The Redneck Adventures of Bubba-Mon and the Quacker


Dear Bubba-mon: No self respecting redneck would be caught dead wielding a machete. Getcha something with a 2-stroke engine in it, honey. Love, Pamelot



So, recently my long-suffering island-boy-to-Texas-transplant husband convinced me that the perfect retreat for our family would be in a secondhand (or would that be thirdhand?) trailer on a bug- and snake-infested piece of property five miles from Nowheresville, Texas.  Yeah, for real.

We had been looking for hill country acreage for quite some time.  The conversation about this one went something like this:

Eric: I l-ahhhh-ke this one.  It has a POND on it.

Me: Stop me if I’ve said this before: some cowboy is going to kick your ass and good one of these days for making fun of our accents.  And, ponds have snakes.

Eric:  That pond is n-ahhhhhh-ce.  I l-ahhhhhh-ke that pond.

Me:   I like that it is only an hour and a half from your office.

Eric:  And, it has a real n-ahhhhh-ce pond.

Me:   I think you’ve mentioned that.  But I can’t camp out there.  Too many bugs and snakes.  And Africa-hot.  Plus there’s those bugs and snakes.

Eric:  We’ll get us a travel-trailer.  That’d be n-ahhhhhh-ce.  You’d l-ahhhhh-ke it.

Me:  Forget the cowboy: I’m going to kick your ass.  And I made a promise to myself years ago: no RV’s, no travel trailers.  Sheets, running water, A/C, indoor potties, and no trailers.

Eric:  You’re not being very n-ahhhhh-ce

(Sounds of scuffle and pummeling)

Well, of course, we acquired the property, which we promptly dubbed Shangri-la.

Then we went to look at a few trailers.  We bought the trailer-of-a-redneck’s dreams from a real n-ahhhhh-ce couple even further away from Nowheresville, Texas.  The Missus, who was roughly my age (yes, that old), met us at the door in Daisy Duke shorts and a tight, scoop-neck blouse.  Over her 15-or-so inches of exposed cleavage and sun-damaged skin, she wore an incongruous accessory: a giant neck brace.  Which gave her no trouble as she demonstrated all the features of the trailer, climbing in, out, over, and under it with strength and flexibility. Hmmmm.

At the close of our transaction, she and I handled the money.  I counted out the 20’s for us to pay them, she counted to verify.

“What you say you and me run on up to Dallas and head to LaBare?” she said, brandishing the stack of bills.

This was the tribe into which we entered with our purchase. O M G, exactly what I had been afraid of.

It came time for Bubba-mon and me to stash the trailer on Shangri-La.  We had some *issues* (gasp).

  • First, five minutes before we got there, we came to a low bridge under which our trailer could not pass.  As we turned around to take the long way, Cowboy, our 120-pound freakishly large lab, whimpered once, shot Bubba-mon an apologetic look in the rear view mirror, and unloaded the entire contents of his digestive system out his back end and down the spare tire well of our 2000 Suburban.  This is how we discovered that four hours really is his limit in the car.  Oops, had it been that long? 

    Cowboy and Bubba-mon enjoy a special relationship. See postscript to this blog: the underwear peeking out, above, may or may not say IRONMAN across the back...

  • Secondly, a mere thirty minutes later, this is how we discovered that, no matter how logical it seems, toilet bowl cleaner is not the appropriate thing to use when you get dog diarrhea on your vehicle carpet.  No, we don’t always carry toilet bowl cleaner with us.  We had stocked up on supplies for our new trailer, which by now we had named the Quacker (because Mallard is emblazoned across its front window covering).  Luckily those supplies included alternative cleaners to deal with the vaporized carpet.
  • Third, as my Bubba-mon pulled downhill on our narrow, winding drive onto Shangri-La, he swung wide to avoid planting the Quacker into a tree. This is how we discovered the large tree stump under the skinny bush that he had assumed the Suburban would easily skim over.  SCRUNCH, FULL STOP. 

    "Who, me? You shoulda seen the other guy," the Stump said.

  • Fourth, when Bubba-mon was unable to free the Suburban from its high center position on the stump (teeter tottering forward and backward, lifting, lightening the load, etc.), I suggested we use our jack to achieve clearance and then gently pull off and over the jack.  This is how we discovered that there was no jack in the Suburban after all.  I’m not going to blame the teenage driver of this Suburban, but, well, there is the issue of custodial possession and responsibility.  🙂  If you’re reading this, Michelle Honey, I love you, and I’m just kidding — now you know Clark’s special hell.

