Another Letter From Cousin Throckmorton

I may need to explain Cousin Throckmorton.

He lives down in a Kentucky Holler so deep the 1970's haven't even found their way in yet, much less the new millennium. He writes me occasionally, and sometimes I believe what he has to say is worth sharing. This weeks letter was one of those times.

Dear Cousin Red,

We had a real cold spell this past week, and I don’t believe my bones have thawed out yet. It’s not that I ain’t used ta bein’ cold, but even an Eskimo has his limits. It got so cold we had to invent a new way a’ talkin’ ‘bout it. 

Usta' be we had three levels a’ cold. First was Jacket Weather. That means if y’all is goin’ out the door, an’ ain’t getting’ in the car, take a jacket. The temperature would vary ‘pendin’ on who was talkin’ to who. If it was my Ma talkin ta one a’ her kids, jacket weather started from 60 degrees on down. When tryin’ to impress your buddies, it started at ‘bout zero. 

Ya’ know, when y’all first would get to high school in the mornin’, an’ it’s ‘bout 10 degrees, an’ y’all got icicles hangin’ from every finger, one a’ y’all’s buddies would ask, “Cold out?” An’ y’all had ta answer, “Jacket Weather.”

The next step down was Hat an’ Coat. That started for my Ma at ‘bout 50 degrees. Y’all had mommas, y’all know what I’m talkin’ ‘bout. Early in spring, when 50 is sweatin’ weather, an’ a little dip in the crick sounds good, as y’all is runnin’ outta the house hollerin’ where y’all is headin’, an’ sure ‘nough, Ma is hollerin’ back “Take your hat an’ coat!”

At what once was the bottom of the list was Get Your Gloves. This level had nuthin’ ta do with temperature, but a lot ta do with snow. It also had a lot ta do with what was goin’ on in the snow. We could spend hours outside without gloves buildin’ snowmen an’ snow forts, havin’ snow ball fights an’ the like, but if’n we had to shovel the dang stuff, first we had ta spend an hour huntin’ for our gloves, an’ hopin for a quick thaw.

This year we had ta add a’nuther step, Full Battle Dress. We had on so many layers a’ clothes, there weren’t no need for closets. We spent so much time so layered up some folks still walk ‘round with there fingers spread out, an’ their arms six inches from their bodies like they can’t get no closer. I ain’t one of ‘em. For me, it was Jacket Weather.    

Best wishes from all of us in the Holler,

Throckmorton Q. Sheisseschnitter

                                                            

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

Cousin Throckmorton Checks in Again

Dear Cousin Red,

We missed y’all last weekend at Cousin Julie’s daughter’s weddin’. I figured it had to be somethin’ real important that kept y’all from bein’ here in the Holler for the social event of the season.

Cousin Julie went whole hog at this weddin’ thing. She and Jasper only had the one daughter at the end a’ all them boys, so she has been plannin’ this here weddin’ for better’n 15 years. And it showed. Some a’ them dec’o’rayshuns was 15 years old if’n they were a day.

But it was a nice time. Seems the bride was right fond a’ green, and choose it for the bride’s maid’s dresses. If she really picked that shade of fluorescent lime in shiny silk on purpose, somebody must be color blind. I still can’t close my eyes without seeing them dresses. I hear tell the man what took the pictures need his sunglasses because a’ the way the flash an’ them dresses kinda clashed.

They had the re’ceptsheon at the big barn up behind Granny’s place, and had Rembert’s do the caterin’. Old Jasper was in 7th Heaven. He hung out at the bar all night, pushin’ drinks on folks. ‘Have a beer’ he’d say; ‘don’t worry, it’s all taken care of’, just like he did when each of his sons got wed.

An’ he made sure ever’ybody got enough to eat. Ham, sweet taters, ears a’ corn and all. He was a’ passin’ out food like there was no ta’marra. An’ grinin’ all the while. ‘Eat it up folks’ he’d say; ‘it’s all taken care of’.

That party went on dang near all night. Eatin’, drinkin’, dancin’ and such seemed like it would never end. But ‘ventually it had to. I guess it was ‘bout 3 o’clock when the oldest Rembert boy finally shut down the bar, totaled up the damages and handed ol’ Jasper the bill.

He was dumbstruck. H’it hadden’t come to him until then who was actually takin’ care of this party. He was usta weddin’s; he just weren’t usta payin’ fer ‘em.

