Zulu, the Truck Driver by Philip Dawson Zulu was a truck driver. He had a big beer belly that hung over his brass belt buckle. He wore cowboy boots and a cowboy hat and a bandana. He had a beard and a southern drawl and a happy outlook. Some people said he was a good ol’ boy, or a redneck, or a country bumpkin. But really he was just a cowboy who rode trucks instead of horses. This story is about how Zulu’s belly got so big. I can tell you it wasn’t from dinking beer, but you probably already figured that out. We all know truck drivers don’t drink beer, as that would be irresponsible. It was a sizzling hot summer day and Zulu was driving an 18-wheeler from Mobile, Alabama to Shreveport, Louisiana. He was tooling west along highway 10 when up ahead, on the side of the road, he saw a pretty young lady in a miniskirt and a halter top. She had long blond hair and even longer legs. Behind her was a beat-up old white Chevy with steam spewing up from the hood. Well, Zulu, being the gentleman that he was, sidled his truck into the emergency lane right behind her to see if he could help. He hopped out of his truck, walked up to the pretty girl, and said, “Howdeee!” With a big southern drawl she said, “Mister! I’m sooooo glad you stopped. My car, why it’s a mess!” Feeling pretty lucky, Zulu replied, “It shore looks like your car’s overheated, missy. Where ya headed? Maybe I could give you a lift.” Her soft blue eyes turned misty as she pointed down the road. “I was on my way to Biloxi, Mississippi,” she said in a soft seductive voice. “My momma’s waitin’ for me at the bus depot up a’ ways from the trailer park. Would you mind if I got a lift?” Zulu grinned so big the hot sun sparkled on his teeth. “Why hop on in!” he offered. Just about then, as luck would have it, the situation changed for the worse. A skinny, scruffy, slimy, smelly guy covered in tattoos and smoking a cigarette stepped out from behind the car. His hair was tangled, his shirt was filthy and his teeth were yellow. And to make matters worse, he liked to spit. He walked up to Zulu and blew a cloud of gray smoke. He spat while saying, “Mista, I’ve got a gun.” Zulu peered at the pistol pointing straight at his chin, and replied, “You shore do.” The smelly young man wiped the sweat from his brow and said, “Mista, this is a hijack. You’re taking me to Birmingham.” Zulu glared. “That’s totally out of my way buddy boy. I’m on my way to Shreveport.” He got glared right back at. “Mista, I’m the one with the gun.” “Well I suppose Birmingham ain’t that far a detour,” Zulu replied. “Hop in and let’s get going.” The smelly guy spat one more time and climbed into the passenger seat of the cab. Zulu helped the pretty young lady get in to sit in the middle, then he climbed into the driver’s seat. He started the truck and off they went down highway 10. As they rumbled along, the sun glared into the front window of the truck. Boy it was hot! Zulu wiped the sweat from his brow and said, “I’m just a little bit worried about the cargo in back. If it gets much hotter, this truck might just blow up.” The skinny guy replied in a sarcastic voice, “Whatcha ya haulin’, explosives or somethin’?” Zulu, with a subtle grin answered, “Fireworks. They self ignite at 120 degrees. And if you think it’s hot in here, it’s like an oven back there.” Zulu cocked his head toward the trailer he was hauling. The pretty young lady waived her hand back and forth in front of her face. The skinny guy smelled so bad she could hardly stand it. “Would you mind turning on the air conditioner?” she asked Zulu. “Maybe that would help.” “Why shore,” he responded, and reached down and turned on the heater! Neither the pretty girl nor the skinny guy had any idea how the controls on the truck worked so they didn’t even notice. “This should cool things off,” he said smartly. Of course, the cab got hotter and hotter. And hotter and hotter. All three of them were sweating up a storm when suddenly they heard a POP! POP, POP, POP!!!! POP, POP, POP, POP, POP!!! Zulu, trying his best to look alarmed, cried out, “Oh no! I think this truck is about to blow!” “I’m outa here!” the skinny, smelly guy screamed. He threw open his door and jumped from the truck onto the side of the highway and ran away as fast as he could. He ran so fast his tattoos were just a blur! Meanwhile, back in the cab, all the popping noise was slowly coming to an end. Every few seconds another POP could be heard but they were getting fewer and farther between. Zulu smiled real big as he turned to the pretty young lady in the halter top. She looked very worried. “Actually, I’m hauling popcorn,” he drawled. He pulled into the next rest stop and opened the back hatch. Mounds of popcorn spilled out. Zulu ate the popcorn till he couldn’t eat any more! He ate popcorn all the way to Shreveport. And that’s how Zulu’s belly got so big. His beer belly was really a popcorn belly!

