Bobby Kettle and the Still of Destiny part 6

This here episode was typed out by Clayton, but written by bobby, blah blah blah (its friday, I'm tired, I wanna go shoot some cans, not type) if'n you gots problems, talk to Bobby OK?

The next day Bobby done woke up to a loud clangin that startled him so much he about turned hisself inside out.
“What the hell is that?” Bobby wondered aloud.
“Ohhh nuthin” said the reply, “its just me, Dopey.. Thank you, thankyouverymuch. I was sent to wake up the Bobby Kettle an see if he had any scraps of peanut-butter an banana sandwiches for Dopey to eat, uh HUH, thankyouverymuch!”

Bobby peered over the edge of his bed to see a tiny little fella dressed in a rhinestone jumpsuit, platform shoes, and carrying a bell that was near on half again as big as he was.

“Um......Dopey, right?” Asked Bobby, “I’m not meanin to sound rude or anythin, but what the hell sort of critter ARE you?”

“uuuuuuhh HUH!” said Dopey, “Dopey’s jut your run of the mill house Elvis, Thankyouverymuch. I do simple household tasks like wakin people up, and serenadin the ladies! Rock-n-roll, Rock-n-roll, I’m the King of Rock-n-roll! Thankyouverymuch.”

“Riiiiight” sed Bobby, “Why are you wakin me up so early for?”

“Dopey aint sposed to say,” said Dopey, “Dopey’s manager says he’s supposed to go wake up Bobby Kettle if Dopey ever wants to make a comeback..uuh huh!! But he said that Dopey oughtta leave plannin up to the Colonel, an for Dopey to just worry about singin and a shakin!”

“Okay, well it was nice to meet you Dopey, but I gotta go get ready for Practice now.”

“OOH no!” Said Dopey, “Colonel says I gotta make sure Bobby Kettle doesn’t go to practice thankyouverymuch. Colonel says its much to dangerous an that I’m supposed to hurt you if you try to go because that’ll keep you from goin to practice where you might get hurt!”

Bobby blinked..
“Lemme get this straight Dopey. Some fella called the Colonel says he doesnt want me to get hurt by going to practice, so he says yore supposed to hurt me KEEP me fro gettin hurt?”

“Uhh huh!” said Dopey “Thats what the colonels a-sayin, thankyouverymuch! So best get back in bed or i’ll have to put these blue-suede shoes someplace uncomfortable! Uhh huh! Dopey wont like to though, but Colonel says its the only way Dopey can get famous again!”

“Sorry to disappoint you Dopey,” Said Bobby, “I don’t really give a rip about what some Colonel says. I’m goin’ to practice now! I wouldn’t want to hurt you cause yore a little fellah, but you best stay out of my way—OWW!”

As Bobby started to talk, Dopey whipped out this tiny guitar started to shake and shimmy and shuffle back and forth across the room, and when Bobby got to the word “way”, an orange bolt of lightnin shot from the guitar an hit Bobby in the arm.

“Awww hell man,” said Dopey, “See what you made Dopey have to do ,thankyouverymuch ? Dopey didnt want to, `specially cause it’d be an unfair fight. Magic don’t work on house Elvises- HEY give that back!”

Bobby took two steps forward and snatched the little guitar from the house Elvis. With a smooth motion he brought it crashing down on Dopey’s head, where it remained, quivering with Dopeys head pokin halfway through it. Dopey started wavin his hands around an he started to glow faintly. Cursing under his breath, Bobby picked up the fella by the collar of his jumpsuit, and tossed him out the window. There was a muffled THUMP after several seconds. Later on, Bobby felt real bad for doin’ this because cause his bedroom was s floors from the ground, an for a fella the size of Dopey, it probably seemed closer to 12.

As Bobby rummaged through the pile of clothes on the floor lookin for somethin no too dirty to wear, he noticed a tiny envelope over under his bed. He relized that Dopey must’ve dropped it in the scuffle. He picked up the envelope an opened it. There was a letter inside.

Dear Dopey
I have been in negotiations with the record companies and film studios in LA. They said that they would love to sign you on, but that they were afraid that you were too talented for any of their venues and that even though this would normally pay tens of thousands of dollars, they wouldn’t be able to pay more than about 27 bucks for the Aloha venue. I told them not to worry and that you were an artist and weren’t in it for the money. I told them to give me the 27 bucks and I’d make sure you’d get it. The record companies added a stipulation to the contract though, they said you have to go and wake up Bobby Kettle every morning and prevent him from going to practice for his R.E.A.L.M.A.G.I.C. A.B.Cs club. They said this is the only way that you will ever be famous again, and that if you fail they will hire George Jones to play at the venue instead of you.
Sincerely,
Colonel Barker

PS The record label says that you may have to hurt Kettle very badly in order to keep him from practice. They say its a better fate to be wounded by someone as talented as you, rather than getting blown up by some random spell...

