O.B.D.A

Old Bridge Derelict Association. Old Bridge was a hotbed of dirtbag activities during the late 1970's, early 1980's. A loosely defined organization of late teen early twenty-year-olds would throw keg parties during the weekend evenings in the open wooded areas which are now McMansion ghettos. After the third half keg was half empty and all the "T" as in "HC" or other similar consumables were, well, consumed, there usually a chanting in unison of "O.B.D.A", almost as a wolf pack howling at the moon at 3 am. This meant that the O.B.D.A. meeting was in session and all were present and accounted for. There were no dues except to live in Old Bridge and to be recognized as cool and not a narc. The "meetings" were spontaneous and sometimes occurred simultaneously at different locations around the town. One faction were known as Lake People and preferred to chant O.B.D.A. by a huge fetid and weed strewn lake famous for the lead content from a nearby factory. Another faction partied at "Paradise" which was a pine wooded encampment near by a youth football athletic field. Still one more faction held "The Pink Flamingo" as their home stomping ground. The Pink Flamingo was an underground wood an earthen structure designed as a party spot and so named because it was painted pink on the inside. The area nearby the Flamingo was famous for tire fires in snowstorms and kegs held in the crotch of two trees packed in snow. The beer had to be "The King of Beers" to be an official meeting. Contrary to popular belief, O.B.D.A. did not mean Old Bridge Drug Addicts, although the members behavior would lead you to believe that permutation. Graffiti consisting of 5 foot tall O.B.D.A letters were frequent sights on liquor stores and Seven-Eleven brick walls. O.B.D.A. was frequently shouted from moving cars open windows especially if NP (non-partying) Jocks were walking along the street. The "meeting" of the of O.B.D.A. has dwindled due to its association with taste in classic and southern rock. The urban influence of rap and hip-hop has caused a decrease of binge consumption of beer in the woods. That combined with the associated O.B.D.A. uniform of flannel shirts, Levis and work boots, the yelling O.B.D.A at the top of your lungs in the middle of the night while piss-drunk has fallen into disfavor. I'm sure that somewhere in Central Jersey, there still is a guy with long scragglely grey hair in a bandana wearing the O.B.D.A. uniform, drinking a six at 3 am on a Saturday night trying to yell O.B.D.A., but smoking stogies through his trach tube makes it difficult to form words let alone yell.