Ol’ Jasper had been havin’ himself one whale of good time ‘til then. Seein’ the cost of that high time sobered him up real fast. An’ then he started lookin’ for ways to raise cash to pay the bill. He didn’t know until then that all his charge cards was at the limit. Seems Cousin Julie bought all them fluorescent lime green shiny silk dresses on his Visa; the weddin’ dress filled up his Mastercard and the dec’o’rayshuns took care of the Discover.

First off he raided the weddin’ presents. Cash he could use, but it seems like Rembert’s didn’t wanna take the Walmart gift cards as payment. Then he had to start auctionin’ off the presents. I got a real nice toaster for 15 bucks; Granny bought herself a new cast iron dutch oven for 35 bucks and your Mamma bought some silverware. She said somethin’ ‘bout anuther weddin’ next month.

But Jasper got the bill paid. It took a while, and by the time he were done, them kids is startin’ life with ‘bout $150 in Walmart gift cards and 6 fluorescent lime green shiny silk dresses.

Ain’t it a Helluva thing, when the parents run up a big bill on a big party, an’ then stick it to the kids to pay the piper?

I guess it just comes natural like to Jasper. He was a Congressman.

Best wishes from all of us in the Holler,

Throckmorton Q. Sheisseschnitter

Cousin Throckmorton Checks in Again

Dear Cousin Red,

As I have probably mentioned, Gunkel Holler is in Miserable County, which is dry. A’course I suppose most counties which are dry are miserable, but I’m just guessin’. An’ I guess y’all know what a dry county is, that’s one where only the locals are allowed to have booze.

So I guess you could say that it’s only a dry county for strangers. We been drinkin’ down at H.G. Rembert & Sons Butcher Shop for years. We started down there ‘bout 50 years ago when he had the only cold box big enough to store enough beer. We used to sit in the back, next to the cooler in the renderin’ room. If y’all have ever been in a renderin’ room, y’all will know how hard up we was for a cold beer.

But it wasn’t long before one of the Rembert sons realized they we’re making more money from sellin’ beer than they was from butcherin’ an’ they quit sellin’ beer part time an’ went at it whole hog. They cleaned up the renderin’ room, an’ installed a bar. Well, it was really just a couple a 2X12’s stretched across some empty 55-gallon drums, but they had ‘em painted up real nice. An’ once they moved in some old picnic tables we had it made. After a couple of years the wives started showin’ up an’ they wanted things a little nicer, so the Remberts moved the butcher cases out of the front room and put in a real bar and nicer picnic tables.

But they left the sign the same on the window: H.G. Rembert & Sons Hog Butchers and Wholesalers of Hog Fat. I ask H.G. Jr. when they were goin’ to change the sign an’ he said what for? Everybody who needs to know does, and everybody else, we don’t want ‘em to.

We tend to spend a lot of time down Remberts, ’specially come winter. In fact, it was there that we invented an indoor version of horseshoes. The only place we could find was a hallway out behind the chiller that was only long enough for a half court. So we figured we’d hang an old box spring off of a king size bed on the wall at the end an’ see how well it would work. It worked sort of well, but ya had to careful where ya threw, because there wasn’t quite as much bounce in the middle as there was on the sides, and once they come off there a little out of whack, there took some terrible ricochets off the concrete walls. But it didn’t take us long to find the sweet spots in that old box spring, an’ we were back to throwin’ ringers like we had a full deck. I mean a full court.

One day we also worked on a way of playin’ lawn darts on our indoor horseshoe court. Like I heard a guy say on the radio, alcohol was involved in this incident. It was real hard to decide which way was better, when the darts came back like they was supposed to, or when they stuck and we had to go chase them. When they came back we was duckin’ and runnin’ from the way they bounced around. When they stuck, we was duckin’ and runnin’ ‘cause the other ole boy was still takin’ his turn. Like I said, alcohol was involved in this incident.

Where was I? Oh yeah, Rembert’s. They do a real nice business, selling beer an’ light lunches. But for some reason they tend to limit themselves to BLT’s and ham sandwiches. They also do some real nice french fries and onion rings. But do yourself a favor and don’t touch the egg salad. It’s a registered deadly weapon. An’ bring your cash, ‘cause they don’t accept American Express.

