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

Another Letter From My Cousin

Dear Cousin Red,

Just a quick note to let y’all know how things are goin’ here in the Holler. Some folks have asked me where I got the name Throckmorton.

I was named after my rich Great-Uncle Quincy. He went by Quincy ‘cause he didn’t like Throckmorton any more than I do. I was named after him in hopes he would leave some money in our direction, but he wound up leaving it to a young nurse he knew, probably in the biblical sense. But I ain’t got it as bad as my youngest brother, Beverly. We didn’t have any sisters, and he was named after a great-aunt with a few coins to leave. All he got was a fine collection of used flea collars.

Speakin’ of kinfolk, my Uncle Billy was just made a granddad for the first time, by his daughter, Hills. They say the kid is the spitin’ image of his son-in-law Josh. To bad Josh is married to his Hills’ twin, Beverly. She didn’t get the money, either. All she got was a large jar full of parts left over from neutering tomcats. Josh claims that half the kids in the Holler look like him. His wife says that doesn’t help his case at all. It just reminds her that there may be room in that jar for one more set. Ain’t they goin’ to be a fun bunch at the family reunion?

Speakin’ of family reunions, we‘ve got one comin’ up on my dad’s side. I’m lookin’ forward to seein’ my second cousin, once removed, Earl. In case some of y’all don’t know about that once removed stuff, here’s the way it works. Once removed means one time we threw Earl out of the family reunion for lightin’ bottle rockets in Granny’s tobacco barn. Earl says it was a moment’s loss of good sense. Granny says that moment started when he was about 5 or 6.

But anyway, he’s goin’ to make his first reunion since then, maybe. Granny ain’t decided if she’ll let him come or not. Earl claims his old banishment don’t count, cause this year he ain’t comin’ as a born in, but a married in, since he’s now married to my brother’s second ex-wife. She’s still invited ‘cause she makes the best potato salad. Granny says she might allow Earl to come, but only if she gets his lighter first.

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

Another Letter From My Cousin

Dear Cousin Red,

I had a minute an’ wanted to make sure I dropt’ y’all a line wishin’ you and yours a Merry Christmas an’ a Happy New Year.

Well, at least as Happy a New Year as y’all can have with them durned Democrats in charge.

We heard about that midnight vote they pulled off in Washington. Just like a damned burglar stealin’ my money at night, they didn’t have the courage to pull this crap in the light a’ day, did they?

But anyway, talkin’ ‘bout Christmas Cards, Cousin Kate got a strange ‘un the other day from some folks she didn’t know. It a’pears that it wasn’t meant to come to Cousin Kate, or even the Holler. The Letter was addressed to almost the same street and house number, but to a completely different city in UK. I knew the University of Kentucky was getting big, but I didn’t think they had their own cities inside the University.

We got to lookin’ at the address an’ Ol’ Uncle Bob got his hands on it, and ‘cause he onct had a girl friend in England he reckoned the address as bein’ in the U. K. Well, that made the card even more interstin’, being meant for a foreign country an’ all.

We was sittin’ ‘round the bar that night, drinkin’ a few beers and discussin’ the days events like we always do and Granny got ta talkin’ ‘bout Kate’s Card. She reckons that the Post Office has been deliverin’ mail as long as she can rec’olect, and probably longer than that. Aunt Ann says that the Post Office was started before the Revolution, which makes it older than the Holler. She figures it to have been formed in maybe 10 or 12 B. H. (Before Holler), which means they been deliverin’ mail for ‘bout 250 years. An’ they still have trouble getting’ it right.

Uncle John, who just turned 65 and had to go on Medicare, got ta talkin’ ‘bout how long the gov’ment’s been handlin’ healthcare almost 50 years and ain’t got that right yet either. He figures that one of the reasons the gov’ment decided to take over the whole doctorin’ business is that way nobody could compare just how bad of a job they do with Medicare, if’n there ain’t nuthin’ to compare it to. He figures it was easier to take over the whole works than it was ta fix the problems with what they already ran.