“I wonder what this is all about, like I dont have enough crazies to worry about here!” said Bobby. He shook his head again, there had to be more to this here note. Bobby didn’t know of anyone stupid enough to think some record label could only pay 27 bucks for a concert...then again, the house Elvis’ name WAS dopey. Bobby wondered how long the “Colonel” had been makin’ money off of the tiny entertainer. He wondered how many other tiny house Elvises were getting exploited.. Then Bobby wondered why he was wasting this much of his thought process on the matter.. Fact was the house Elvis was annoying as hell and Bobby couldn’t care less about his financial situation. With that, bobby strapped on his mud boots and headed down to breakfast, and a full day of practicing his covert power-magic skills

Bobby Kettle and the Still of Destiny part 5

Bobby Kettle and the Still of Destiny part 5
Written by Bobby, but typed by Clayton.

Note from Clayton: I cant take no responsibility for this here post. Bobby wrote it an i promised him i'd post it. Theres some romantical stuff down towards the end an it made me all uncomfortable to type it, but Bobby said that tossin in a love story would make "chicks" liek this here story better.



As Bobby, Henrietta, and cletus done made their way toward the House Bootlegger dormitories, Bobby tol them they needed to go an follow him behind the trackter barn where they could chat all private-like.

“Henri, Cletus,” said Bobby, “I know we done just met, but yall seem like trustworthy sorts. Would yall mind if I made a couple of honest observations about what I’ve noticed so far?”

“Why shore Bobby!” said Henri, “Go right ahead an tell us. We aint gonna tell a soule!”

“Ok then, but understand that I ain’t tryin to be mean or nothin’,”said Bobby “I just don’t wanna waste our time by beatin around the bush.”
Bobby took a deep breadth an cointinued, “Seems to me like this here magic school’s got more of an emphasis on the useless ass-end of magic.”

Whaddya mean Bobby?” Squawked Cletus defensively “They done teach us to do lots of stuff!”

“I KNOW Cletus, an I’m sure you an Henri over there are pretty good at what you do. What i’m talikin about is that there shore does seem to be a big concentration on usin magic to do the same sorts of things ENNYONE could do without usin NO magic!
Now takey look at that knitting class over on the green. Where I come from, old ladies knit all the time without magic. Its a helluva lot easier, it dont give no headaches, an they can talk an carry on a right pleasant conversation whilst doin it.”

“Well of COURSE! Magic is about makin life easier! What else would annyone wanna use magic for?”

“Dont you see?” said Bobby “It DONT make life easier! Back in the real world, aint NO ONE stabes themselves in the face while tryin to eat grits. An they shore as hell don’t gotta sit through three semesters of food-levitation jus to be able to feed theyselves! Shouldnt magic be used fer the sorts of stuff that can’t be done otherwise? Would them terrorists over in af-ganiestan have been able to touch america if them folks who used magic was usin it fer more than creatin spells to feed the cat when they’re away?
What if folk up an used their magic to heal sick folk an cure diseases instead of tryin to fix injuries they done got whilst playin demolition derby on brooms? Usin magic could shore kick some ass if folks in this school would let it!”

“But them profs wont teach hus that sort of stuff Bobby!” Said Henri, “Besides, that sort of magic is real dangerous, an it could hurt lots of people if’n it done fell into the wrong hands!”

“But think of the good that could be done!” Said Bobby, “Shore bad folks could get hold of some dangerous magic.. But the way I see it, bad is bad, an bad folks is gonna find some way to mess stuff up whether it be by magic, or by guns, or by drivin up the rpice of gas. Folks as is eavle are probably learnin the powerful stuff anyway! And them folks as is good aint gonna have no way to defend theyselves....Les face it. Eatin grits real good shore as hell aint gonna stop a big ol ball of fire from hittin you in the head.”

“Well gee Bobby, what should we do?” Asked Cletus.

“I think we should start a special club where students can learn to do real stuff with magic like castin chain lightnin, or acid rain, or mordenkainen’s failthfull hound!”

“I aint never heard of them spells before,” said Henri, “An I’ve been going to this here school since the 1st grade.”

