus named Clementine. Born a German, over yonder, Made her way across the foam, Not at all the life she wished for In this new land, her new home. There she sat, among the rusting Bones of cars from Yesterday, Left alone and here abandoned, Waiting for her dying day. Oh my darling, oh my darling, Oh my darling Clementine, You will soon be lost forever, Awful sorry, Clementine. Years ago she took a family Way out West and way back home; Never once had any problems, Through the countryside they'd roam. But the family grew much bigger Than poor Clementine could hold, So they sold their loyal Camper, For a measly bag of gold. There she sat, out in the weather, On the dealer's used car lot, Through the snow of winter's freezing, Through the summer's burning hot. Oh my darling, oh my darling, Oh my darling Clementine, You were sold and left abandoned, Awful sorry, Clementine. No one looked or asked about her, And the dealer didn't care, So he sold her to the junkyard, And for years she's been out there. Then one day, there came a youngster, Looking for some parts to buy, Saw her rusted, faded body, Bought her from the junkyard guy. Towed her home and started fixing, Taking time to do it right; Worked a long time on her engine, Stayed up late into the night. Oh my darling, oh my darling, Oh my darling Clementine, You were lost but now I've found you, Not to worry, Clementine. Brand new tires, and brand new braking, Stop the rust, and shine the paint, Rid the field mice from the cabinets, Cause a Mouse Hotel she ain't! Mend the canvas, and the fixtures, Make the pop-top work just fine. When she's finished, she'll be pretty, A Beauty Queen, my Clementine. Now she rides upon the highway, Just like when she was brand new, With a grin between her headlights, And she purrs, like kittens do. Oh my darling, oh my darling, Oh my darling Clementine, You were almost gone forever, Now you're fixed and you're all mine! 07/21/95 Joel Walker 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! 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. 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. 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!! 07/28/95 Joel Walker Tales of the Workshop by Robert W. Service-Advisor. :) Mechanics that Vanish Strange tales oft repeat, when you talk of the heat In the summers down south, I am told. 'Bout the hot steady glare from the sun way up there That makes you thirsting for anything cold. When the heat, as it rises, can shrink you two sizes, And your sweat sticks your clothes to the skin, When the dogs all retreat, 'neath the porch, from the heat, Where some cooler it always has been. When the lack of fresh air being moved anywhere In the shop makes the walls seem to close, And the sweat streaming down, cross your furrow-like frown, Runs like water from the end of a hose. On one hot summer's day, at least so they say, There came in a bus, a Volkswagen, To the shop for repair, something broke under there, But the poor mechs were now really dragging. They were white as a sheet, but this job they'd complete, That they promised the owner who waited. Then they staggered and swore, as they opened the door, Cranked the bus and drove in where it's shaded. Well, the hours went by, 'til the closing drew nigh, And the owner grew twitchy and nervous. So he spoke to the boss, as he now was quite cross, And inquired 'bout the length of his service. "Well, it shoulda been through," said the boss, through his chew, "And I don't know what's taking so long." So they walked through the door to the shop's working floor, And found the bus, as if nothing was wrong. The ticket was there on the floor, which was bare Except for a very large puddle But the mechs were not found anywhere near around, Though the owner searched all through the muddle. So the bus owner paid for the work that had made All his broken parts mended again, And he happily drove to his home in the grove With no thought of the missing repairmen. And the boss never knew what had taken his crew, From their jobs, which they left and deserted, Cause they never returned for their tools or pay earned, Which in storage has since been inserted. But the story that grew, from the people who knew, When with beers in a bar they'd get belted, Was those mech's didn't stray, and are still there today: The poor bastards had simply just melted. 