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 Checks In Again

Dear Cousin Red,

I woke up this mornin’ to the news that they gave this here Obama feller what’s gone and got himself elected President somehow the Nobel Peace Prize. (Myself I got no idea how he was elected. I here some folks say it was a’cause a’ Acorns. I can’t say myself if’n it was just the acorns that got him elected. I tend to believe it was a whole bunch a’ nuts. But I’m getting’ a little off’n my subject).

Turns out this is the third time an American President has won the award while in office. The first was ol’ Teddy Roosevelt. They gave him the prize ‘cause he stopped the Russians and the Japanese from shootin’ at each other. Then they gave it to Woody Wilson, back when he invented the League of Nations, to try an’ keep the whole world from shootin’ at each other, after that great big war they had over in Europe that we had to send some boys over to put an end to.

Now they gone and gave this here award to Obama for…. Just what did they give him this thing for anyway? Do you know Cuz? Did he stop a war someplace that nobody told me about? As fer as I know they’re still killin’ each other- and us- all over that Middle East place. And Africa too. All over that whole continent folks is killin’ each other, even though we elected Obama, nuthin’ has changed.

Hell, he ain’t even ended the wars he’s the boss over. We’re still shootin’ it out in Iraq and Afghanistan. I tell y’all maybe I gotta get out’n the Holler once in a while. Maybe I won’t miss so much news.

The wife has just tol’ me that they quit allowing folks to be nominated for this here Peace Prize back in February. Now don’t that beat all. What ever it was he did to earn this thing he did in the last two weeks a’ January. I know I’m startin’ to suffer from The Old Timer's disease, but still y’all would think I would remember the earth shatterin’ event that happened to convince these folks to fork over a medal and almost a million and a half bucks to this Obama feller. But I just can’t.

Maybe they’re givin’ him this award for what he’s plannin’ to do, instead a’ what he’s done. If’n that’s the case, maybe I could win this Peace Prize too. I’m plannin’ on keepin’ peace in the Holler this weekend. My wife’s Momma is comin’ to spend a few days, and to keep the peace I’m goin’ fishin'.

Y’all there with the Nobel Prize committee, just send the check to the Holler, my brother the mailman will know where to find me.

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

Another Missive From My Cousin

Dear Cousin Red,

I had ta go up to Big City t’other day to get me a checkin’ account. Since I got that computer I found out there is all kinds of things y’all can buy out there in the world and ain’t none of them places take cash. I sure don’t run through the dollar bills like I usta.

So anyways, I had to go up to Big City ta open a checkin’ account. I didn’t think I was ever gonna get done fillin’ out papers. ‘Bout the only thing they didn’t want to know was how often I visited the backhouse. You’da thunk I was atryin’ to walk off with some of their money, ‘stead ‘a givin’ ‘em mine.

When I finally got done tellin’ them folks everythin’ ‘bout me but my math scores from 3rd grade, the feller asks me if I wanted access to the A-T-M. I ask what a TM was. He told me an ATM was a way of getting’ money with a card. I told him sure, but up home we call getting’ money with cards Poker. Then he told me it was a way to get money with out writin’ a check. I told him I do that now, it’s what my wife’s purse is for. He said he meant I wouldn’t have ta go to the bank when I wanted money. I told him we kept my wife’s purse in the bedroom, not the bank.

He then told me that an ATM is a way of getting’ money outta a machine. I told him I knew all about that. I had two cousins who did time for getting money out of a machine. The Feds called it counterfeitin’. An’ I got to tell ya’ that he must have been the most caring feller in the world, ‘cause when I told him about my cousins, he broke right down an’ cried. He was still cryin’ and moanin’ a little bit like he was in pain over somethin’ when I left.

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

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

The mail has brought another letter from my Cousin

Dear Cousin Red,

I was up in the big city t’other day and saw some of the funniest ads on the TV in the bar… I mean place I was in. As usu’l I am a bit cornfused and reckon you can straighten me out.

I kept seein’ ads for all kinds of things to save work around the house. Which ain’t bad. I’m all for workin’ only as hard as I need ta.

But why do the same folks who spend 5 grand on a machine to cut grass that they can ride, so they don’t have to walk though the yard, then go and spend another thousand dollars on a machine they can walk on in their livin’ room?