Best wishes from all of us in the Holler,

Throckmorton Q. Sheisseschnitter

Can't Miss The County Fair

Dear Cousin Red,

This comin' weekend is the Miserable County Fair, held every year since 1855 on whatever weekend in September the Farmer's Almanac says will be the most sorry. If'n the other three weekends are dry, the Fair gets drowned out in 12 inches of rain. If'n the other days are warm, then Fair weekend is either cold enough to freeze y'all's cotton candy, or hot enough to set fire to the paper cone.

I recall one year we had fun while choppin' tabacca by seein' who could raise the biggest cloud 'a dust by spittin' in the dirt. Fair weekend, even the concrete was soggy enough to make mud pies. We even had a judgin' for mud pies that year. My wife took second place with one that left the kitchen as banana creme.

An' I also rec'o'lect one year they canceled the horse show, 'cause of flies. But that was only after two of them flies carried off the prize winnin' Belgian. We found him later in the parkin' lot, next to a guy cryin' over a new Cadillac, with the windshield covered in somethin' that belonged 'round some roses.

We always manage ta’ have a good time though. Between the beer booth, an’ the rides, an’ the beer booth, an’ the stock judgin’, an’ the beer booth, an’ the food vendors, an’ I want to make sure I mention the beer booth, an’ the midway games, and a’course friends y’all run into at the beer booth, it’s sure to be fun, even in the rain.

We take the young’uns every year anyway. At least until they’re old enough to take theyselves. And that day don’t come too soon sometimes. ‘Tween the games, and the rides and the eats you can run thru 20 bucks like crap thru a goose. Then we go over an’ sit down ta watch the horse show. Or sumtimes just people watch.

The wife looks at the couples. Y’all know what I mean. Who’s with who, and who ain’t with who. I just watch the women. So what is it with some of these women who think the law says they gotta wear the same clothes to the fair every year that they wore when they was 16? 25 years in the same pair a’ shorts is more than enough.

An' whoever thought mother/daughter matching halter tops and hot pants was a good idea must'a been two cans short of a twelve pack. Or ten cans into a twelve pack, sometimes there's not much difference. It's not that I have sumthin' again' seein' a women's body, It's just seein' what 'peers to be two women's bodies in one shirt, with enough left hangin' over the belt ta' hide the buckle, ought'a be outlawed.

Best wishes from all of us in the Holler,

Throckmorton Q. Sheisseschnitter

Another Missive From the Holler

Dear Cousin Red,

I’m guessin’ y’all heard the story ‘bout that women that got killed by her pet Killer Whale? Well, that news has reached us up here in the holler too, an’ ta me the whole dang thing just don’t make no sense no way.

First, I don’t know ‘bout y’all, but I sure as shootin’ ain’t gonna try an’ make a pet outta somethin’ that is named a KILLER. Hell, I ain’t the sharpest knife in the drawer, but I sure ain’t gonna make a pet outta a bear, and we don’t even call them KILLER bears.

Some folks is kinda funny, ain’t they? They think there all smart n’ such an’ can be in charge of every damn thing. They think they can take a killer whale an’ train him ta do parlor tricks. Then one day they find out the hard way that nature is in charge, an’ the ole whale has a ‘nuther notch on the wall of his tank.

Them same folks seem ta think they can control the weather too. All I gotta do is quit drivin’ my big Pick-up an’ start driven’ a Prius. I forget right now Cuz; is a Prius the one with bad gas pedal or the bad brake pedal? I guess it don’t really matter. Either way y’all is gonna need a big ole sumthin’ to stop your new toy.

Any how, they tell that the whole Earth is a gettin’ warmer. Tell me again, how much snow they got up east there in the last cupla days? Give it to me in feet Cuz; I don’t really like them numbers with 2 numbers in ‘em.

So they figur’ they can control killer animals, an’ they figur’ they can control the whole Earth gettin’ hotter or colder an’ they figur’ that they can control the baddest meanest beast on the face a’ the Earth: Gov’ment.

If’n the last 50 years ain’t proved nuthin’ else it’s proved that gov’ment is like kudzu. Sumthings respect the rule that if’n I leave y’all alone, y’all will leave me alone. Even snakes and skunks get that rule. When was the last time y’all had a skunk get in the house? They don’t do it. They know the rules.