07/28/95 Joel Walker To Have No Bus To have no bus. To see all those for sale, as they travel my mailbox. Some linger for days, others I purge with zest and disgust. The rate of exchange is fast and furious, if I don't grab now, I might miss, and still have no bus. To have no bus. The desire is too great, the conflicts arise. A bus is within range, but how high the price? To start is a pleasure, to continue a pain. When does it stop? Does the credit card max out? First comes the engine, the brakes, the tires; the big and the small, they all come in waves. My weekends will fall, then start on the nights; soon it would be no woman, for no money nor time. Then the only course, to buy more and more; and say goodbye to my life. Ah, but it shall surely be, and I will still :) 08/04/95 (Jeff P. Schneiter FFFriday Follies Failure??? :( hear i sit, all down-hearted, 'tis Friday, and i can't get started, a story, joke, an ode or pome i need to write, a little tome of wit or wisdom, mirth or glee, but nothing bubbles up from me. am i so burned from Friday's past that nothing's left in me at last? no more lame verse to mock our cars? no stupid songs unheard in bars? with wrinkled forehead o'er mine eyes, my tortured mind doth seek the prize. a silly song? no, not again. a sonnet, then, from way back when? an ode, perhaps? nah, that's too long; you're better off with silly song. oh, fuddled mind! am i too beat? is nothing left that ain't repeat?? oh, well, it's not the worldwide end ... i guess, next Friday, try again to see if verse or song is writ continuing this Friday shit of Folly Funnies on the List ... and hope today it won't be missed. 08/04/95 Joel Walker Depictus?? by Billie Ernie Hindleg Under the bus that carries me, Black as the grease on CV balls, I thank whatever gods may be For my decrepit overalls. Smudges from axles, loosely gripped; I have not flinched nor cried aloud As Blood from my knuckles (socket slipped) Has colored the surface of this shroud. Above these spots and greasy smear Are streak-ed paints of different shade And stains of ketchup, mustard, beer ... I wear them proudly, unafraid. It matters not how loud the gripe From friends or neighbors, wives, et al ... I will not wash, though they be ripe, These funky stinking overalls. 08/10/95 Joel Walker Elegy Written in a Country Junkyard by Thomas Gray Metallic The setting sun defines the end of day, As doors and windows close against the night, When tools and parts are left just where they lay, For easy use tomorrow at first light. The cursing fades, the laughter ceases now, In ones and twos, the men are gone away. Old Sol is slow to take his final bow As insects tune themselves and start to play. It matters not the model, nor the year, Nor cost of purchase when the car was new, For like a graveyard, all will enter here To rust beneath the sun and morning dew. But there are some whose Karma reaches out, To kindred souls, for help to cheat the grave, And whether whole, or whether parted out, Extend their lives upon the road they crave. For these, the kindred few, this yard is not A place wherein their dread should make them shy, Not like a graveyard, with decay and rot But more a warehouse, open to the sky. 08/10/95 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 Propanity A little tank, beneath my floor, Contains a gas that some deplore, A gas that smells like Eau d' Skunk, or rotted cabbage in a trunk. And yet we use it every day For cooking, cooling in some way; Throughout this land and countryside, It's used in homes, both far and wide. Why, even in our homes on wheels It's often used to fix our meals. It can your food both heat and cool, As long as you don't play the fool. A bottled bomb, Pandorah's box, A genie's boon or cursed pox? It all depends on how we treat This gaseous source of traveling heat. Our comforts hinge on this, we find, So much we can't leave it behind, And there bespeaks dependency On this so-called Propanity! Propanity, too Malodorous hydrocarbon gas From crude petroleum derives, Akin to waxy paraffin: A cautious comfort in our lives. 08/24/95 Joel Walker The Hoover Bespoke the Bob, "I need a lift To get mine ass from here to there." And sudden was the tumult raised About the Who, What, When, and Where. "I'll drag his butt up North with me," Said one who volunteered his car. "No, no," another voice replied, "It's East he goes, but not too far." "A Magic Carpet Ride with me!", Said one, proclaiming life on Mars. Another European leg Would end in Paris, neath the stars. "A new career! We'll make him rich! "The Lecture Circuit makes the dough! "We'll pass along, across the land, "This Circuit Rider, to and fro." Still others spoke of shorter trips, No matter he un-willing came, Hog-tied and gagged, he'd travel on ... A ride's a ride, it's all the same. Higher, louder, rose the cry, Suggestions buzzed like summer flies, And all the while, ol' Silent Bob Was no more heard amongst the lies. For none did watch nor care to see That while the ruckus wax and wane, The Hoover snuck out to a cab And quietly boarded the next plane. 