A man of constant wild eyed bungholery

You can pretty much blame him for a lot of it

For the better part of a decade I worked at a madhouse in Clarendon, Virginia that disguised itself as a moving company. I detailed some of a moving trip I took out West with my bosom chum Russell when I first started this blog but didn't really go into depth about the frenetic Viking mofo that ran the whole show dee doh. I figured it was high time I did so before my long-term memory totally succumbs to the repeated bathings in pools of liquor that I subject it to. In drips and drabs I'll try to document the time in my life that was heavily influenced by one John C. Kidner, may he rest in peace, (at least enough to not call me in on a Sunday to move pool tables all day ever again).

From his official obit:
John Craig Kidner, 48, who owned and operated an Arlington moving company for 25 years before selling the business in 1997, died of cancer April 12 at his home in Arlington. At its peak, Kidner Transport had a fleet of five trucks and employed about 20 workers. Mr. Kidner was born in Norfolk, England, the son of a U.S. Air Force colonel. He moved with his family to Arlington in 1962 and graduated from Yorktown High School. He was a member of St. Andrew's Episcopal Church in Arlington and author of an online humor column about his job as a truck driver. Survivors include his wife, Maureen O'Leary Kidner of Arlington.

What it should have read:
John Craig Kidner, 48, who owned a local moving company that was a thinly veiled front for a rehab center/lunatic asylum and a frequent target of revenuers and the local constabulary until he suckered someone into buying the damn thing in 1997, died of cancer at his home in Arlington. At its height the company had five totally illegal death traps that Mr. Kidner would send out onto the highways with a haughty wave and a cry of, "drive big, if you crash I'll kick your fucking ass!", but usually without brakes, lights, or a sober operator. The company mantra of "deal with it" will forever be emblazoned in the hearts of those employees that had the minimal brain function to do so. Over the years Kinder Transport employed every dirty, worthless, jug-headed maniac Arlingtonian that couldn't exist elsewhere. Employee survivors include the Surf Nazis, Young Dave, Mike Back, the Pain brothers, Black Allan, Big Jim, Scrumptious Al, Skank Destiny, Cool Wayne Spriggs, Andy Six-Pack, Oz, Dumb Dan, Rhett Bone, Bartman, Inky, Pegleg George, the Clarendon Six, Tattoo Rich, Shiney Miney Moe, roy Punch, DJ nine-fingers, Underwood, Officer Looney, Jackhammer Sue, a cadre of various assorted shitheads, the better part of the Arlington chapter of the Pagans motorcycle gang and patients of the Arlington Hospital Detox and Outpatient facility and one scandalously good looking singer for local rock gods the Pharmacy Prophets. Mr. Kidner was born in Norfolk, England, the son of a U.S. Air Force colonel who was the most ornery dirty old man and nastily dispisitioned son of a bitch alive. He moved with his family to Arlington in 1962 and by some of act of perdition or simple fear of his continued enrollment by the school administration he graduated from Yorktown High School. In his itinerant youth he was a bus driver, a cab driver, a truck driver, a bouncer, and an astoundingly skilled ner' do well of much import to the local sherrif. Mr. Kidner was a member of St. Andrew's Episcopal Church in Arlington and enjoyed driving to services on his custom Harley called "Dirty Pictures" that had airbrushed pictures of naked bimbos all over it and scaring the shit out of the blue-haired ladies with his maniacal facial expressions, long-hair and lack of a muffler. Mr. Kidner was the author of an online humor column called Ask Trucker John that was rich with terminology like "wild eyed bungholery", "fantastic levels of sissiness", "making love like a Viking invader", "eat my ass you corporate jackals" and other such manglings of the language. Mr. Kidner was determined to be both the most frustrating and absolutely hilarious motherfucker to ever walk the planet by his long-suffering employee and dear friend, Castor Oil. Favorite past-times of Mr. Kidner involved eating nuclear-grade spicy foods, throwing handfuls of steel Pachinko machine balls at "asshole yuppies in their godddam Nazi BMW's" from moving vehicles, sticking a penis shaped squirt gun through the mail-slot of the corporate office, buying and detonating illegal fireworks that he bought from some one-eyed freak that lived in a barn, pornography, being loud, jamming out to Hendrix and Cream, punching those that deserved it, riding extremely loud motorcycles, damning the government and all of it's minions to the fire pits of hell, flirting shamelessly with the girlfriend's of his best employees and saving the lives of itinerant drunks and drug addicts that didn't deserve it.

Survivors include his wife, Maureen O'Leary Kidner of Arlington who was assigned sainthood the second she said "I do" and a very stupid golden retriever.

It's amazing that something as tiny as cancer did John in. All who knew him assumed he would go out in some sort of Butch and Sundance walk the plank hail of bullets and fainting damsels with heaving bosoms kinda way. I miss him a lot, the tales are many and grand and I look forward to getting them out of my brain and onto this blog.

See ya.