Kudzu don’t care ‘bout the rule. If’n y’all leave kudzu alone it’ll take over every square inch a’ the place. leave one little leaf, an’ next spring the back 40 will be covered again.

Gov’ment is like that. They don’t respect the rule. We have kinda let ‘em alone up there in War’shington for a while, hopin’ they’ll do the same. It ain’t worked out. They not only took over the back 40, they’re workin’ up the back porch steps.

So it’s time ta get busy.

If’n nuthin else we gotta remind folks that you can’t really control a wild beast, the weather or the gov’ment. That’s why we keep goldfish, not killer whales, build a house ta stay warm an’ dry in, an’ keep gov’ment as small as we can.

Best wishes from all of us in the Holler,

Throckmorton Q. Sheisseschnitter

Cousin Throckmorton Drops Us a Line or Two

Dear Cousin Red,

I was out on the town last evenin’ enjoyin’ a few cold beers and a little satellite TV, and happened to catch that show Mythbusters. Have y’all ever seen that? That’s my new dream job right there; being on TV and getting’ paid ta blow things up. But you remember what Granny usta say about me. That I had a face made fer radio and a voice made fer silent pictures. But any way, last night the show I saw had ‘em tryin’ to get a fire ball outta a grease fire. And they did it.

But it put me in mind a’ the time Cousin Henry set fire to Uncle John and Aunt Martha’s kitchen; y’all rec’olect that evenin’? Cousin Henry was making french fries and started the grease ta cookin’ in a dutch oven on the stove, and turned his back on it to peel and cut the taters. After about 10 minutes he heard a little ‘pop’ behind him and turned ‘round to see flames shootin’ up of’n his grease. He followed his first reaction and dumped water on the fire. That turned out to be a bad idea, an’ after seein’ last night’s show I know why. Seems that the grease is hot enough to turn the water to steam RIGHT NOW, and that steam carries the grease an’ the fire with it when it goes up.

Well, that’s exactly what happened to Cousin Henry. The fire ball went up onto the stove hood, set the filters on fire, came out the vent on the front a’ the hood and up over the face a’ the cabinets and a’crost the ceiling. All the little plates Aunt Martha had hangin’ by the ceiling got black, and the ceiling was one a those fancy ones with the pops and swirls on it and the tips a’ all a’ them pops got black. It kinda looked like an upside down mare-rang pie.

But wait, it gets worse.

Uncle John and Aunt Martha weren’t home when it happened, and Cousin Henry was doin’ his damnedest to make the whole place right afore they got home. But his timin’ was off.

Uncle John and Aunt Martha came home an’ started walkin’ up the front walk, an’ spied the dutch oven, black as midnight sittin’ in the yard. They didn’t have long to puzzle on that, cause then they saw the filters outta the range hood, black as sin with holes burnt in ‘em layin’ next ta the dutch oven. Seein’ the range hood layin’ next to that, lookin’ a little crispy, started to cause them a little concern.

When they stepped in the door an’ looked inta the kitchen, there was Cousin Henry, smellin’ a little like soap an’ a lot like smoke, up on a chair tryin’ ta wash down the cabinets and nick-knacks. Uncle John an’ Aunt Martha looked at Cousin Henry an’ he looked back at them an’ said the first thin’ that came inta his head.

“Well, it ain’t as bad as it looks.”

Best wishes from all of us in the Holler,

Throckmorton Q. Sheisseschnitter

Cousin Throckmorton Sends His Regards

Dear Cousin Red,

Onest again I need to see if you can help me figur’ out somethin’ I heared about from out in the world that don’t make no sense to us up here in the Holler.

Is it true that the Government is calling a Golf Cart an ‘Letric Car? And givin’ y’all $5,300 to help y’all buy one? On what planet does that make sense? First, the whole idea that the government decides that buyin’ a car that burns ‘lecticity instead of gas means you get money is one I just can’t get my head around.

If’n we all drove ‘lectric cars, where in the name of Jonah are we gonna get all this juice? Near as I can tell we get most of it now from burnin’ coal and oil. Seems to me that driving more cars that burn ‘lectric is really just like drivin’ more cars that burn coal.

