A Jeep Bedtime Story

[Eagle]

Two young guys were at a beer party in the woods when all of a sudden there was a downpour of thunder and rain. The two ran for about 10 minutes in the pouring rain, finally reaching their Jeep just as the rain let up. They jumped in the Jeep, started it up, and headed down the road, laughing and, of course, still drinking one beer after another.

All of a sudden an old man's face appeared in the passenger window and tapped lightly on the window! The passenger screamed out, "Aaaaahhhh!! Look at my window!! There's an old guy's face there!" (was this a ghost?) The old man kept knocking, so the driver said, "Well open the window a little and ask him what he wants!"

So the passenger rolled his window down part way and said, scared out of his wits, "What do you want?"

The old man softly replied, "You have any tobacco?"

The passenger, terrified, looked at the driver and said, "He wants tobacco!"

"Well, offer him a cigarette! HURRY!!" "the driver yells. So the passenger fumbles around with the pack and hands the old man a cigarette, rolling up the window in terror and yells, "Step on it!"

Now going about 80 miles an hour, they calm down and they start laughing again. The passenger says, "What do you think of that?"

"I don't know," the driver says, "how could that be? I was going pretty fast."

All of a sudden, there is another knock and the old man is looking in the window.

"Aaaaahhhh!! There he is again!" the passenger yells.

"Well, see what he wants now!" yells back the driver. The passenger rolls down the window a little ways and shakily says, "Yes?"

"Do you have a light?" the old man quietly asks. The passenger throws a lighter out the window at him, rolls up the window and screams, "STEP ON IT!"

They are now going about 100 MPH, trying to forget what they had just seen and heard. Suddenly, again there is more knocking! "HE'S BACK!!" The passenger rolls down the window a third time and screams out in pure terror, "WHAT DO YOU WANT?"

The old man gently replies,
--------

(scroll down for ans.)





"Do you boys want some help getting out of the mud?"

[2offroad]

"Tales of an old Jeep"
By Henry J. Cubillan

In the years after World War II, thousands of ex-military Willys MB's and Ford GPW's were sold as surplus all over the world. Today, most of them have been scrapped, but a precious few of
them have stayed with us as a piece of history. This is the story of one of them...

The old Jeep was tired, and its battered body looked particularly haggard in the autumn light. Today was its fiftieth birthday, and more than ever, he felt the weight of a lifetime of service on his sagging springs. As usual, he took it all in stride, always managing to do the work demanded of him, but on days like this, when the weather was cold and his latest owner favored the new Dodge Ram, leaving the Jeep in the musty, decrepit barn, old memories would creep up to him, beckoning, reminding him of better days....

He recalled the bright autumn morning when his crate was sealed and stowed in the hull of a Liberty ship for the long trip to North Africa. He remembered being assembled at a makeshift
outdoor garage, the glaring sun of Tunisia warming his new canvas seats. For two long years, he served proudly with an infantry division, and he had been hit several times in the course of the war. Sometimes, when the weather was unusually cold, he felt a dull ache on his quarter panel, where the many coats of paint had never managed to conceal the dent left by a
ricocheting .50 caliber slug.

Fifty years of work had dulled, but never erased, the smell of battle from his body, the lingering mix of sweat, gunpowder, blood and most of all, fear. Twice he had his driver shot
out from over him, leaving him stranded, helpless, in the midst of a raging battle; but always another young man would jump on him and drive him to safety. Time had blurred the faces of most
of his comrades in arms, but he could still hear Jonesy, a young soldier who gripped the wheel too tightly, talking softly to him, begging him not to give up, to hold the last drop of water
in a ruptured radiator as they made their way around enemy lines during a German counterattack somewhere in Belgium.

The Jeep remembered proudly the day he was driven through the streets of a liberated Paris, with Old Glory flying triumphantly on his back. He could still hear the cheers and smell the grateful tears and flowers that were dropped on him that day. How happy his young soldiers had been that day, gaping at the Eiffel Tower and stealing kisses from the French girls who followed them everywhere.

After the war, he had ended up in Belgium, stripped of his machine gun and radios and sold to a young farmer who used him to pull a tiller. His young wife told her husband that the Jeep's
olive drab color reminded her of the war, so he received the first of his many civilian paint jobs, this one bright red. For many years, he saw the Flemish soil yield its plentiful harvest
and the farmer's sons grow tall and strong. One of them, the youngest, would drive him often, and after his father's death he had taken him to the city. From it the old Jeep remembered the
lights, the cacophony of noises that never stopped, and the dozens of pigeons who would irreverently cover his hood with droppings.

The Jeep remained in the city for years, driven infrequently, until the day he heard the old Englishman's voice for the first time. "That's exactly what I've been looking for, laddy!", he
heard, and his starter motor struggled to fire the engine. "This Jeep and I are going around the world!". Two weeks later, his engine completely overhauled and all of his fluids changed,
he rumbled happily on brand new tires. He also sported a brand new paint job, bright blue, with a small Union Jack where the radio mount used to be.