“Thats cause they aint real spells I named. We got this here board game in the real world called Dungens and Dragins. Its a game that folk play where they pretend to use magic an swords an all sorts of medievil weaponry. We can set this up like one of them live action role play events, Non-users cal em LARPs. If anyone asks, we can tell em that we’re studying the habits and pre-conceived notions of the non-magic folk.”

“So we’d be pretendin to be non-magic users who are pretendin to use magic?” asked Cletus.

“Thats a pretty good idear!” Said Henrietta, “We can tell them that we’re werkin on a reesearch project for non-magical anthropology!”

So them three kids walked back to the dorm to formulate a plan, an within less than a week, that club was fixin to bust with all the kids runnin around on the green. They tol the faculty that they was rehearsin for a play they was gonna do that showed some legends that them non-magic folk told, an not to worry about the flashes of light, cause they was just sound and lightin effects for added drama. The teachers agreed that it would be good for the students to study non-magic users so that they could better understand the prejudices of the non-magic folk.

It had been a hard day of practice in the Research Experiment And Learn More About Giving Information Cearly About Benevolent spellCasters Society
(or “R.E.A.L. M.A.G.I.C. ABCs”).
Bobby, Henri, an Cletus had been tasked with fillin in a new crater left behind when Evely Skunkin accidentally cast a level 5 “Meteor Shower”, instead of the expected “Meatier Shower” seasoning-spell for that day’s batch of chili. As of this point, there waarnt much left of the practice ground except for the outdoor stage which had all sorts of protective charms onnit.
Even though the professor’s parting instructions had been to use a diggin-manipulation spell on some shovels, they decided to use their newfound power-magic to focus some localized seismic forces to vibrate the crater into bein level ground once more. It took lots of concentratin, but the 3 managed to fill in the 50 foot hole in about 5 minutes.
They wasn’t expected back in class for at least 5 more hours, so they decided to kick back and take it easy.

Cletus plopped down underneath a sycamore, kicked off his boots, an pointed at a nearby bottle of water. “Expecto Patròn!” he shouted.

“That ain’t how you say it!” said Henri, “it supposed to go ‘pase el tequilla, por favor’. THATS how the mexicans say it.. an it’s probably not gonna be Patron, It’ll probably be gordons or somethin cheap since the bottle’s plastic. Besides, you souldnt be drinkin hard alchiehol Cletus Weasel! You ain’t old enough. SHAME on you!”

“I didn’t really want to drink no tequila,” Said Cletus, “I jus like how pretty- uh... I mean how funny you look when yore angry!”

“Is that SO?” hollered Henri, “Lemme show you jus how funny it is when i whoop yore ass Cletus!”. With that she hauled back and slapped Cletus in the shoulder.

“Wow, you hit likea girl Henrietta!” said Cletus.
The angry girl responded by hittin Cletus again.

SMACK

“Ow that hurts!” said Cletus with a grin.

SMACK

“Ow, stop it! Please!”

SMACK

“Stop it some more!”

SMACK

“GAWD, jus keep stoppin it, just like that!”

SMACK

Before Henri could land the next hit, Cletus grabbed both her wrists and they both fell into a kicking, screaming mess on the ground. They rolled all over the place, knockin over tools and chairs an stacks of scripts. Them two finally came to rest in the middle of the stage in a tangled heap, with Henri on top. They stared at each other for a second... Suddenly, it got reel quiet as they both began to understand jus how awkward the situation had got.

“WILL you two jus quit wastin time an get it over with?” said Bobby “Just kiss each other an get it outta the way! You two are pathetic!”

“I don’t know what yore talkin’ about Bobby Kettle!” said a blushing Henri, “Cletus Weasel is the most igant, bone-headed, UGLY sumbitch I ever saw!”

“Yeah!” Said Cletus, “An Henri’s a knowitall, an she’s rude, an she never stops talkin long enough to figger whats goin on, and she’s got the absolute softest an nicest skin I’ve ever seen, an she’s stupid, an she smells like my uncle randy after he’s been catfishin, and she sucks at magic!”

There was an even MORE uncomfortable silence.

“...you think my skin’s soft Cletus?” asked Henri

“Uhhhhh...” Said Cletus “I meant soft like a rotten piece of fruit!”

“...oh” said Henri.

“AHEM” Bobby cleared his throat. “Yall might find this conversation less awkward if you wasn’t still all tangled up on the floor.”

Henri an Cletus both jumped up like they’d got stuck with a cattle prod.