Plus ev’ry day don’t we hear ‘bout how we are at the limit of what power we can produce? Where we gonna get the new power? Them Green folks won’t let us damn a river, or burn more coal or oil to get ‘lecticity, and the gov’ment won’t let us use ur-ain-ium like they do down in Oak Ridge ‘cause they say it ain’t safe. But, they can take up’ards of a hundred sailors ‘n throw ‘em in a submarine with one of them ur-ain-ium burnin’ things and have ‘em stay under water for a month or so, but we can’t build one to make cheap ‘lectricity. I guess they just ain’t figured out how to put a windmill farm or solar panels on a submarine yet.

But I’m getting’ a little off’n the path I was a’follurin’. What makes a golf cart a car? Yeah, they both have four wheels. But so does my Radio Flyer, an’ it ain’t getting’ 5 grand from the gov’ment. And it’ll do 20 miles per hour too; as long as it’s down hill. And I can sure as hell rig up some lights and seatbelt. Which, when y’all think about it, doing 20 mph in a little red wagon means y’all ought’n ta have a seatbelt. Or brakes. But I’m thinkin’ puttin’ a seatbelt in would be easier than brakes. A’course, with the $5000 I’m gonna get from my Uncle Sam, I just might be able ta do both. I might even be able ta figur’ a way ta get it to uphill, without draggin’ it.

A’course I guess there ain’t much difference between a Smart car and a golf cart, ‘ceptin’ I don’t think anybody would let you drive y’all’s Smart car ‘round the golf course. ‘Course I could be wrong. They only thing I ever drove ‘round a golf course was a lawn mower. Man them folks get fussy about how you cut their grass. And I’ll never understand why they put them nice lawns out in the middle of nowhere, with a sandbox handy for the young’uns, an’ then won’t let a body picnic on ‘em.

Best wishes from all of us in the Holler,

Throckmorton Q. Sheisseschnitter

Cousin Throckmorton and Taxes

Dear Cousin Red,

It has been and interestin’ week up here in the Holler. The Mayor has decided he needs a new official car, and has been workin’ out how best ta pay fer it.

I don’t mean he’s lookin’ inta loans and things like that; he lookin’ at how best he can get the rest of us t pay fer it. An’ that means taxes are a’ goin’ up. We been thru this a’fore. Every coupla a years- years that DON’T seem to be years he needs our votes- the Mayor decides the city bank account is slimmer than what he needs ta spend. Just once I want him to look at that bank account and decide its too fat, but I guess as long as getting more money is just a pen stroke away, what the Hell, right?

So anyway, the Mayor has just about wee-weed off everybody up here in the Holler with his taxin’ every little thing. 15 years ago he wanted a new desk for his office; so he started taxin’ food down at the Koffee Kup (yeah, I know its suppose to spelled with a ‘C’, but its a very old sign), and got every one of the old farmers up in arms. But he got his desk, and the old farmers STILL voted fer ‘im. Then he wanted a new fancy chair to go with the new desk, and started taxin’ yarn and bolt goods down at the General Store, and got most of the women riled. But, he got his desk chair, and most of the women folk STILL voted fer him.

About 10-12 years ago the Mayor decided it was time for him to have an Official Mayor’s Car, paid fer by the City. Now this was a major expense, and called fer some right serious money. Well, there is only one way to raise some some right serious tax money up here. I know what yer thinkin’- oh no he didn’t. Well, Cuz, oh yeah he did. He started taxin’ the beer that Rembert’s sold outta back door of the butcher shop. I still can’t figur’ out how he could tax somthin’ that ain't even legal 'round here in the first place, but he did. It weren’t much of a tax, only a nickel a can, but it weren’t long and he raised enough fer his official car.

An’ he got re-elected. I beginnin’ ta think meybe we ought not ta let him count the ballots anymore. But that’s beside the point. Well, in this letter it is anyway. The point is he has taxed about everything y’all can beg or borrow. Not havin’ stole anythin’ lately I can’t tell fer sure if’n he’s taxin’ the stealin’ or not. But we was tryin’ ta figur’ out where the next tax hike was comin’ from when he up an’ announced it. He was startin’ to tax soda pop and candy, Well that’s why the adults couldn’t figur’ out what was next; we don’t eat much candy or drink much pop, so we didn’t know they weren’t taxed.