08/24/95 Joel Walker Friday Gripe. So there I was, out on the freeway; I drove fast, thus, I was not in my bus. Ahead of me pulled onto the freeway; Mr. Policeperson in his UHP Camaro. Not that my tax money buying a Camaro is bad; But what happens next gets me mad. Mr. Policeperson pulls over a car. For something or other, probably legit. No this poem follows no rythm or rhyme. It seems that EVERY TIME, without fail; This happens to me. The person in front of me SLAMS ON HIS BRAKES. Why in the hell do you slam on your brakes!?!? When the police officer is stopped on the side of the road!??! So I rant and I rave, and I pass this bufoon. Only to get stuck behind the truck in the fast lane. Such _is_ life in the fast lane... 08/25/95 Mike White Gimme a "V", Gimme an "O", ... V is for the Victory of wrenching, O is for the Other times I've lost, L is for that Lost and Lonely feeling when the dealer tells you what it cost!! K is for the Thousand miles I've driven, S is for the Speed I never had, W's for the Wagen that has striven to carry me through weather good and bad. A is for the Axles always turning, G is for the Gears that sometimes grind, E is for my Even-tempered engine, and N is for the End of this here rhyme. :) Put them altogether, they spell "Volkswagen" Who made the Buses I have learned to love. 08/25/95 Joel Walker Manifold Destiny Why, I recall 'twas just last year, Around Thanksgiving time, I went to see my buddy Joe, And rang his doorbell chime. His wife came to the door and said, "He ain't at home right now. He's out a'driving on the road In that Vee-Dub bus, The Cow." So I took myself and headed home, Along the coastal road, When who'd I see, but that old Joe, On the shoulder where he'd whoa'd! Old Joe was back behind the bus, A'poking round the rear, He had that engine hatch propped up And was pouring something clear. I stopped in front and walked on back To see if he was broke, But he had closed the engine hatch And was sipping on a Coke. He said he couldn't stop to talk, Important was his quest, With miles to go before he quits For dinner and a rest. He pulled out in the traffic lanes And hurried up to speed, I tagged along behind his bus ... Some help he might yet need. In about ten miles, he stopped again, And behind the bus he'd go, Where he pulled that same old pouring stunt, On what, I didn't know. Then off he'd roar, back on the road For another ten miles more, Where he would stop and run around Behind the bus to pour. He kept this up back to the house, Where he called out to his wife, Who came on out and walked right back To the engine with a knife! She poked inside, then poked some more, And then she said, "I'll bet You need once more around the block ... The turkey ain't done yet." :) 09/01/85 Joel Walker Tales of the Workshop by Robert W. Service-Advisor The Speedometer Oh, the stories we hear, like the stars in the sky, Have all been encountered before, But just when you think that you've heard of them all, A new one will drive through the door. He brought in the car, said it didn't work right, And he wanted it fixed by tomorrow, Said the speedo was bad, it was reading too low, And was causing him no end of sorrow. So old Tom took it on, checking all of the faults That might cause anyone such a terror; Even minor mistakes, lack of grease or a screw, No matter how small of an error. Pull the dash, check the head for gears that were broke, Find anything there that ain't able, And then follow the line as you move to the wheel, See if anything's wrong with the cable. But the tests came up short, no fault found at all, So Tom drove it out on Route Nine, And a stop-watch was used just to doubly make sure ... And it showed that the speedo was fine. When he came for the car, and we asked him again, Just where was it bad, and how long? He sighed, and complained, like you'd speak to a child, That the needle just had to be wrong. Because, he explained, as I drive home from work, And I drive at the speed-limit posted, All the cars on the road zoom by, faster than me, So the speedo just has to be toasted! Oh, the stories we hear, like the stars in the sky, Have all been encountered before, But just when you think that you've heard of them all, A new one will drive through the door. 09/01/85 Joel Walker Don't Tent Me In Oh, give me room, lots of room, with a camper top above, Don't tent me in. Let me ride in my pride through the open countryside, Don't tent me in. Oh, let me sleep near the deep, on the sandy beaches, All those other places that my camper reaches, Cause I don't like lying on the ground with leaches! Don't tent me in. Oh, make my ride big inside, big as rooms in houses, Don't tent me in. Make it large as a barge, so there's room for spouses, Don't tent me in. And put a top that will pop and will raise the ceiling, With a bed in back to help that sleepy feeling, Add some kitchen cabinets and we're really wheeling! Don't tent me in. Oh, let it sell really well, so the dealers love it, Don't tent me in. So the farts back in parts don't tell me to shove it, Don't tent me in. But let it not be so hot for the Yuppie princes, Make it sell for prices that won't make me winces, Cause I can't stand Porsches and I can't stand Benzes, Don't tent me in. Oh, give me zoom, lots of zoom, in a hurry slowly, Don't tent me in. Let me roll at a stroll through the traffic lowly, Don't tent me in. Oh, let me sit where I get all the view that's needy, Sitting way up high is better, yes, indeedie, Even though at times I might not be so speedy! Don't tent me in. 09/01/85 Joel Walker Oh, I wish I was an old Westfalia Camper, That is what I'd truly like to be. Cause if I was an old