“I hate you Cletus Weasel!” shouted Henri.
“I hate you too Henrietta Gander! I’ve hated you from the moment I first laid eyes on you when you popped out of the arrival loo in them acid washed jeans an them pretty green tennis shoes.”

“I hate the way you stand up for me in front of them bastards from Coal Scuttle”
Said Henri.

“I hate your deep green eyes an the way you walk all graceful like a deer”
Said Cletus.

“I never want to see you again Cletus!” shouted Henri.

Cletus replied “Me Either! I never want to see you again. I ESPECIALLY don’t want to see you tomorrow night out by the big rock. I’d never go swimmin with you by moolight if you was the last person on earth!”

“Well DONT WORRY!” hollered Henri, “I WONT BE THERE, and I SHORE AINT LOOKIN FORWARD TO IT. And I shore I aint gonna be there after 9:00 cause I aint got an exam to study for!”

“FINE!”

“FINE!”

The two students stomped off in opposite directions.

“Gawdalmighty,” thought Bobby to hisself “I ain’t never seen two idiots try harder to act like they aint smitten in my life!”

With that, he gathered up the shovels, locked them away in the toolshed, and moseyd back on over to his dorm to try to figure out exactly where it was that big rock was that Cletus and Henri werent goin to, cause he shore as hell didn’t want any part of that situation.

--to be continued--

Bobby Kettle and the Still of Destiny. part 4

As Bobby walked through the dor of the dining hall, his nose got attacked by all sorts of aromas. These smells seemd to come from a mess of barrels that floated around the 6 long tables that all them magic-type students were stitin at. Each of them barrels was labeled with words like “Beef Jerky”, “Deer jerky”, “Turkey Jerky”, “Gator Jerky, “Yak Jerky”, “Bison Jerky”, “Elephant Jerky”, “Kangaroo Jerky”, “Gizzards”, “Greens”, “Grits”, etc.

From where Bobby was standin, It looked like most of the students was trying to serve theyselves by transportin food from the barrels onto there plaets. Some attempted to do this magically levitatin spoons, ladles, an forks, while others just tried levitatin the food itself onto the plate....most of these kids was failin pretty miserably, and quite a few of the younger students were nursing burns from poorly aimed globs of steamin grits.

“I shore do hate mealtime,” said Henri, “i up and get me a big ol headache tryin to levitate that fork into my mouth. I most always wind up havin to go to the dockter sos he can fix my face after I accidentally stab myself. Besides, I done get me a headache from all of that concentratin!”

“Thats why you gotta stop tryin to use sharp flatware to eat, Miss Knowitall!” Said Cletus, “How come you don’t just pick up the FOOD with magic? There aint much point in usin a levitatin spoon to eat grits when you can levitate the grits theyselves!”

“.......Uh, why don’t yall jus pick up them spoons an forks with your hands an eat that way?” asked Bobby.

Henri laughed, “Thats perty funny Bobby, but why’d anyone want to pick em up with their hands? If we was sposed to use our hands, the silverware wouldn’t have them magic antennas stickin out the back for the spells to grab onto!”

“Those aint ‘magic antennas’ said Bobby, thems is called HANDLES. That’s what you grab onto with your hands, like this.. Bobby picked up a ladel and began heapin gizzards an greens onto his plate. It done got so quiet in the dinin hall that you could hear a pen drop as all them folks watched Bobby eat! Folks begin to murmur in awe. “Thats HIM!” “Thats the Fella That Lived!” “He’s so in tune with magic that he can pick up his silverware with his HANDS! He aint even usin a wand! He must know some sort of maniperlatin charm that lets him grab onto magic items!”

Suddenly, Bobby felt a hard an heavy hand grip his shoulder.
“Stirring the pot already, are we Kettle?” Said Cerberus, “Typical! Your father was a pot-stirrer! Perhaps you haven’t noticed, but the name of this institution is the Magic Valley Magical School of Magic and Mystisism, is it not? Perhaps using one’s hands is acceptable in the Magic Valley Magical School of Picking Things Up With One’s Hands, but not here.... 10 points from Bootlegger house!”

There was a stifled grone from all them students at Bobby’s table.
“Points? What the hell are points?” asked Bobby

“Points get assigned when you do somethin good,” Said Cletus, “an they takes points away ifn you screw up! At the end of the school year, whichever house has the most points gets to have they name engraved on the SOD Trophy.”

“An what’s thew SOD Trophy? Is it like a statue made out of turf?” Bobby asked.

“Naw Bobby,” Said Henri, “SOD stands fer somethin magical. But we students aint allowed to know what it means. The trophy itself shore is pretty though. Its about 10 feet tall an all coppery, or so I’ve been told. I ain’t never seen it cause House Deliverance has won the competition fer the pas 20 years.”

