A Letter from Cousin Throckmorton

Dear Cousin Red,

H’its been awhile sinc’ I been able to write. Thin’s has been busy up here in the Holler. H’its an election year, and the mayor has been out cam’painin’. I t’ain’t been able ta cut the second hay, much less bale and barn it. Ev’ry time the Mayor sees a body standin’ still, or near to it, he’s on ‘im like a rooster on a June Bug. I tried mowin’ at 20 mile n’ ‘our, but it just wouldn’t cut hay. Any less’n that an’ the Mayor has his hand in your lap, spoutin’ out promises and askin’ fer yer vote.

‘Specially since he’s runnin’ unopposed. Again.

An’ don’t ev’n git me started on the President’s race. I fig’re we’re pretty lucky up here. Ain’t but ‘bout a hunnert of us up here can vote, so we don’t have ta put up with the visitin’ like y’all do. An’ we can kinda ignore most a’ the backin’ and forthin’.

I tell y’all, it is plumb annoyin’ listenin’ ta the Mayor talk about the issues facin’ the Holler. But I can tell y’all that I would rather here about that than the mud slingin’ them presidential boys is throwin’ ‘round. I think we got some real ‘portant stuff facin’ us here in the Holler, but it ain’t a flea on a year’s pile a’ el’phant droppings compared ta what the whole country’s facin’.

So I guess them some of is takin’ the easy way out. Makes ‘em sound like a bunch of sko’l kids, name callin’ an’ truth stretchin’.

‘Course I bet you can rec’colect that ‘lection we had up here ‘bouts a few years back. Times was good then.  Folks had jobs, an’ the jobs was dumpin’ the taxes in the Holler’s bank account. We didn’t have no issues. As y’all know, that’s been a couple a’ coon’s ages. That time the Mayor had him a real contest fer the job.

First the Mayor said his ‘po’nant did have the right experience fer the job. Then he called him un-edjamkated, seein’s how he hadn’t made it threw 6^th Grade. 

The opposition hollered back. Talkin’ ‘bout how the Mayor was too young fer the job, and didn’t know his hat from a beer keg.

Then, when they met up at the Fair the mud- slingin’ really got hot an’ heavy. If’n y’all rec’colect that was year it was ‘bout a hunnert degrees in the shade fer a week, an’ that Saturday we had a rain storm that made every dirt pile inta a steamin’ pile a mud. An’ the Mayor an’ his ‘po’nant started slingin’ it hot and hard. Part a’ the argument later on was who chucked the first handful.

So say the Mayor grabbed up the first glob; others say he grabbed the second. Either way, pretty soon the Mud was coverin’ ‘em both pretty good.

The Mayor has pretty much run by himself ever since. Ain’t nobody since felt like bein’ a target fer the Mayor’s mud. 

But I guess that ain’t the first time the practice a’ cam’painin’ has kept good folks out of wantin’ to take office.

It took the Mayor’s Dad almost a month to git the mud outta his hair; he ain’t had the urge to run fer Mayor again t’either.

Best wishes from all of us in the Holler,

Throckmorton Q. Sheisseschnitter