What followed was the best six years of his life. The old Englishman, a country noble with a flair for adventure, drove him across Europe, to India, to Africa, to Australia, and then to
Canada. The passage of time had inexorably frayed the memories of the trip, but the Jeep could recall a thousand tanks of gas, set after set of new tires, and the occasional spare part that
kept him in shape. They had fled from bandits in eastern turkey, driven over bombed train tracks in the Punjab, crossed the dry plains of the Serengeti and the frozen tundra of northern
Canada, endured scorching heat, monsoon rains, and storms of sand. Finally, their trip had taken them to Vancouver, where the old Englishman learned that his brother had passed away and
his estates in Britain had to be settled. With misty eyes, the old gentleman sold the Jeep to a dealer, and the two traveling companions parted ways forever.

Twelve years and three owners later, all of who had purchased the Jeep for its low price and abused him mercilessly, he was exchanged for service to his current owner, a carpenter in
Montana. Now he was driven only a few times a year, usually in the summer, and his paint was so faded that one could barely see the Union Jack on his left side. The passenger seat was long
gone, as was the spare tire and the glass panels on the windshield, and his only companion was an ancient Marmon-Herrington pickup truck whose bed had been claimed by rust and his mood fouled by years of neglect.

"It's back here, in the barn" the loud voice said, snapping the old Jeep back from his memories. His owner was walking up to the barn, talking to a tall, distinguished looking old man with silver hair. "I have been looking for one of these for quite a while now," the new voice said, "I want to restore it to its original condition." There was something soothing about the old gentleman's voice that made the Jeep hopeful, and he wished it wasn't the pickup
truck they were talking about. "There it is," said his owner, "Behind the old pickup." The old man placed his hand gingerly on the old jeep's faded hood, mesmerized. "One of these saved my life once, back in the war," he said quietly, "...been in love with them ever since, but I never had the time to restore one until now that I've retired." There was something oddly
familiar about that melancholic voice, but the old Jeep could not place it. "It's in better shape than I thought it would be...how much do you want for it?" said the old man, walking
slowly around him and peering curiously underneath. "Why don't we talk about it inside, over a cup of coffee? It's cold out here", said his owner, and the two men walked away.

A half hour later, his new owner started him up, and the old engine shook and backfired its disagreement. Slowly, he was driven up onto a trailer hitched to a big Suburban. The old man
pulled some ratchet straps out of the back of the truck and began securing him to the trailer. The old Jeep couldn't believe it when a brand new tarp was placed over him and tied firmly in
place, muffling the sound of the voices around him. "Grandpa, when you're done fixing it, can I ride in it with you?" He heard a young girl say; nobody had shown this excitement about him in
decades, and it made the old Jeep feel good. Just like those young soldiers so many years ago, here was someone who really appreciated him. "Well, it was a pleasure doing business with you", his old owner said, "I hope you enjoy your Jeep, Mr. Jones." "Please," the old man answered back with a smile, "call me Jonesy, everyone does........"



The End
This story is dedicated to all those young soldiers of World War II, who fought and died all over the world to preserve democracy for the rest of us.

[Rev Den]

Darn it.......someone want to tell me why I, a 38 year old man, is crying at my PC, at work, on a Friday morning?

Thanks
Rev

[Rob Mayercik]

As I believe Darth Vader once said, the circle is now complete.

At any rate, I liked these two - saw the second one on JU a while back, always meant to go hunt it down and save it. Now I don't have to search.

As to the first one, that's ROFL funny. Reminds me of an old 45rpm record my mother has - a little ditty entitled "Beep Beep". Remember it Eagle?

"Beep, Beep ... Beep, Beep ... His horn went beep, beep, beep"

Rob

[Eagle]

Originally posted by Rev Den
Darn it.......someone want to tell me why I, a 38 year old man, is crying at my PC, at work, on a Friday morning?

Thanks
Rev

Ditto. Please pass the Kleenex.

[2offroad]

how can i get this car out off 2nd gear.


that story shows why Jeeps have heart and soul.

[Backdraft]

Ill third that. Another grown man here wiping tears from his eyes.

God bless our soldiers.

Mike

[atomno1]

LOL x2

[Mr.OverKill]

some old threads like old jeeps need to be brought back!!!!!

GOD BLESS OUR SOLDIERS AND SAILORS FOR EVERY THING THEY GIVE UP THROUGH OUT THE YEARS!!!!!!!

and darn it i need a tissue also.

[Bent]

Eagle,


:roflmao: :roflmao: :roflmao: :roflmao:


2offroad,


:tear:


Soldiers past and present,

God Bless.


Tim

[casm]

"Beep, Beep ... Beep, Beep ... His horn went beep, beep, beep"

Man, that just threw me back to my childhood... I remember my dad playing that for me when I was three or four years old over and over and over.

