How To Speak J-Vegan

One of the most painful exchanges I ever witnessed was a Jacksonville local offering a Californian a nice helping of local cuisine known as Boiled Peanuts.
Local: Hey boy, you want some bawl'd peanuts? Got im at the gas station this murning.
Californian: Uh ok... but what makes a peanut bald?
Local: Cuz you bawl 'em!
Californian (confused): Ummm... but how does a peanut end up bald?
Local: Well they'ums bawl'd peanuts.
Californian (spitting out a mouthful): Those taste like wallpaper paste. What the hell did you do to them?
Local: Bawl 'em. What else would you do to bawl'd peanuts?

In Onslow County, bawl'd equals boiled. You bawl peanuts and, when in season, you bawl a sweet little crustacean known as shrump. Shrump can also be served over a bowl of greetz and slathered in gruvvy, and may be served with a side of soggy cooked greens swimming in ham hock grease known as cawluds.

The lexicon of the greater Jacksonville area consists of words purposely mispronounced simply to separate the locals from those invading swarms of High & Stupids and their Depend-o-potamuses. J-ville locals can smugly point out that you obviously ain't from around here when you mistakenly pronounce winders as windows.

This becomes especially apparent with J-Vegans' pronunciations of neighboring towns. Round here, Topsail is pronounced Top-suhl. Wilmington is mushed together to sound something like Wulmungtun. New Bern is N'Bun. There are the Vuhls: Fayette-Vuhl, Green-Vuhl and our own Jackson-Vuhl. Then there is the one that makes really makes my skin crawl: Rich Lands. Not Richlands... fucking Rich.Lands!!!! Really? If it is supposed to be pronounced that way, the town's founder would have put a damn space between the H and the L. If you spell it Richlands, it will be pronounced as one freaking word. I am not pronouncing it incorrectly; I just know how to read.

Wanting to throw their own dog in the fight, the military has been launching a crusade to change the pronunciation of Camp Lejeune. They lament about ol' John Lejeune hailed from a Cajun family in Louisiana and was subjected to people bastardizing his poor name while serving in the Marine Corps. Uh... wasn't this dude the commandant of the Marine Corps? I think he would have set people straight if they said his name the wrong way. For years it has been pronounced Luh-June. But you are a bag of shit if you say it that way now. Oh no... Camp F'in Luh-Jern! Only a commie bastard infidel would say otherwise.

Welcome Home... Now Get Naked!

Dear Desperate Housewives of Camp Lejeune,

First off, let me say welcome home to your husbands (especially the recent return of those who came back from a deployment in Afghanistan only to turn around less than a month later and deploy to Haiti). I understand you have missed your husbands terribly. In order to prepare for his homecoming, I am sure you have spent countless hours at the tanning bed, nail salon and gym so that you are putting your best foot forward at the reunion. Your cell phone has been glued to your hip as you await news of when you can go pick him up. You might have even attended one of those sign decorating parties with the other wives. Since you are a Semper Faithful Marine Wife, you would never stoop so low to just order a custom made sign online. No... you have made sacrifices dammit and spending a few more hours painting a welcome home sign with members of your Family Readiness Group while gossiping about how fat the Company Gunny's wife has gotten is no great hardship.

Just please, please, PLEASE don't do this:

I realize you haven't gotten laid in a few months. I know you are horny as hell. Go to Adam & Eve and buy a new toy, send your hubby a sexy email where you detail exactly how you plan to make him scream like a girl... just do it privately. There is no need for your husband's buddies, Commanding Officer and anyone else who drives down Highway 24 to see that you plan to fuck your husband's brains out the moment he gets home. It is tacky. Go ahead and make a banner... but a simple "I missed you. Welcome Home" will suffice.

Sincerely,

Viva J-Vegas (and 90% of Jacksonville's population)

And You Thought Your Job Sucked...

Employment in J-Vegas can be hard to come by, especially in these tough economic times. Despite the proclamation via bumper sticker that Marine Wives have the toughest job around, there are much worse ones to be had. Take this one for example:

The Liberty Tax lady

I see this poor old lady every afternoon on the commute home. She has to be over sixty years old, yet she spends her near twilight years on the corner by the Commissary and Exchange dressed in a cheap polyester version of the Statue of Liberty, waving at bored Marines and their spouses in order to entice them to use Liberty Tax's services. The greater J-Vegas metropolitan area (*snort* ... that was fun just typing that term) is no stranger to street corner hawking. There are always people with signs proclaiming low monthy fees at Gold's Gym (totally a scam, by the way), BOGO deals at pizza shops and no waiting for an oil change. Still... the Liberty Lady strikes me as sad.