Breakfast with db…I am the DRIBBLEMASTER!






“Come over baby whole lot of shaking going on…”



Dateline: Greyhawkin’ Between B.A.S.S and the PAA

Normally I

wouldn’t be telling you campground stories, until I got the expense account

check for that campground, cashed it, and replenished the Margarita bar.

But this one needs

to get out.

I’m going to

footnote this story, but since I hate those footnote things instead of hiding

them at the bottom of the page, or worse, back in the end of the book where you

never look, I’m going to put the footnote right up front here like.

No searching, in

and out quick learning. Here she comes:


Now I’ll explain

why I put the note before the foot. Here’s what would have been footed: What db is when it comes to mechanical stuff.

See, isn’t it

easier that way, if only the grammar cops would listen to me.

Basically, I was

going to call this story, “28 Feet of Double Sided Mystery,” but I’m

going hold that title until I’m really stuck for something to write on

deadline. PS: When you see that title you might want to

just run from the story, but click on it anyway so I get the click credit…then

hit delete.

Get yerself a

coffee, I’ve got some explaining to do. 

Ya see, for the

past week, I’ve been a dribbling. 

“Shake it baby shake…”




dribbling. Spaghetti & baby shampoo

dribblin’. You crawl under my rig in

that last campground you might be want to find a half ate bagel with cream

cheese getting all fuzzy like.

Not to mention the

almost level rock pad I was parked on was probably about 110-PROOF when I

pulled away seeing that I was also a dribblin’ a bunch of USED crush ice, if

you get what I mean (UpFrontFootnote* Unfrozen Margarita going down the sink).

Now normally I’m

hell bent on not dribblin’ and drinkin’ but here’s the problem I ran into at

this past campground…it weren’t FULL hookups, only had them teasin’ hookups.

You see, they let

you run a garden hose to their spigot and you could get all the water ya

wanted, but then they kind of abandoned ya’ll by basically sayin’ “Here

we’ll give you all the drinkin’ and washin’ you want…but dude you gotta keep

it…don’t be givin’ it back ya hear.”

They have no

problem putting the stuff in your rig, but by golly, you try and get it back

out, you got no where to go because the tease-hookups means this exactly,

“What goes in, STAYS IN.”

Dudes, no sewers.

That’s like

building a 3 bedroom 2 bath house and having the builder explain to you the two

baths are those two saplings out back yonder.

Drink and be merry

up until, you know, you have to….

“Shake it baby, shake.”


So, with their no

return camping policy, I’m trying to wash a frying pan in a shot glass to save

on filling my Grey Tank with the water stuff they are shooting in through my

garden hose.

Dudes I went to

one of those SuperDooperWalmart things where I could almost buy the eggs AND

the chickens and for $4.95 Great Deal I bought this white plastic bin thing you

can stick in your sink to make your sink not a sink but more like a tub, so I

quickly wash the dishes in it and then I pick it up, spill about a quarter of

it on me (a totally up until that moment unknown way of conserving grey water)

then go over to the shower and dump it in.



In my shock of

even doing dishes, I figure I’m going to be brilliant like and not let the

water run down the sink drain and into the Non-Campground-Return-Tank so I take

it way over across the db/bb/rv (two steps) and dump it down that drain.

‘Cept that drain,

and every drain in this thing that you don’t sit on, goes to the same

Non-Returnable place…that grey area underneath.

Now you need to

know this one other fact, before I took to Communal Showering I got in the rig

shower with TWO of those plastic bins, one on both feet, and showered thinking

that all of the clear water hitting me and coming off grey, would end up in

those two bins.

*See above


Each bin held four

drops of baby shampoo, five gallons of non-returnable campground went right

down the middle of my body and straight into that grey area, that was quickly

getting full.

Emergency measures

were called for.

I became a,


“Shake it baby, shake”


Now all you EPA

guys, and all those Save The Environment types, best turn away about now, I’m

about to not make your day.

I dribbled coffee

on the EARTH. Some Coca Cola too. And soup. Toothpaste, and some ice cream I forgot I left on the dinette table. If America’s groundwater suddenly tastes like

Sensodyne and Scope…that was me.


But I was full…the

four red lights on the “Uh-Oh” board said time to go, so it went.

One drop at a


I’m telling you

dudes, by day three of almost being full and then suddenly not so much, I could

dribble right in front of the Campground Boss, and unless he smelled the grey

and red ketchup, I was the DribbleMaster.

Smushed up Walmart

sweet blue icing cupcakes…GONE…pretty much right where the dude was standing (a

side note that blue icing is Saweet, but from my dribbling experience basically

indestructible, might be hanging in those almost level pebbles longer than the

dinosaurs were around…so if your well water suddenly be tasting like blue

Walmart icing, that would be me….sorry).

Now here’s a

secret that the people who only build ¾’s of an Non-Return campground must be

entirely unaware of…for about $5-bucks, you too can become a DribbleMaster.

“Shake it baby, shake.”

But I have to warn

you…the TSA guys at the airport aren’t the dribblin’ type.

Here’s the concept

of buying all the dribblin’ you need in a shrink wrap package. You take this black cap thing that you stick

on the end the stinky end of the rig, attach a garden hose that you will never

touch with bare hands again…ever…to it…and twist some stuff, and out comes the

soup, in drips all night when no ranger would dare crawl under your rig


*****Important tip

here*** Your rig is going to be waking up smelling like Chicken Soup or Buffalo

Wing sauce so I found the best way to not be looking entirely guilty while the

campground cop is standing in front of you sniffing is to go to the sale aisle

in Walmart and buy the WORST smelling candle you can find because when you

light it there is NO WAY even the best dribblin’ nose can sniff out yer hot dog

mustard on the ground when your whole site be smelling like “Sea

Breeze” from the Dead Sea.

Just saying.

But here’s the

problem with dribblin’ to go…when they xray your carry on your soup eliminator

one drip at a time cap looks like a bomb. A big bomb.

I wasn’t quite

aware of that exactly, until TSA “suggested” I do some explaining.

“Sir, what

exactly is this.” The dude said

while handling it with those blue TSA gloves (which BTW are good things to have

once you begin dribblin’).

“It’s my

dribbler,” I said as I saw him frown while looking at a frozed stiff piece

of Ramen Noodle that was stuck on the inside.

I figure at this

point, I’m probably done flying for at least 5-10, maybe sooner if I behave.

“Stand right

where you are and don’t touch anything,” he says as he goes to talk to

what only can be a supervisor since he is wearing one the same uniform as the

first guy, but it’s tailored so that I’m sure to notice his arms are bigger

than my thighs.

I’m thinking now,

will my Frequent Flyer status still be good in 10-15. Maybe sooner…

So Tarzan of the

metal detectors comes walking over to me, holding my dribbler like it is some

kind of trophy mount, walks right up to and into my personal Mitchum space, and

leans so close that I can see his future, and says to me….


I’m trying to take

off my watch so the cuffs won’t scratch it…


these things…we dribble in the rain…sometimes even while we drive….”

Ah, what a great

idea, Interstate-Dribblin’, but what…what…what…

Turns out, there’s

more DribbleMasters out there than I thought.

Which explains why

I-95 North sometimes smells like Chef Boyardee.

After one of those

quick Florida rains.


Those Spaghettios

coming out of yer tap.

That would be me.



“Well I said shake baby shake

I said shake baby


Whole Lot Of Shaking Goin’ On.

Jerry Lee Lewis