Don’t make me hurt you, Bubba.

Actually, I believe this is the first story Mom told at The Firing Line, the one about the teddy bear and the chipper was the second.

Oh, well.

It wasn’t a five-cell MagLight I wound up smacking Bubba with — it was one of the six-cell jobs. I really liked that flashlight.

And I didn’t say those words.

Thanksgiving Day, 1994. Bubba (name changed to protect the…you get the idea) Green heads out to the local watering hole north of town. He’s feeling a little rambunctious, and proceeds to down large quantities of his favorite libation. So goes the evening until Bubba winds up dancing on top of one of the pool tables.

Now Bubba is (I’m not kidding) six feet, nine inches tall. And he’s not what one would call svelte. Matter-of-fact, the town doctor swears that when Mrs. Green delivered Bubba, they heard the scream in Abilene. Big old boy.

The owner of the bar, having gone through similar situations in the past, feeds four quarters into the jukebox and punches up “The Yellow Rose of Texas.”

Bubba, as was his wont, climbs down off the pool table, removes his hat and stands to attention while the song played. Normally, at this point, Bubba would be eased out the door into a pickup bed or trailer, driven home and poured onto his front porch. Normally.

Bubba, who is weaving a bit towards the end of the song, glances around and sees a young cowpoke who has neglected to remove his chapeau during Bubba’s song. Bubba heroically restrains himself until “The Yellow Rose of Texas” winds down, then reaches over and throws the cowboy through the wall of the bar.

An older cowboy peers through the gaping hole in the wall and sighs, “Goldurnit, Bubba. That was muh top hand.” The bartender says a Nasty Word, dives for the phone and hits the speedial for 911 as the other cowboys from that ranch, obeying West Texas feudal law, pile onto Bubba.

Pandemonium ensues.

Into the fray steps our LawDog. He sizes up the free-for-all and, in a move that generated gossip for nigh-on six months, he jerks a mop bucket from behind the bar and empties it onto the mighty struggle in the center of the room. Sudden shocked silence. Without a word, the lawman grabs Bubba by one ear and drags him out of the bar. Once outside, the minion of the law proceeds to chastize Bubba in fine, rolling language, threatening Bubba with God, Jesus, Mary and all the saints.

According to a witness, the scene looked for all the world, “Like a fire-and-brimstone prarie dog preachin’ the Gospel to a Brahma bull.”

The the lawman got nasty: He invoked Bubba’s Mama. Spoke of the shame that Bubba was bringing down on that goodly lady. At length. Using them three dollar words. Had Bubba in tears by the time he was done.

Which was probably not the best idea the ‘Dog ever had, because Bubba, being totally undone by the thought of the horror he was bringing unto his Mama, felt he had to proceed directly to the old homestead and beg forgiveness from his Mama. To which LawDog responds that Bubba is “going to jail, and that’s final.”

Over the car sails LawDog. Never even touched paint. Hell of a throw on Bubba’s part. Set a new World Record in Cop Tossing.

‘Dog stands up, brushes the dust off his jeans, stalks back around the front of the cruiser, reaches waaaaa-aaaaaaay up, pokes Bubba in the chest and snarls, “Don’t make me hurt you, Bubba.”

Bubba’s second try at Cop Tossing beat the first by several feet, even clearing the lightbar on this go. Only this time, ‘Dog bounces back over the hood of the car with a five battery flashlight and a can of mace. Bubba goes to jail, but it takes LawDog about 10 or 15 minutes to get the job done.

And during that 15 minutes, the local DPS trooper was having hysterics on the hood of his shamu car. Each time he calmed down enough to give ‘Dog a hand, he’d whisper, “Don’t make me hurt you, Bubba” and start whooping with laughter again.

LawDog swears that he didn’t say those words, by the way.

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3 thoughts on “Don’t make me hurt you, Bubba.”

  1. Can’t say I blame the DPS trooper for his fits of laughter. I would have probably been joining him. And, should I have run into him for the next two or three months, one of us would have just had to say, “Don’t make me hurt…” and we would have been rolling on the floor in laughter again!

    Great story LD.

  2. Your stories are the same stories I heard around the kitchen table when I was a kid. My dad worked Law Enforcement for the state of CA. All his buds were cops. It wasn’t uncommon to see a black and white parked out front even if there wasn’t a party going on.

    A LEO is a tough life. There’s some perks but no disagreeing that family life is hard. I wish you well, LD. Take care, out there.

  3. Man, you could be the basis for a TV series. Hilarious. Keep it up… I’ll be back in Texas someday before I die!

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