Volkswagen Camper, All the girls would come and sleep with me! :) The Letters of the Line ... Very carefully tune your car Or you won't get too very far. Little things can break or die, Keeping you from getting by ... So if you go out after all Why not take with you something small: A little book that tells you how, Gives ways for you to fix it now. Either that or call a truck ... Nobody cares if you are stuck. :) 09/01/85 Joel Walker Busses By The Arch (to the tune of "Battle of New Orleans") On Labor Day Weekend we took a little trip Along with all the Busses to the mighty Mississip' We took a little tuna and some old magnesium To meet our fellow Bus-Folk in the town of O'Fallon Well..we...arrived quite early and the Busses kept a comin' There's more here now than there was a while ago And pretty soon they all began a runnin' On a long caravan to the river (which was low) So they loaded the Splitties And they loaded the Breadloaves And they loaded the Bricks (Tho' some, they would not go) They pushed them all aboard that little ferry Bound to cross the river (Break the record? Sorry, no) Once we got across the river and onto higher ground We circled 'round Bill Bowman and said "Lead us back to town!" Our gauges and our dash lights, tho' they do not make a sound Are busy trying to tell us, "Your cores, they're melting down" Well...he...told us not to worry -- that the trip was nearly over We're going to have a picnic and it's sure to be "Big Fun" We'll vote for all our favorites, as they're parked out in the clover And the drive back will be cooler (from the setting of the Sun) So they jumped in the Splitties And they jumped in the Breadloaves And they jumped in the Bricks (Even water-cooled's were parched) They headed back toward the campground in O'Fallon To have more fun at Busses By The Arch 09/03/95 Bob Hufford 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). 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 RGOLEN@umassd.edu A Great Big Bus When I was young and in my prime I bought me a Volkswagen bus on time I drove it far and without much fuss And I loved the feel of a great big bus. I drove it East, I drove it West, I drove it long and without much rest, I drove in day, I drove at night, I drove it wrong, and I drove it right. I drove the damn thing everywhere, From way down yonder to way up there, And every road I chose to run, The little bus would make it fun. But people age and pressures grow, We must conform ... it's best, you know. We must fit in at home and work And look like every other jerk. And so we buy a LARB, you see, To carry us and family Conformedly to work and school, To PTA and swimming pool. But now the kids are gone from home And I am left the world to roam. Conformity no longer feels Like something I should do on wheels. So, now I'm old and in my prime I've got me a Volkwagen bus this time. I drive it far and without much fuss And I love the feel of a great big bus. 09/08/95 Joel Walker Beg to differ, you see, I must. For all the LARBs have gone to rust. Yet, all the kids taxied around by us, think the coolest is our bus... ..Cetin, the poetically-chellenged... 09/08/95 cetin@kirk.bellcore.com (Cetin Seren) Old King Bradley (from an old song about Old King Brady) ... a REAL old song ... Well ... Bradley, Bradley, Bradley, you know you done wrong, Well, bringin them prunes where dey don't belong, Well, knockin down de bushes, breaking down de trees, And now you lying dead out in de wildernees! Cause you eatin dem prunes tooo long! Well, Bradley, Bradley was tending de far, When along come Martha in her new 'lectric car, Well, Martha says, "Bradley, you in need of a rest," Well, Bradley threw dem prunes right at Miz Martha's chest. Cause he eatin dem prunes too long! Well, Old King Bradley was a big fat man, When de doctor come, took hold of his hand, Well, he felt for a pulse, and den de doctor said, "I believe to my soul that old King Bradley's dead! "Cause he eatin dem prunes too long!" Well, the rest of de campers dragged old Bradley away, Cause hiz body was a'blockin where dey wanted to play, Where dey wanted to be settin, and a'drinkin all dat beer, Well, dey drunker was a'gettin, but dey didn't shed a tear! He's been eatin dem prunes doo long! Well, the next thing dey knew, old King Bradley was back, Saying, "Dat doctor's crazy! I ain't dead yet! He's a quack!" So dey let him to de campfire where dey all set on de ground, Burning engine cases in de far and passin beer around. And he don't eat dem prunes no more! 09/08/95 Joel Walker WOMAN'S ANGLE He is with Her; the frowning garage portal Forbids me now to threaten or implore; Only remains, to show he still is mortal, An oily-handled teacup on the floor. The hirsute grass pleads mutely for the mower, And other wives laugh gaily with their men, But they have not acquired a worn out blower Nor sought to fit it to a Gormless Ten. My piteous Sunday joint, uncooked, unheeded, With Monday's laundering now must interfere; Let shoes go dirty, flower beds unweeded, As long as