BILLINGSGATE POST: He trod the same prairies as the mastodon. A virtual combination of Captain America and caveman, Jack “Action” Jackson is what America is all about. If there is such a creature as the Flyover Dude, Action is he.
Growing up in Williston, North Dakota, he didn’t get the moniker “Action” for sitting on his ass and picking his nose. A restless kid, he was thrown out of kindergarten for giving Sister Mary Ratchet a hot foot. Today, he would have been diagnosed for ADHD and given a pill.
With no other options, his Dad put him on the John Deere tractor and taught him how to drive. Forgoing school, Action was a self-taught man. By age 13, he knew all there was to know about life.
The chicks loved him. He opened doors, and said, “Howdy do, Sweet Pea. Can I sniff your lovely hair?” This also worked well for Joe Biden, who also had a way with chicks.
No one f*cked with Action. Although the laws in North Dakota required that one be 21 to drink, he had his own bar stool at the local watering spot before he had to shave. He was only 18 when they memorialized the stool with a brass plate bearing his name. And no one dared park their sad ass on it. The bartender had lost count of how many men had tested him, only to be thrown out, never to be seen again.
Action graduated Magna Cum Laude from the school of hard knocks. He was ready for the punk world, where all that counted was assholes and elbows.
He still wears his MAGA cap with pride. He didn’t like Barack Obama. He hated Hillary even more. Action took pride in being the first in the Caddyshack Bar to say: “F*ck Hillary and the horse she rode in on.”
Then waving his finger at the other patrons; “Bartender, line up a shot of Fire Ball for all that concur, and throw the other pinko bastards out of here before I do it myself.”
Slim: “A man for all seasons. They threw away the mold.”
Dirty: “Yo, Dude. Action’s the original Flyover Dude.”