Buttzville For Lunch

 I like butts and I like riding, so I went to Buttzville for lunch. There’s nothing like having no place to go, and all the time in the world to get there, so I shot out onto the interstate, blasted into the left lane and stifled a scream of joy while the heavy 88 inch motor pulsed along, rolling past lesser traffic.

Relaxing into the backroads of New Jersey, I wandered route 94, and took a quick pass through the pet cemetery amid monumental statues of giant animals. Route 519 had swooping curves and little roller coaster hills; flocks of turkeys scooted towards the woods.

Buttzville lay on route 46, and I rode through twice looking for an interesting place to eat. The most crowded place in town, no doubt, was an old time hot dog joint, outdoors fast food with lunch lines at three windows. I stood in the slow line, discreetly checking butts. I saw a lot of average butts and several good ones. There were a couple I would consider “fine,” but there was one, only one that I would consider naming a town after. She was a big woman in wide white shorts, and she had a way of resting her hand on her hip, and shooting her massive posterior, revealing the outline of her undies. Hundreds of years ago, some “town father” must have named the burg after her great, great grandma.

Three dogs and a bottle of water: good dogs with onions and mustard, that snapped on my first bite. That’s when the old geezer walked up. “You from out of town,” he said, “Probably lookin’ to see some butts.”  He looked like a lunatic, with traces of mustard on his mouth. People like that always seem to find me. “sure,” I said. “I like butts.”

“Well lemme tell ya sumtin’,” he said, “out on Old Mine Road, past the junction, there’s a field where The Women Of The Gods proudly show their butts to us lesser folk. That’s how the town got it’s name.” And just about that time, some big ‘ol jelly butt woman walked up and herded him into an older brown Buick. He waved out the window before they disappeared down route 46.

I found Old Mine Road near the Delaware Water Gap, first smooth, then bumpy. I kind of got lost because of detours, but came to a junction deep in the forest. I can’t really describe what happened next….I was at a stop sign, trying to figure which way to go…I could feel the heat of the day…birds chirped and the motor idled gently. It was peaceful and, woozy, I seemed to momentarily become lost in a dream. 

When I came to, I took the fork to the left. I wandered aimlessly for a while before finding Dingmans Bridge, a narrow wood decked toll bridge, where I crossed into Pennsylvania.

I eventually found my way back to New York and home. I admit now, that I stopped at a tavern along the way, and saw another ample posterior, which I personally felt should be the namesake of that town. I am currently in the process of writing a letter to the town fathers with my proposal.

That’s the end of my story except for one interesting fact: When I looked at the pictures I had taken that day, I saw some pictures of womens butts that I don’t remember taking, and my wife wants to know where they came from. I promised I would take her to Buttzville.