But the worst part was how he made it sound like it wasn’t fer his good he were doin’ it, but it was fer the chilluns, as the mayor said it. He said ta think ‘bout them little ‘uns with their teeth all rotted from too much candy and soda pop, and how this tax will make it harder fer them ta af’erd so much sugar. Well, how do y’all fight somethin’ like that? I don’t know ‘bout y’all Cuz, but I don’t get no sleep at night if’n I go against the kids. It ain’t my conscience that bothers me, its the wife. But that ain’t the point a’ this letter either. He wound up taxin’ the pop an’ candy, and the Mayor was instantly less popular than the High School Principal. Seems the young ‘uns don't really cotton ta bein’ takin’ care of that way.

Well, we got ta thinkin’ ‘bout it, and up here in the Holler we never had too much trouble with the kids teeth anyway. ‘Cause were parents, don’t ya know, and we limit things like that ta make sure we don’t have kids with rotten teeth. Or rotten minds fer that matter. But that ain’t the point of this letter either. Well Cuz, to make a long story short, if’n it ain’t too late, the mayor got his tax an’ got his car. The kids still buy ‘bout the same amount a’ candy and pop, it just costs more.

An’ guess who is payin’ that more? Yeah, me. The kids had ta get a raise in their 'lowance to cover the new tax. So now they’re happy. Momma has ‘saved the young ‘uns, so she’s happy. The mayor got his new car, so he’s happy, but I didn’t get a raise, so I had ta cut back on the beer, so I ain’t happy.

By gum, I swear this comin’ election I am goin’ ta find somebody ta count them votes fer mayor that ain’t got a dog in that fight!


Best wishes from all of us in the Holler,

Throckmorton Q. Sheisseschnitter

Cousin Throckmorton Has More to Say

Dear Cousin Red,

I have what we call a sit-U-A-shun I hope y’all can help with.

Y’all know my wife has 3 brothers. And all three of ‘em want new cars. Her brothers Jim Bob and George I ain’t got no problem with. Hell, I’ve lent ‘em money a’fore, and they paid it back, on time and to the dime.

The problem is her youngest brother, Willie Jeff. He wants a car too. Problem is he can’t afford the shoe leather ta walk, much less one a’ them hot new Mustangs. ‘Cause I lent Jim Bob and George the cash for their money down and co-signed for their notes, the wife insists that we gotta do the same for Willie Jeff.

But Cuz, that ain’t my problem. Y’all know when the boss says do, y’all do’s. Or face the music. Or more like, face the lack of music, if’n you know what I mean. So I lent Willie Jeff the money down and co-signed his note. An’ he bought a new Mustang.

But Cuz, that ain’t my problem either. See, I had this plan to make sure I weren’t the only one to lose my butt on Willie Jeff’s debt. I didn’t want to lend him the cash, but the boss said I had to. I know what’s gonna happen. That boy ain’t paid off’n a debt in his life. So what I did was tried to get the rest a’ her family to buy some of Willie Jeff’s debt from me, so’s all of us would lose a little, instead a one of us losin’ a lot. Hell I was even gonna give ‘em a break, and sell ‘em just the money I figured to lose and let ‘em share in the interest I was gonna make, if’n I ever saw a dime. And some of ‘em was fer it.

Until I mentioned it was Willie Jeff.

Then they kinda chilled on the idea. So, what I hada do was this. I cut the money I loaned Jim Bob and George inta shares and then cut the money I loaned Willie Jeff into half as many shares. Everybody who bought 2 shares of Jim Bob’s debt or George’s debt hada take a share of Willie Jeff’s. I figured I was bein’ smart. I hear tell that is just what them big New Yawk bankers was doin’ with all them bad loans the guvmint made them give out.

Well, you know Willie Jeff. He beat the eyes outta that car for two months and never even thought about makin’ a payment, to me or to the bank. Next thing y’all know the bank is dunnin’ me for the note I signed for Willie Jeff.

Now Cuz, that still ain’t the problem. Jim Bob and George are doin’ fine. Makin’ payments and takin’ care a’ their wheels. And every month I gotta send cash to all the folks who bought shares in their debt. And every month I gotta send a bit outta my own pocket the help pay off Willie Jeff’s bit, and pay the bank for the note I co-signed, ‘cause by the time they got that car back from Willie Jeff there weren’t much left. I figure that passenger seat and trunk lid they salvaged are gonna take me 10 years ta pay off.