“Let me get this straight,” said Bobby, “I gotta burn my face all year long instead of usin’ a spoon so that we can get enough points to have our names engraved on some sorta tropy yall ain’t never seen?”

“You got it, Bobby!” Said Cletus.

“@#$% THAT!!!!” said Bobby.

No sooner had the words left his mouth than all hell broke loose. The ground heaved and there was an explosion at one end of the dining hall. Tables, n chairs , n students flew in every direction like a buncha green army men taped to an M-80. The moans of the wounded and dying was heard all around. Miraculously though, Bobby’s end of the table seemed to be unharmed.

“BOBBY!” screamed Henri “You just launched an f-bomb! I thought that spell was a myth!!!! Oh them poor people!!!!”

“KETTLE!” Screamed professor Cerberus Schlitz as he pointed his wand at Bobby, “I knew from the moment I you set foot on campus that you would be trouble, but THIS? The penalty for using one of the unforgivable curse words is absolute! AVADA KEDAVR-“

“HOLD ON THERE CERBERUS!” Dangledare said, appearin as if by magic (oh yeah, it would hafta have been by magic?)
“Bobby didn’t know his own power. The f-bomb is a commonly used word by them that dont got no magic skill! In Bobbys mind, he was jus cussin, an didnt know it would kill ¾ of the people in the school. Good thing this here’s easy to remedy with the Soap of Unsayin!”
Dangledare pushed a glowing bar of soap into Bobby’s mouth.
As soon as the bar of soap entered Bobby’s mouth, there was a big ol whirrin sound like when you push rewind on an 8-track. The pieces of the dining hall an pieces of students all magically fit back together.

“There now,” said Dangledare, “No harm no foul, right Cerberus?” with that he re-disappeared into thin air..

“BUT ITS THE LAW!” Whined professor Schlitz, “Still it would be typical of the Kettle name to wade into matters far beyond them. Your father was a cheeky know it all too Kettle!. 10 points from bootlegger!” and with that he turned around to leave.

“Yeah, get stuffed Cerbie!” said Bobby

Snape- i mean Schlitz stiffened and whirled around,
“What did you say to me Kettle?”

“I said ‘g e t s t u f f e d’” bobby said slowly.

“I see”, said Cerberus “and where exactly did you have in mind for me to get stuffed?”

Bobby was unsure what to say, though he knew for sure the mean ol professor guy didnt understand what he jus said. “I don’t mean no place in particular, “get stuffed is just a figure of speech!”

“Spouting off words and phrases without any sort of concrete meaning? Typical!” sneered Cerberus, “Your father was a gibbering fool as well! 5 more points from Bootlegger!”

“Why no make it an even 10 sos it’ll be easier for you to add?” Bobby retorted.

“30 points from Bootlegger!” came the reply.

“Do I look like I care?” asked Bobby

The professor peered intently at Bobby.. “No it seems you don’t care at all Kettle... Perhaps you think you’ll pull of some great heroic feat at the end of the semester that will bolster your Houses dismal scores? Typical! Your father was always one for delusions of heroic grandeur!”

“Ok professor, let me try an explain myself real clear-like,” said Bobby as grabbed a pet rat on a nearby table.

“Do you see this Rat, professor?” asked Bobby

“Yes..” said Schlitz

“Rodentiae Levitae!” said Bobby with a flick of his wand. The rat begain to hover in the air..
“Do you see this here lying rat, professor?

“Yes Kettle, I see the flying rat.. Very typical! Your father was always trying to turn rats into birds!”

“I ain’t finished,” Said Bobby, lifting the rat’s tail. “Do you see this here flying rat’s ass?”

“Yes, I see the flying rat’s nether-regions,” said the professor, “but I fail to see the relevance of-“

“OK.” Said Bobby, “now do you notice how I ain’t givin it to you?”

“.....Yess....” said Cerberus slowly as a look of understanding began to appear on his face.

Bobby continued, “So this is me not givin' a flying rat’s ass about points, or a stupid trophy, or whatever the hell you think about my father.
500 points from bootlegger! 1000 points from Bootlegger. I DONT CARE. Its a stupid system that aint got nothin to do with magic.”

“Brave words Kettle” sneered the professor, “lets see how brave you are when I take 300 MORE points from Bootlegger!!!!!”