Vulcan gets his bottled beer. We might have gone to Mother's, oiled the mangle, Unstopped the sink or fixed the kitchen shelves, But men don't understand the woman's angle, They only think of motors and themselves. Each sunlit hour becomes to me a menace, The man at Number Four repaints his gate, While in her new M.G. takes off for tennis, That tarty creature down at Number Eight, While here in Number Six I wait and wonder Why Sunday papers more than others pall, Till, as the garage doors bust wide asunder, He tramples oil marks all about the hall. Leaves the wash basin with a greasy inset, Demands his food and slaps me on the back, (Damp and dingy prints upon my precious twin set), And on loose covers signs his seat in black. And cannot understand why I, downhearted, Watch sadly the declining Sunday sun. "The blower, darling? Lord, I haven't started, "But next week-end perhaps I'll get it done." 09/15/95 W. H. Charnock Tales of the Workshop by Robert W. Service-Advisor The Voltage Regulator It was late, he was tired, and the light was now fading, As the darkness was growing in the shadows' deep shading, The work wasn't going as well as expected So his spirits were down, he was feeling dejected, And the shortcuts he'd taken, although he knew better, Were quicker than following rules to the letter. A new regulator, to make headlights brighter, A simple replacement: screws loosened, then tighter. A slip of the fingers, and down it was dropped, It hit on the chassis, and there it was stopped, A spark, bright as lightening; then, to his surprise, That great big red wire disappeared fore his eyes. At first it just glowed, then got brighter and brighter, As a part of his body grew tighter and tighter. It was gone in a second, a foul puff of smoke, Replaced by that feeling that something just broke! So let this be warning, as you work on your bus, Before clumsy wrenching gives reason to cuss: If electric repairs are what you've selected, Make the battery always be first disconnected! 09/15/95 Joel Walker Tales of the Shop by Robert W. Service-Advisor The Cruise Control Oh, the stories we hear, like the stars in the sky, Have all been encountered before, But just when you think that you've heard of them all, A new one will drive through the door. Old Bill's truck arrived, dragging closely behind A huge Winnebago in tow, And the RV was smashed in the front and the side, Three windows all broke in a row. So we asked what occured to cause all this harm, And old Bill just said with a smile, "The owner was driving on I-25, As he clicked over mile after mile," "And long about sundown, he got somewhat tired, and decided he'd rather go eat, So he got up and went to the kitchen in back, Leaving no one up front in the seat." "You see, they had told him, when he purchased the thing, That the Cruise Control made quite a show: You just get up to speed, push the button to set, Then it handles it all, don't you know." "So he pushed in the button, and went to the back, Thinking Cruise was now in control, And just about time he had reached in the fridge, His world began to unfold." "The cops shook their heads after reaching the scene, Amazed at the damage so slight, But to pull all the cars that he ran off the road Required most the rest of the night." Oh, the stories we hear, like the stars in the sky, Have all been encountered before, But just when you think that you've heard of them all, A new one will drive through the door. 09/15/95 Joel Walker Friday Oh, Fria's day has come at last, The last workday will soon be past, Tomorrow's light will come too soon And wake me at the crack of Noon. Portents of work that must be done Cause wishes for the rain, not sun, Lord knows, the grass could use some rain To grow before I cut again. But mostly, Friday's mean to me Some silliness, frivolity, Some stupid poem or Trip Report, A silly joke, a quick retort. Such things prepare me for the end Of days of Work where I did spend My hours, sitting 'pon my duff. Boy, guv'mint work is really rough. :) 09/22/95 Joel Walker DMV I hope that I shall never see Again those clods at DMV, Those cretin-brained misfits of life Whose job it is to cause you strife, Who stand behind that armored wall, Protected, as they spout their gall To people, queued in long slow lines To register or pay their fines. So many hours, stand, and wait, The irritation turns to hate, But hate must hide behind a grin, Or else you will not ride again. These words, I fear, will do no good, Will make no changes where they should, For poems are writ by fools like me, But mutant genes made DMV. 09/22/95 Joel Walker The Horse-Hair Latitudes When the T-2 conspires in bondo And its sullen and aborted seat stuffings breed tiny monsters True bodywork is dead! Awkward instant As the rusty floor-pan is pierced The wire-welder furiously pumping Its smooth silver gallop Ground and buttered with brushable seam sealer Sanding the new skim coat In mute, creme hardener, agony Jim Bentley, The (Sliding) Doors 09/22/95 wabbott@megatest.com (William Abbott)