Long story short, Bubba-mon ultimately decided that the stump and Suburban were conjoined at a non-critical area, and he got aggressive with the gas pedal.  It worked.  Employing his superior trailer-backing skills, we hid the Quacker in the woods and headed home to Houston.


"Don't think of it as a trailer, Pamela, think of it as a mobile home." Um, yeah, that really helped.


The following weekend, we loaded up the truck and we moved to Beverly…Shangri-La that is, big ponds, bugs and snakes (cue banjo music).  Only images can do this justice:


Box behind my head to the left: To..ter = POO TOTER. Ewwww. Not *my* job.



OK, who needs to "go?"



Bubba-mon, my hero!



Note to self: you are not packing for survival of armageddon.



If you build a loading ramp for your Suburban and it breaks the first time you use it to load your might be a redneck.


Besides ensuring the viability of our hot water heater, potty system, and A/C, Bubba-mon had another very important job to do that first weekend:  install signal booster so that Mrs. Bubba-mon could continue to receive messages from the mother ship (Facebook) through her implanted microchip system (iPhone).  Bubba-mon ultimately mounted the antenna at the top of a tree which he chopped down with his bare machete, said tree in turn installed on top of the Quacker.


Can you raise it a little higher, honey? I only have two bars!!


And, then, of course, we ran into a few *issues*.

Upon entering the trailer, a horrible smell assaulted my princess-and-the-pea-like nose. [I know, this is not a perfect analogy, but run with me on it]

Me:  There’s something dead in here, Eric.

Bubba-mon:  Turn on the A/C.  You’ve got an overly-sensitive nose.  It’s probably just musty.

Five minutes pass.  Meanwhile, I make a tactical error: I flush our brand new thirdhand potty.   A noxious odor fills the trailer.  The LP gas detector goes off immediately, screeching out its warning to everyone within a five-mile radius.

Me: (running from trailer with towel over my face) OH GOD OH GOD OH GOD OH GOD RUN ERIC RUN IT’S GOING TO BLOW

Bubba-mon: (running) (IN THE WRONG DIRECTION) What the hell’s going on?

Me:  I don’t know.  I flushed the potty, it got really stinky, and the alarm went off.  I’m afraid we have a propane leak. We have to evacuate.

Bubba-mon:  Hmmmmm, but the propane isn’t even turned on.  (Sticks head foolishly into trailer)  Oh SHIT.  What’s that smell?  (Turns to me) OH, shit. That’s methane gas.  (Reaches over and turns off LP gas detector)

Me:  What do we do?

Bubba-mon:  I can fix this, no problem (this is a phrase you will hear oft-repeated in the adventures of Bubba-mon, I assure you)

  • So, first, this is how we discovered that, despite the instructions on the tank treatment bottles that one dosage takes care of a whole “load,” you can’t leave anything in that tank in the 100 degree Texas sun for three weeks.  We could have driven a Prius to Houston and back on the amount of methane we discharged into that 26-foot trailer.  “Whew, do not go in there” from “Ace Ventura: Pet Detective” took on a whole new meaning for me. 

    Texas sun 1, Hutchins 0.

  • Secondly, everything we placed on the dinette table rolled to the west.  This is how we discovered that we had parked the Quacker on a slight incline.  And we didn’t have a jack, as you may recall.  We spent the first night with me clawing desperately at the edge of the mattress, afraid of falling off the bed (Insert comment from Bubba-mon here: “Bull shit, Pamela.”  OK, I’ll admit, I had the sensation of falling, but it might have taken on a level of significance in my mind just the tinsiest bit out of proportion to the actual situation.)
  • Third, the darn A.C. was actually too frickin’ cold.  So we turned it down.  And it tripped the generator.  We did it again.  It tripped again.  Bubba-mon made FIVE trips to the generator that first night with a flashlight in hand, calling “mongoose, mongoose” until he finally beat the fargin’ thing to pieces with a hammer shut it off, and we sweated it out.    And this is how we discovered that our trailer has two temperatures: tropical hot or arctic cold.
  • Fourth, after a honeymoon phase that lasted until darkness fell and the strangely disturbing night calls of the [7,521,999] frogs began, Cowboy and Layla crawled under the Quacker and cried half the night, until they finally moved to the (thundering) white noise of the generator, where they dug sleeping pits and curled up against its motherly presence like two puppies.  And this is how we discovered that city dogs – like city girls – grow soft and become great big pansies. 

    The boogie-man can't get you under the trailer. Doubles as a good sun shade in the day time.