Bobby realized that the conversation weren't headin nowhere, so he jus shook his head and walked out of the dinin room to shouts of “100 MORE points from bootlegger!! 50 points from Bootlegger!! 400 points from bootlegger!! HAHAHAHAHAH!!!!”

“Bobby!” said Cletus, “We ain’t NEVER gonna win now! We got more'n -1200 points now! We ain’t never been this low!!”

“Don’t worry bout it Cletus,” said Bobby, “I got me a plan!

--to be continued--

Bobby Kettle and the Still of Destiny part 3

As the ceremony ended, 2 students chased down Bobby an started yammerin at him all excited like. The girl might have been cute, but it was too early to tell (he’d have to wait a few more movies before he could tell). The boy looked so much like a scarecrow that Bobby had to try hard not to laugh.

“Hay there!” Said the girl, “you’re that thar Bobby Kettle aint ya? Yore FAMOUS! My names Henrietta Gander, but you can call me Henri. This here is Cletus Weasel!”

“Hah Bobby! I’m Cletus, this is my pet raven Scrambles. Wanna be best friends?”

“Ok” Said Bobby, “But why are yall sain that I’m famous?”

“Because yore the boy that LIVED!” said Henri, “You was playin’ football against Bath county highschool and got run over by defensive linesman Moose Vanderhoven!! `Last person who did that died on the way to the hospital!”

“Stop sayin his name HenrI!” whined Cletus, “You know that done bring bad luck! Maybe you metro-bloods have a tough time understandin that!”

At this, Henri turned all pale-like an slapped Cletus across the face, “Goldangit Cletus, if I didn't have such a big secret crush on you, I’d done cast a catch-no-more fishin hex on you!”
Noticing Bobby’s confused look, Henrietta clarified, “a Metro-blood is a really terrible name for somebody whose parents don’t come from rural areas. Its like the N-word, but fer hillbilly wizzardin students.”

“Aww I’m sorry Henri”, said Cletus, “I was just havin fun. I wont do it no more, I promise! but you shouldn't be usin MV's full name out loud. havent you heard the rumors that he done broke out of juvie?”

"I aint skeered," said Henri, "He dont got no special powers of bein able to hear his name whenever someone says it! sto pbein such a baby!"

“Well,” said Bobby, “`looks like I wont be doin much talkin with you two around. Why don’t you two jus stop pretendin you hate each other an save some time an jus go make out? Its perty obvious yer both takin a fancy to t’other.”
Both students laughed nervously at this and told bobby he was imaginin stuff.

As Bobby, Henri, and Cletus started to make their way toward their dormiteria, they got stopped by a mean lookin boy who blocked their way past the Magic fountain of KorhnLikker.
“Well, well, well,” Said the boy, “If it isn’t the famous Bobby Kettle!”

Cletus piped up “What do you want Maco? I dint reckon Dralfoy’s was allowed to slither out from under them rocks once the sun was up!”

the strange boy turned up his nose at this and said, “Weasel! I thought I smelled vermin? Kettlw, why are you associating with this riffraf, are you lost? Your home is in CoalScuttle! Its such a shame to see you hanging around this Metro-blood and the Weasel! Your poor dead mother would be turning in her grave to see you like this--- OOWWW!”

Now Bobby was smart, he could tell right off the bat what sort of relationship he an Maco was gonna have. So he hauled off an broke that Dralfoy sumbitch’s nose as soon as he started speakin bad about Bobbys mama. Cletus and Henri jus stared at him in amazement.

“So this is how its gonna be, Mr Dralfoy,” said Bobby, “If’n yore gonna speak bad about my mama, I’m a break your nose. Ifn you touch me, i’ma break yer finger... Ifn you try an cast any of them little spell thingies on me, i’ma take that wand away from you an cram it someplace it’s not sposed to go. I aint scared of detention OR jail...so lets see you up’n rethink how you’re gonna talk to me from now on!”

Mako Dralfoy didnt say a word, but crawled away while he sobbed grate big tears of pane.

Henri rounded on Bobby “That was incredible Bobby! You didn’t use no magic or charms or curses or even a hex! Are you wearin some sorta invisible enchanted glove that breaks people’s noses when they get touched?”

“Uh.. naw,” said Bobby, “It was just a punch.”

“A punch?” asked Cletus, “That sounds like some sorta potion! I didnt know you knowed how to make magic potions yet!”

“Aw hell, it werent nothin magical,” protested Bobby, “I jus hit him with my hand that I done balled up into a fist.”

There was a breif pause by them other two students before Henri said, “You mean that it weren't no magic attack? You jus hit him with yer hand an his nose got broke? Thats fascinatin! Where’d you learn to break someone without usin magic?”