Anyway, the song was 'Beep Beep (Little Nash Rambler)' by The Playmates from 1958:

(very slowly)
Beep beep beep beep
His horn went beep beep beep
While riding in my Cadillac
What to my surprise
A little Nash Rambler was following me
About one third my size
The guy musta wanted to pass me up
As he kept on tooting his horn
I'll show him that a Cadillac is not a car to scorn
Beep beep beep beep
His horn went beep beep beep

(slowly)
I pushed my foot down to the floor
To give the guy the shake
But the little Nash Rambler stayed right behind
He still had on his brake
He musta thought his car had more guts
As he kept on tooting his horn (beep beep)
I'll show him that a Cadillac is not a car to scorn
Beep beep beep beep
His horn went beep beep beep

(normal speed)
My car went into passing gear
And we took off with gust (whoosh)
Soon we were going ninety
Musta left him in the dust
When I peeked in the mirror of my car
I couldn't believe my eyes
The little Nash Rambler was right behind
You'd think that guy could fly
Beep beep beep beep
His horn went beep beep beep

(quickly)
Now we were doing a hundred and ten
This certainly was a race
For a Rambler to pass a Caddy
Would be a big disgrace
The guy musta wanted to pass me up
As he kept on tooting his horn (beep beep)
I'll show him that a Cadillac is not a car to scorn
Beep beep beep beep
His horn went beep beep beep

(very quickly)
Now we're going a hundred twenty
As fast as I can go
The Rambler pulled along side of me
As if we were going slow
The fella rolled down his window
And yelled for me to hear
"Hey buddy how do I get this car outa second gear?"

[MistWolf]

I'd like to post a reply stating it's silly to cry from a story as sappy as Jonesys' Jeep, but the keyboard has gone all blurry on me......

[GSequoia]

Ditto.

Now c'mon Eagle, it's not nice to lie about your age. ;)

[over2land]

If'n ya want, I can email you that song.

One of my fav's too.

Everyone who hears it just busts on me for it.

Man, that just threw me back to my childhood... I remember my dad playing that for me when I was three or four years old over and over and over.

Anyway, the song was 'Beep Beep (Little Nash Rambler)' by The Playmates from 1958:

(very slowly)
Beep beep beep beep
His horn went beep beep beep
While riding in my Cadillac
What to my surprise
A little Nash Rambler was following me
About one third my size
The guy musta wanted to pass me up
As he kept on tooting his horn
I'll show him that a Cadillac is not a car to scorn
Beep beep beep beep
His horn went beep beep beep

(slowly)
I pushed my foot down to the floor
To give the guy the shake
But the little Nash Rambler stayed right behind
He still had on his brake
He musta thought his car had more guts
As he kept on tooting his horn (beep beep)
I'll show him that a Cadillac is not a car to scorn
Beep beep beep beep
His horn went beep beep beep

(normal speed)
My car went into passing gear
And we took off with gust (whoosh)
Soon we were going ninety
Musta left him in the dust
When I peeked in the mirror of my car
I couldn't believe my eyes
The little Nash Rambler was right behind
You'd think that guy could fly
Beep beep beep beep
His horn went beep beep beep

(quickly)
Now we were doing a hundred and ten
This certainly was a race
For a Rambler to pass a Caddy
Would be a big disgrace
The guy musta wanted to pass me up
As he kept on tooting his horn (beep beep)
I'll show him that a Cadillac is not a car to scorn
Beep beep beep beep
His horn went beep beep beep

(very quickly)
Now we're going a hundred twenty
As fast as I can go
The Rambler pulled along side of me
As if we were going slow
The fella rolled down his window
And yelled for me to hear
"Hey buddy how do I get this car outa second gear?"

[Eagle]

As a past owner of (ahem ... "more than one") Nash Rambler, I not only know that song by heart, I can also attest to the source. Back when there actually were Ramblers on the road that had not yet turned into mouldering piles of rust, we used to experience a curious phenomenon. I could come up behind a car ... didn't matter what make, but I'd guess the big GM barges were the most consistent offenders: Oldsmobubbles, Pontarcs, and Caddyshacks ... that was doing maybe the speed limit or maybe even a bit less. And if I stayed behind him, he would mosey along at a lethargic pace all day. But if I pulled out to pass, WHOA, NELLY! All of a sudden Mr. Dimbulb discovered the accelerator peddle. It was like there was an unwritten code that a GM car COULD NOT be passed by a Rambler, and they'd go from 5 MPH under the speed limit to 10, 15, 20 MPH over rather than allow a "mere" Rambler to go by them.

Which made my brother's '69 SC/Rambler sooooooo much fun, especially after we took off the ram air hood and put on a plain hood from a junkyard.

[xuv-this]

[QUOTE=Rev Den]Darn it.......someone want to tell me why I, a 38 year old man, is crying at my PC, at work, on a Friday morning?

x2.
printing this out now...
gotta go get a tissue before read this again...