  • Fifth, and lastly, machetes, chainsaws, bonfires, and CLARK (the almost 15-year old ADHD wonder child of Road to Joy stardom) do not mix.  And we discovered this when the flames from the fire he was charged with tending began to lick at the Quacker’s underbelly.  Well, maybe that’s a(nother) slight exaggeration. But, trust me on this one: I lost several years of my life during the event. 

    The chainsaw did not survive Bubba-mon's bush whacking weekend. Neither did the lawnmower. We are proud to announce he did not kill Clark, however, on purpose or accident.

Despite all of this, or maybe because of it – I dunno – I will grudgingly admit that Bubba-mon was right: this place is n-ahhhhh-ce and I l-ahhhhh-ke it.  I am head over heels for the Quacker, Shangri-la, Nowheresville, and, most especially, for my B-M (I had to use those initials for Bubba-mon at least once in here, because I have a childlike sense of humor).


St. Croix, USVI t-shirt in Nowheresville, TX. Bubba-mon looks a bit tired and dirty, don'tcha think? 🙂


Stay tuned for more adventures of Bubba-mon, the Quacker, and Shangri-la in Nowheresville, Texas.  Until then, y’all, wishing you many laughs and adventures of your own,


p.s. I promised I would not use the photo *in this blog* taken in the Quacker of my triathlete Bubba-Mon in his Ironman underwear, said photo taken without first obtaining his permission and a valid, signed release.  Please note that I kept my promise.  However, I have put it up on my Facebook page instead under Photos.

p.p.s.  Of course I am just kidding.  Y’all know I would never talk about or show pictures of ANYONE in speedos or their underwear, especially my husband.

p.p.p.s.  Yes, he really does have a pair.  They are so cuuuttteeee.  Whether or not there’s a picture, mum’s the word.

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46 Responses to “The Redneck Adventures of Bubba-Mon and the Quacker”
  1. Peter Fagan says:

    That is funny. Many chuckles. But glad I wasn’t there. especially for the dog poo.

  2. Heidiopia says:

    This “quacks” me up!! jk 🙂
    Seriously– this is hilarious! Bubba-Mon and El Presidente are seriously kindred spirits. Can’t wait to hear more from Nowheresville!

  3. Anje says:

    Love this true story!! Your writing always makes me smile. After a long few days , it is always good to read your blog. I appreciate the writer that you are Pamela 🙂 Please keep it up – I want MORE!!

  4. Susie says:

    You never said how Bubba-Mon ruined both the chain saw and the lawn mower. Do you think B-M has enough courage to ask his father-in-law to borrow his trusty skid loader????? I think B-M might squirm a bit when he explains that he CAN be trusted with father-in-law’s prized farm equipment!!!

    • Pamela says:

      B-M says it was the fault of the equipment for not being tough enough for what he and the bush could dish out. He wants a DR Mower and an industrial chain saw now. However, he lusts after that skid loader like you would not believe 🙂

  5. Vickie says:

    Thanks for sharing. I’m still laughing.

  6. Rhonda says:

    This is great! I’m still laughing!

  7. Penny says:

    You had me laughing OUT LOUD! I started reading the post on my blackberry yesterday afternoon waiting for husband’s pain meds in CVS. He and I had just had it out in the car, weren’t talking, I had my mean game face on and then I just BUSTED OUT laughing!
    This morning I finally finished reading and my daughter kept asking what was so funny. Thank you, thank you, thank you for making me laugh (especially when I needed it most!).

    BTW, those colorful embellishments (exaggerations as husbands often name them) are what it FEELS like to us, and what makes the written word so great!

    Now, I never would have reached the multiple Poo fiascoes because the snakes would have ended the adventure before it started for me!

    • Pamela says:

      What perfect timing for you to smile! When I read your snake story, I knew this would strike a chord with you. Keep laughing Penny. Sick/hurt husbands can drive us crazy (I’m with you this week on that!) but it ends. And I love that you see the Grand Canyon-sized gap between the drama we feel inside and the rock-like emotions of our husbands as we experience the same situation so differently. It is what makes much of life so funny to me (and results in my husband narrowly escaping death at my bare hands, occasionally).

  8. Danny says:

    Congrats you two on your property and Quacker purchase…….I have a Coast Guard friend who lives in Canyon Lake/New Braunfels….how close are ya to that? looks like St. Croix is getting further and further from your rear view mirror…..Some how the rain forest has turned into the scrub land, hill country of the Lone Star state…..good part of the state I might add! Don’t call me trash till you’ve slept in my trailer, thats what I always tell people! We enjoy our 16 ft fully self contained “Casita”, so we can definitely relate to your inner redneck lifestyle. Pamela, no posts of being barefoot and pregnant ok? Enjoy life….Uh huh “thats what I’m talkin ’bout” Don’t forget to pick up some road kill stew on the way to your back forty!