(Bobby was startin to realize that this school must be full of reel idiots.)
“Well its a long story," he said "I’ll fill yall in on the details over dinner.”

With that, the 3 new friends turned around an headed back to the dinin hall where the smell of beef jerky and moonpies floated through the air.

To be continued

Bobby Kettle and the Still of Destiny part 2.

Typed out by Arlister Braxton, but written by Robert (a.k.a Bobby) Warbuck.
<
With a loud crack and a flash of light, Bobby rocketed out of the #4 arrival outhouse in the Magic Valley’s Magical School of Magic and Mysticism. He landed at the feet of a tall, hook-nosed fella dressed in black.
“Well Kettle, I see you’re lying down on the job already! Typical....you’re just like your father!” Said the stranger.

“The lad just done arrived here, Cerberus.” Said another voice, “I expect he’s still sufferin from the shock of travellin by loo network. Bobby, how’re you feelin boy?”

Bobby looked up to see a kindly old man who looked like a skinny SantaClaus all dressed in huntin coveralls with yellow stars sewed all over.
“Yessir,” said Bobby, “I’m kinda dizzy, but I think I’m ok. Are you Albatross Dunkledare?”

“Well aint you jus a smart boy, I knowed you was special! Don’t mind this sourpuss over here,”
The old man said, gesturing to the man in black, “This here’s Cerberus Schlitz, our distillery and fermentation master. He’s as sour as the corn mash he uses for cookin up `shine. He’s a stickler for the rules though, I’ll give him that!”

“Very well Kettle,” Said Schlitz “I see you’re endearing yourself to the headmaster already. (Typical, your father was a sycophant as well...) I trust that in the future you will take more precautions when making entrances into the School grounds?”

“Y-yassir..” Stammered Bobby

"Typical," sneered Snap- i mean Cerberus, "your FATHER stuttered too.. I trust you wont stutter in my moonshine and home remedies class? I thought not."

With that Schlitz done whirled around and walked off towards what must have been the distillery.
Albatross helped Bobby to his feet, brushed him off , an began to show him around the campus. First on the tour was a trip to the school's duellin’ club, where members from the houses of Bootlegger and CoalScuttle competed to see who could play cripple creek faster on enchanted mandolins and banjos.
Next, they toured the Defense against Yankee Arts class where students were being taught that while cabbage is an accepted ingredient for cole slaw, it should never never never be boiled and served as a main course. Finally, they passed the Mystic Taxidermy class where an attractive young lady from house WackyTobaccy was summoning the mounted head of a 84 point buck.

"Professor, I didn't know there was deers that got that many points!" Exclaimed Bobby.
"Why they shore do!" said Dunklldare, "....well at leas them magic ones have got em!"

At this point a loud whistle sounded, and dozens of students and faculty started to stream outta all the outlyin buildings.

“Lets get the lead out, Bobby!” Said Dunkledare, “Its almost time for the sortin ceremony!”

Bobby entered a long, low dining hall where dozens of other students were sittin’ an lookin towards the stage. It seems the star attraction was an enchanted gun rack that was floatin around the stage an singin a song. Now Bobby thought this was the dumbest song he’d ever heard (and he was right), but he decided to lay low an not say anythin about it.
The gun rack continued to bob and spin on the stage, singing it’s song that sounded somethin like this:

Oh I’m the sortin rack, sortin-sortin-sortin rack, I’m the sortin rack listen to me.
Ima pick what house yore in,
Ima pick what house yore in,
I’ma pick what house yore in, an you dont get no say!

Oh...
Bootleggers are sellouts
CoalScuttles’ are dropouts
WackyTobaccys teeth fall out
An Deliverance House is ga--....erm.. I mean strange!

Each student would walk up to the stage and wait for the sortin rack to decide.
Once the Rack made it’s decision, object would show up on the rack, thereby determinin what house each student would go to.
House Bootlegger got a double barreled shotgun
House Coal Scuttle got a compound bow
House WackyTobaccy got a lever action 30/06
Deliverance house got a pump action 4/10 shotgun.

When it came to be Bobby’s turn, the sorting rack was havin trouble makin up it’s mind..

“Hmm... you are a handsome and strong young man who is very popular.. you’d make a perty good bootlegger or coal scuttle student..” said the rack.
“Please dont put me in Coal Scuttle!” begged Bobby, “Them compound bows suck! Please let me be in Bootlegger house!”
“Oh ok,” said the sortin rack, “If yer sure? I stand by my instincts though, you’d have made an excellent CoalScuttle!”
"yer wrong.." said Bobby.
The Sortin Rack twirled around and a nice new over-under remmington appeared on the rack. All the folks in house Bootlegger cheered on account of gettin such a handsome an smart person for their house.

