Column: La Grange man willingly assaulted on Amtrak train

I just returned from a five-day trip to New Jersey. Third of Never, the band I play in, had a show in Asbury Park, so I jumped on a train to go take care of bidness.

While the show went well and got us a lot of press, the travel to and from the show was another story all together.

For one, the food they sell on a train is hysterically funny. They have a dining car where, for $8, a guy who looks like Isaac from the Love Boat will microwave a hamburger for you. You can also buy a can of soda for $3 and the napkins cost 50 cents a piece.

Thankfully, I filled my pockets full of chicken wings and okra just before I got on the plane (I saw Redd Foxx do it on an airplane one time). Whenever the guy would walk through the train to take dinner reservations, I would reach in my pocket and grab a handful of okra and rub them all over my face. I offered some to the other people on the train, but for some reason they'd all moved away from me.

Oh well, it was nice having plenty of room to stretch out.

On the night of the show, some people who read the blogs on Kinston.com came to the show, and they were very inquisitive about my tales of Patrick Holmes' tights and Bryan Hanks' lacy undergarments. I told them all the stories were true, and that in fact I was holding some stuff back for my first novel, "My Life in Kinston with The Velvet Mafia".

Once we got out of the show, it was 1:45 a.m., so as tradition dictates, we went to White Castle for burgers. They say the burgers are made out of beef, but I'm not so sure; I noticed a total absence of stray dogs in the area.

After days of playing, writing and promotion, our drummer drove me back to the train station. When the train arrived in Washington D.C., several people that were in town for the inauguration got on board. I can definitely say that I've never seen that many happy people on a train in my life. Usually, a train is full of people that would really rather be somewhere else. A train is basically a waiting room that you can't leave. 

I once saw a guy get so fed up with sitting on the train that he went to the bathroom and tried to flush himself.

One thing that always happens when I travel is that about three hours into the trip, my butt falls into a coma. It goes completely numb; you could stick an ice pick in it, and I wouldn't feel a thing.

When you get a cramp in your calf muscle, you can usually talk somebody into rubbing it to relieve the pain. Well, take it from me - don't ever ask anybody to rub your butt if it goes to sleep. On Sunday I noticed a woman that looked like she needed harassing so I tapped her on the shoulder and yelled:

"EXCUSE ME MA'M, BUT MY BUTT HAS GONE TO SLEEP. WOULD YOU PLEASE TRY TO WAKE IT UP FOR ME?"

Without a blink, she reached into her suitcase and pulled out a portable alarm clock. She then started spanking me with the clock.

"IS YOUR BUTT AWAKE NOW?" she screamed.

At the end of the trip, we exchanged numbers.

It's good to be home. I haven't slept for almost five days, so hopefully my writing will get better as the week progresses. If not, just remember how much you paid for this paper. 

I'm actually going to tape an appearance on the Reese Gardner show this afternoon, so set your Tivos; just do a search for Mr. Wonderful or Okra Face.

Jon Dawson's columns appear every Tuesday and Thursday in The Free Press. He can be reached at jdawson@freedomenc.com or (252) 559-1083. Check out Jon's blog at http://jdawson.encblogs.com.