Zulu Drives a House Mover Zulu had a big job ahead of him. It was bigger than his beer belly and 10 gallon cowboy hat combined. It was even bigger than his smile, which is saying something since most people agree Zulu has the biggest smile they’ve ever seen. You see, Zulu had a house to move, and that’s a really big job. But this story isn’t about moving a house. It’s actually about how Zulu’s smile got so big. I can tell you it wasn’t from getting a speeding ticket, but you probably already figured that out. We all know truck drivers don’t speed, as that would be irresponsible. It was a pretty spring day and Zulu was driving a flatbed truck from Flagstaff, Arizona to Denver, Colorado. On top of the flatbed was the back half of a brand new doublewide. That’s the hick term for a big trailer that poor people with good credit live in. Another truck driver was hauling the front half, and when they both got to Denver some workers would hook them together to make a complete house. Zulu was working his way north on highway 15 when up ahead, on the side of the road, he saw a pretty young lady in Capri pants and a low cut tank top. She had soft brown hair and even softer brown eyes. She had a nice bottom, and an even nicer top. Behind her was a rusty old brown Ford with smoke billowing up from the hood. Well, Zulu, being the gentleman that he was, carefully pulled his load into the emergency lane right behind her to see if he could help. He climbed down from his truck, walked up to the pretty girl, and said, “Howdee!” With a soft Mexican accent, she said, “Mister! I’m sooooo glad you stopped. My car, why it’s a mess!” Zulu replied, “Why missy, I’d have to agree. Your car ain’t goin nowhere anytime soon.” The pretty young lady’s long eyelashes caught the sunlight as she nodded in agreement. Zulu, who might have been feeling sorry for her, or maybe he was just feeling lucky, offered, “Where ya headed? Maybe I could give you a lift.” The young lady answered, “Pueblo, Colorado. My daddy needs me to post bond ‘cause he was caught shoplifting again. I shore miss him.” Zulu, smiling, said, “Why I’m driving straight through Pueblo on my way to Denver!” He opened the passenger side door, bowed politely, and added, “Care for a lift?” Without saying a word, she smiled the whitest smile Zulu had ever seen, took Zulu’s hand, and allowed him to help her make the big step up into the cab. Just about then, as luck would have it, all these happy developments took a major nose dive. A scrawny, sloppy, scummy, stinky guy covered in tattoos stepped out from behind the rusty old Ford. His hair was tangled, his shirt was filthy, and his teeth were yellow. And to make matters worse, he liked to smoke. And to make matters even worse than that, he liked to spit. He walked up to Zulu puffing on his cigarette and spat. Glaring as best he could, he said, “Mista, I’ve got a gun.” Zulu glared right back at the skinny guy. “You shore do,” he said in a monotone. The scummy young man couldn’t hold Zulu’s stare. But he was holding the gun just fine. He said, “Mista, this is a hijack. You’re taking me to Durango.” Zulu’s eyes no longer twinkled. They were like lasers. “That’s a whole day’s drive outa my way ya loser. I’m headed to Denver.” Neither Zulu’s laser eyes nor his name calling had any effect. “Mista, I’m the one with the gun,” was the retort, along with another round of puffing and spitting. “I suppose yore right” Zulu replied. “Time’s a’wastin’. Climb aboard and let’s start chasin’ the sunset.” The stinky guy clambered into the cab and Zulu helped the pretty young lady into the middle seat. He started the engine and was soon heading west on highway 30 across the most desolate part of Arizona. As they cruised along in the middle of desert, Zulu reached down and pulled out a big bottle of ice cold water from an ice chest near the floorboard. He had the glimmering of a grin as he unscrewed the cap, and as expected, before he could take a sip, the skinny guy grabbed it and took a great big swig. “Boy that sure hits the spot,” he said. Within a minute the entire bottle of water was gone. Zulu said, “I got more where that came from,” and he pulled out another big bottle of icy water. Before you could blink, that bottle was half empty as well. Now, as you might expect, it wasn’t too long before someone had to pee. And it wasn’t Zulu or the cutie pie. “I gotta pee – real bad,” said the skinny guy. Pull over at the next rest stop and no funny business.” His knees were going back and forth together real fast, as if that would somehow help him hold it in. Zulu, his grin getting bigger, said, “I’d be happy to pull in at the next rest stop young man, except, it’s three hours down the highway. Why don’t you just use the bathroom in the house I’m pullin’?” “Good idea,” grimaced the stinky young man. “How do I get to it?” Zulu pointed at the rear of the cab and said, “If you’re real careful, you can climb through the rear hatch and go in through the side window of the house. Once inside, the bathroom is the first door on your left.” “Alright,” said the smelly guy as he lit another cigarette. “You keep driving and I’ll be right back.” “Don’t forget to flush!” Zulu boomed as his grin almost became a smile. As the truck kept tooling along highway 30 at 55 miles per hour, the skinny guy worked his way through the hatch and into the house atop the flatbed. “Now’s our chance!” said the lovely young gal at Zulu’s side. “Let’s get outa here before he comes back” Zulu, gradually slowed the truck down to almost a crawl. “Nah. Just keep your eyes on your rearview mirror. He’s not comin’ back!” “Whatcha mean?” asked the girl with the soft brown eyes. “Well, my directions to the bathroom weren’t exactly accurate,” said Zulu. “The first door on the left is actually the back door to the house. Our hijacker is about to step right onto the highway!” The young lady leaned across Zulu’s broad belly and together they looked into the rearview mirror. Sure enough, just about then, the back door to the mobile home flew open and the skinny guy stepped right smack dab out onto the road. And he landed right smack dab on his scrawny little bottom! Zulu grinned, then smirked, then smiled. The hijacker was standing up, rubbing his sore tush in the middle of the road. The young lady, with soft brown eyes and soft brown hair softly said, “You’re one clever guy.” And she gave him a peck right smack dab on his cheek! And that’s how Zulu’s smile got so big. But, I have to admit, the house he was pulling was bigger yet.

Coming Soon Zulu Drives a Tanker Truck Check back in June!

Coming Soon! Zulu Drives a Flatbed Truck Check back in July!

Coming Later this Year! Zulu Saves Christmas Check back in November!