    Cheers, Danny

    • Pamela says:

      Two hours away…and in TX that’s nothing.
      Hey, Danny, get ready to be my expert and thanked in the “liner notes” (haha)/acknowledgements — I have Coastie HEROES in the next book, Conceding Grace. Eric and I have been plotting away and you’re on my list to contact with questions!

  9. Rene says:

    Pamela, as always, enjoyed the read tremendously. Like you needed another project! Love the sense of adventure you two share. Makes for good writing/reading. Keep it up!

  10. LBDDiaries says:

    I snorted coffee today. Then it spewed out all over my keyboard. I blame you. This was just too hysterical. I have a question – you said “Shangri-La that is, big ponds, bugs and snakes (cue banjo music)” – is that the music from Deliverance? And seriously? Someone uses “princess-and-the-pea” aside from me? Mine is not just the nose, it’s the “something is scratching my back, get it!” when it’s just a teeny-tiny tag on the shirt. Or a single grain of sand on the sheet I’m sleeping on. This was THE funniest thing I’ve read in a long time – I can’t wait to see what other treasures await me here!

    • Pamela says:

      Does snorting coffee increase the impact of the caffeine? If so, I need to run do that real quick. Ugh, tired.

      Yes, DEEEE-Liverance. My husband holds very still each night while I create the perfect nest, sometimes quite violently, with great whining and frustration (this hurts my ARM, i’m not COMFORTABLE, i need more COVERS, your leg is CRUSHING me, etc.) I have to have one flaw, you know. 😉

      • LBDDiaries says:

        Snorting coffee isn’t as good as just straight main-lining it. I have my very own IV…. but of course, I do understand your one flaw – it is what makes you perfect (ho) – nesting!! Here’s hoping there are no grains of sand in your nest.

      • Pamela says:

        Danka, Nan. I love the concept of flaw creating perfection. Delightfully flaw perfectly imperfect awesomeness.

      • LBDDiaries says:

        You skeert me there for a minute – thought it was another doppelganger thing with that Danka. I was thinking the German “danke” for thank you – we lived in Germany when I was a kid. If you had done German, or said you’d lived there, I would totally believe in parallel lives – except for the age, looks, names, and stuff like that!

  11. All I can say is that you are a brave, brave woman. I wouldn’t survive one day without all of the comforts of home in a remote area like this. The prospect is so scary for a city girl like me…

    • Pamela says:

      TCM, I swore I would never spend a night in an RV, much less a decrepit old travel trailer deep in the woods. Whenever I use the word never, it comes back to haunt me. It is scary out there, a little, but exciting and beautiful too.

  12. Lisa Ladrido says:

    That was so funny. I am looking forward to reading more about your life in Shangri-la! This is Lisa from #monkeytribe!

    Thanks for visiting

  13. Pam says:

    I have used ROTFLMAO before but, this time, I really was ROTFLMAO! Hilarious! I’m a new follower from the Monkey tribe!

  14. tsonoda148 says:

    I love it when I laugh so hard my belly hurts. This did it for me!

    Pamela, you Rock.

    Thanks for the fun!!!


    • Pamela says:

      Woo hoo, Terri! I get the belly hurting laugh! Sadly, it was not quite as funny at the time. But I quickly rallied to its humorous possibilities.

  15. I found you by way of Nan at LBDDiaries. OMG. This is THE FUNNIEST THING I’ve read ALL week. When I say I we are back wood redneck kindred spirits I am completely serious! I have lived moments exactly like that eg methane gas. Like the one time we put 3 gallons of gasoline in a cast iron stove trying to get a fire started, and took five minutes to light it . . . Yeah I’m just going to leave you guessing. This was absolutely hilarious. I’ll be back for more. Trust me.

    • Oh I forgot to mention that right next to the cast iron stove was a table with a shot gun shell re-loader. And yes, there was gun powder and bb’s and wadding in the device and on the table.

      • Pamela says:

        Holy guacamole, I thought we were bad! Welcome, Plus Size Barbie, glad to hear Nan has been talking behind my back 🙂 Can’t wait to see what other stories you have for me!

  16. Mandi says:

    Bahahahaha! This cracked ME UP!! I grew up in Texas, near Houston (Cleveland) but moved when I got married. I can relate to EVERYTHING you wrote!!!
    Thank you so much for visiting me today!!

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