But that still ain’t the problem Cuz. ‘Member how I got inta this mess ‘cause the wife said I had ta? Well, guess whose fault SHE says it is? She’s ridin’ me like a borrowed mule about payin’ all this cash to all these folks for a problem she caused, that she ain’t admittin’ too.

This here is the problem Cuz. A couple a years from now I’ll just start getting’ out a the hole this mess has put me inta and guess what worthless bum’ll come along lookin’ fer another loan? How in the name a’ John Deere do I tell the boss ‘NO’? That’s my problem. ‘Cause I gotta tell y’all Cousin Red, it ain’t worked out any better for me than it did them big New Yawk bankers.

Well, it did work out a little better for them. I’m bailin’ them out all the while I’m bailin out Willie Jeff. I tell y’all, Cuz; life just ain’t fair.

Best wishes from all of us in the Holler,

Throckmorton Q. Sheisseschnitter

Cousin Throckmorton checks in again

Dear Cousin Red,

Y’all may not believe this (Hell, I barely believe it myself, an’ I’m the one that done done it), but I got me one of them computer things. I got it up at the Wal-Mart and had one of the youn’uns hook it up.

Have y’all got one them things?

Hellfire I ain’t never seen the like. I did a search on a thing they call GOOGLE for Wal-mart, and the first thing I find is an article from some magazine called Forbes. I misread it the first time an’ thought it said Fords an’ I thunk that if Ford is a goin’ to sell cars through Wal-mart, them other two that the government owns ain’t gonna have a chance.

But I was wrong. This Forbes magazine (http://www.forbes.com/forbes/2009/0608/024-opinions-retail-health-on-my-mind.html) said Wal-mart a-comin’ to town meant folks would get thinner, because Wal-Mart makes salad cheaper than potato chips. That maybe, but try grabbin’ a handful of salad while y’all is drinking beer and watchin’ NASCAR. It just ain’t right I tell; it just ain’t right.

All I got to say is this guy ain’t as smart as he thinks he is. If’n he thinks it’s the cheap salad that is makin’ folks at Walmart thinner, he ain’t never spent a Saturday lookin’ through a Super Walmart, trying to find an Alan Jackson CD, a quart of oil for the John Deere, a 6 pack a’ beer and some .30-06 ammo for the deer rifle.

It ain’t cheap salad; it’s the 40 miles a’ walkin’ y’all have to do while your inside!

Well Cousin, I guess that’s about it. I hope to hear back from you as soon as y’all is able.

Best wishes from all of us in the Holler,

Throckmorton Q. Sheisseschnitter

A letter from my Cousin

Dear Cousin Red,

I just thought I’d drop a line to let y’all know how things are here in Gunkel Holler. Y’all probably remember that the Holler is a small place. Well, okay, it’s a really small place. But just ‘cause we have our “You are now entering”, and the “You are now leaving” signs one above the other on the same pole doesn’t mean there ain’t smaller places.

And we have our excitement; just last year we had a small circus come through. Well, all it really was was two fellers and an albino goat, but they called it a circus. And three years ago we repainted the barbershop, and got to watch haircuts and paint dry for the same quarter! It seemed like a big deal at the time, but lookin’ back it may have just been the fumes.

We do our level best to stay up with the times. The town council bought a traffic light ‘bout 2 years ago, but we canceled the order when our entire police force pointed out that we didn’t have any cross streets. You probably remember that our entire police force holds their meetings in the front seat of the patrol car. Well, actually it’s not a car as such, but an old three-speed bike with a siren on the front, but we call it a patrol car. We are plannin’ on getting’ a patrol car any time now, just as soon as the chief gets his driver’s license back. (He swears he didn’t know that them parking tickets from the Big City were bad news, he thought they gave him permission to park, you know, like a ticket to a ball game.)

Y’all probably remember that we have our own school system, including a high school. My eldest boy is proudly the class of 2008; not a member of the class, but the whole thing. Since he graduated as class dictator (or somethin’ like that) he had offers from places like Harvard and Yale. He took the job in Harvard. The guy at Yale wouldn’t let him drive the tractor.

Anyway, the reason I took pen in hand is ‘cause I got a new job. I’m now officially the Gunkel Holler Water Commissioner. It’s not much of a job, but it’s the only one my uncle, the Mayor, had left. He made my brother the dogcatcher. He always did like my brother best.

Best wishes from all of us in the Holler,

Throckmorton Q. Sheisseschnitter