I ain’t figured that out yet Cousin.

If’n these folks would start chasin’ that lawnmower ‘round the yard twice a week, they could quit paying money to work up a sweat.

That’s another thin’ I just can’t get my head ‘round. Why does a feller pay somebody so hey can work up a sweat?

I’m here to tell ya; if I’m sweatin’, and money is changin’ hands, I sure as there’s foam on beer ain’t gonna be a’spendin’ it. I’m gonna be earnin’ it.

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

Another Letter From my Cousin

Dear Cousin Red,

I am a little worried ‘bout sumthin’ an’ I hope y’all can help me figur’ this out.

I hear tell that we have a new robot President. I am kinda glad we have a new President. I warn’t too fond of the old one. I mean hellfire, we ain’t had a real President since Reagan, and before him tha last real President we had was Jeff Davis.



Sorry ‘bout the break there. Talkin’ ‘bout Jeff Davis reminded me I had ta bring in the flag. Where was I? Oh yeah- the new robot President. What I want to know is this here. Can a robot be President? I mean hellfire, we start putting machinery in the White House I’d rather have John Deere in there than that Obama feller.

Look at it this way. All that Obama feller has done is take what I make. An’ so far I ain’t seen much of it back. My ol’ John Deere takes from me too, but at last I get a lil’ sumthin’ for what it takes. My A Model takes sum gas an’ oil an’ water and gives we a fair days work. That’s all anybody can ask fer- a fair days work for a fair days pay.

It looks like Obama wants to take my gas an’ oil, tax my water an’ leave me hopin’ for sum change back. (I heared that somewhere an’ have been dying for a place to use it for a week a’ Sundays.) An’ I don’t see nuthin’ fair ‘bout that.

Do y’all figur’ this robot President is gonna be differ-rent, or do y’all figur’ he’ll be ‘bout the same? Y’all know the one thing you can count on is the President puts his pants on one leg at a time, just like plain folks. But can this new President even put on his own pants, or does he need help? I hear tell he needs help with his speechafyin’, so maybe he needs help with his pants too. It wouldn’t be anew thing, now would it? I ‘member that that Clinton feller always needed help with his pants too -sum way or ‘nuther.

I mean, I watch tha robots on TV all the time and tha new ones can do sum purty neat things. But none of them ones on TV wear pants- y’all know what I mean? The one thing a man can count on is that his President has a lil’ sumthin’ in common with folks. Like my John Deere- we both love getting’ out in the spring and feelin’ the dirt in our hands. At least, I think my ol’ Deere loves doin’ it. I ain’t never heared him complain none.

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

Have I ever mentioned my Cousin?

I may not have mentioned my cousin Throckmorton; he isn’t really somebody you can bring up in most conversations.

He is actually a second cousin, once removed. I always thought once removed meant you were of the same age, but didn’t share a grandparent. According to Throckmorton, once removed means somebody who has been kicked out of the family reunion, and then let back in. He may not be correct, but Throckmorton does have his moments.

He lives down south, in a little town called Gunkel Holler. I asked him one time exactly what a holler was. According to Cousin Throckmorton, a holler is the spot between two hills, where the tops are close enough together to holler across. Again, I don’t think he’s right, but he does have his moments.

Occasionally I’ll get a letter from Cousin T, as I call him for short- he hates that by the way. “Throckmorton is my name” he’ll say “go ahead and use it”. One conversation we had went something like this:

“Hey Cousin ‘T’!
“Throckmorton is my name, go ahead and use it”.
“Well, Throckmorton is a mouthful. What do your friends call ya?”
“Throckmorton.”
“Oh. The other kin?”
“Throckmorton.”
“Oh. How ‘bout you’re wife?”
“Depends. How mad at me is she?”

I let that one go. There are some things I’m not brave enough to ask.

“Oh. How ‘bout your Mama?”
“Mama calls me Rocky.”
“That’ll work for me. Can I call you Rocky?”
“Yep. As soon as you’re my Mama.”

Anyway, Throckmorton will occasionally send me a letter. I may pass them along; you just never know what he has on his mind.