Mother Tucker was a trucker.  She drove her big rig up and down the Interstate between Nashville and Santa Fe.  She was buxom and burly, sassy, and surly; surely the kinda road hoggin' mama you  want on your hard drivin' team.  The good ole boys loved Mother to death. Called her ‘The Obscene Rest Stop Queen’.  She could fill up a bunk like a bunch of  boy scouts stuffed in a trunk.  Squirrelly one-eyed Joe claimed, "Mother Tucker can keep a cadaver warm in the middle of a Montana snow storm!”

Mother Tucker was a lucky trucker, too.  She had five more lives than a back alley full of stray cats eating leftover four leaf clover stew.  Her tractor trailer had ninety-two notches on it. Each one personally bit out and spit out for every death defying deed she narrowly escaped without a cut or a scrape.  Occasionally, she’d sustain an injury severely enough to leave an impressive scar.  She said they were better than tattoos:  “Somethin' you can sink your imagination into.”

One time, Mother Tucker took on a Texas tornado.   It picked up her rig like a twig
and tossed it clear across the County line.  Landed just outside Laredo; not far from where she wanted to go.   So she went on the prowl for some serious R&R, and pulled into the parking lot of the first broken down roadside dive she found on the outskirts of that dusty dessert town.  The faded café sign said,  ‘The Truck Stops Here!’  And when the saloon doors swung open, and Mother appeared, the whole room fell silent, some out of respect, some out of fear.  Then all at once, rising up from the crowd, came a loud and boisterous sound like an anthem to a trucker.  "Is that you, Mother Tucker?"

Mother didn't make a peep.  She stood still like a cactus in the heat.  The men held their breath waiting for her to digress:   "Boys, it works like this:  Buy me a drink and I’ll give you a kiss!" 

So they drank all the whiskey and sang silly songs.  Mother got stinkin' drunk.  Skinny Eddy asked her to tie the knot.  She slurred, "Long as I can tie it around your neck!”  They laughed and made intoxicated toasts:   "Here's to you, Mother Tucker!” was the one they made the most.

When the last man left and Mother was alone, she started thinking about life on the road.  How good it would be to have a family and a home:  a husband, two kids, a cat, and a dog; to sleep every night in the same warm bed snuggled up close with the one you love.  But reality set in and the bartender hollered, "Hotel, Motel!" and sarcastically added, "You are one drunken Mother!" 

She struggled to her feet, wobbly and woozy, and swore on her worn out soul she'd never touch another drop of alcohol.  If she could only make it to her trusty truck without loosing her precious cargo!  As she lunged for the door, a battalion of the boys, including The Fuggly Brothers, Jose Padirka  and Willie the Weasel, marched up single file with big cow pie eatin’ grins on their guilt ridden faces.   Speed Bump and Vinny Testosteroni were blowin’ a duet of  'Satin Doll' on harmonica and kazoo.   Finally, Hugh Pugh,  who brought up the rear, stopped dead in his tracks and sneered:  "On all that a trucker holds dear and sacred; we're already drunk, so let's get naked!"   Everybody cheered and Mother complied, "Mister, I wanna see you with nothin‘  but a hat on when you drive!"

So they stripped to the skin, Mother and  Hugh:  the sight of those two au naturale' wasn't a pleasant view.  They went out into the cool dessert night, across the warm, glistening sand, bare as a monkey's butt under the full moon’s light; and walked up to their semis. Mother's shadow had a jiggle to it that made Speed Bump and Gino giggle.  Hugh's family jewels gently swayed in the breeze-  At least his shadow had some marrow between its knees.  

When they reached their rigs, Mother turned to Hugh and said, "Remember a few years ago in El Paso; we drank too much tequila and passed out - well, you thought so.  Wasn’t long before we jumped up like two horny toads in the hot bed of a pickup truck and started doin' the mattress mambo.  Nine months later, when you were on the road;  I gave birth to our son.  I kept it a secret for so long because the timing was always wrong."  

Poor Hugh nearly jumped out of the skin he was wearing, and somehow managed to refrain from swearing as he screamed.  "And now you think the time is right to blurt it out in the middle of the night while we're standing here buck naked in front of all our friends?  You truck drivin’ Mother, you betta think again!”
"Well, now that I've got you're attention,“ Mother quickly mentioned, “let’s talk about the rest of his life."

They spent the best part of that fateful night making big plans for their little tike.  Hugh Pugh brought up the touchy subject of conjugal visits:  And Mother had this to say.  "Listen Hugh, you ain’t in prison, but you might get lucky, if you rub the Warden the right way!"  

Then the sun rose up off the dirty dessert floor, and the light swallowed up the darkness like a scene out of Eden:  two innocent sinners sitting there without a stitch on, eating crab apples and chicken fried snake.  Mother gunned her Peterbilt engine.  Hugh did the same.  He leaned out his window and exclaimed,  “You never did tell me his name!"

Mother replied, proud as only a mother can be: "I named him after you, and I named him after me.  It's the perfect handle for a born trucker!  Don't you agree?"   Hugh's eyes grew wide when he realized his son's name was Hugh Mother Tucker!