-to be continued-

Bobby Kettle and the Still of Destiny (Part 1)

“Bobby Kettle and the Still of Destiny”
Part 1.

Typed out by Arlister Braxton Clayton, but written by Robert (a.k.a Bobby) Warbuck.
##Note from Clayton: I make no claims whatsoever to the quality of this here story. If you think it’s dumb, talk to Robert cause I just typed it.##

Bobby Kettle was a lot like most other boys in Critchville; He liked to play football, race bikes with his friends, and drink ale-8. Bobby was a very attractive and manly young man who was the most popular kid in school. Bobby was not like other boys though `cause strange things would happen whenever Bobby got hopped up on too much caffeine... Sometimes his shoes would catch on fire for no reason if he was embarrassed. Sometimes streetlights would burn out when he walked underneath them.. He was even known to walk into thin air right off of the front porch of his house for a few steps before realizing that he had forgotten to fall to the ground. Bobby was sad because he thought he was a freak, and even though he was handsome and popular and smart, he felt very lonesome because he was different.

One evening Bobby was lying awake in bed because he couldn’t sleep. Suddenly, he heard a noise at his `winder. Looking up, he was surprised to see a large white turkey purched on his `winder sill. The turkey was carryin a big ol package labeled “TO: Robert Kettle”. Bobby opened the package and found a set of blue overalls with lighning bolts stitched all over, and a matching baseball cap. He was very confused and didn’t understand what was happening. He felt a nudge at his elbow, and he turned around to see the turkey offerin him a folded piece of paper. Bobby opened the note and read what it said:

Yore not diffrent, yore special! There is a place where other people like you can go to school and learn how to be even specialler. Yuo are full of magick Bobby, and you should learn to use it good. Come to Magic Valley’s Magical School of Magic and Mistisism and learn and stuff!”

Love,
Albatross Dunkledare
Headmaster MVMSMM.

PS. If you are intersted in coming, you should ask the turkey. Don’t be nervos, yore a parcelmouth. This means you can talk to any animal that brings you a package. His name is Footwick, and he’ll be happy to asist you an help you.


“Wow!” said Bobby, “I cant believe I got a genuwine letter! Aint nobody written me anything before! Can you really understand what I’m saying Mr Turkey?”

“Gobblegobble-Yes I can Gobblegobble” said the turkey, “Gobblegobble-Do you want to come and learn to do magic stuff? Gobblegobble”

“Oh yes! Very much!” said Bobby, “When can we go?”

“Gobblegobble-Well, we can leave right now, Gobblegobble” said Footwick, “Gobblegobble-Have you ever used Loo Powder before? Gobblegobble.”

“No I haevn't”, said Bobby, “How do I do that?”
“Gobblegobble-It’s easy! Is there an outhouse around here? Gobblegobble” said Footwick..

“Sure is,” said Bobby, “There’s one out back that we’ve not used for about 10 years now.”

“Gobblegobble 10 years huh? It might be a bit stale, but I think it will still work on the Loo network. Gobblegobble”

So Bobby an the turkey went out behind his house to the creepy old outhouse.

“Gobblegobble-Here take this powder and go into the outhouse, Gobblegobble” said Footwick, “Gobblegobble-sit down on the seat and throw the loo powder up into the air while speaking the name of the place you want to go to. In this case you want to say ‘Magic Valley’ Gobblegobble”

Bobby took the offered Loo powder, tossed it into the air and said “Magic Valley”.
There was a loud noise as Bobby got sucked butt-first through the seat in the outhouse. There was a blindin flash of light and he was gone!

I saw me some harry potter!

Me’n Clint’n Bobby up and drove all the way into Richmond this weekend to see that new harry potter movie (LeeRoy wouldn’t come cause he said it was a kid’s movie). I got me these free tickets from a raffle at Adar Quarry’s company picnic, ann I was itchin to go see somethin an enjoy the fine sites of the city of Richmond.... Ok so meybe there aint that many fine sites in Richmond, but there are lots and lots of “OK” sites to see. We left town about 1:30 in the PM, and wound up in Richmond just before dinner .I’m not sure how long it should take to get there cause I ain’t been even once when somethin bad didn’t happen traffick-wise; this time my truck got a flat an we had to patch it up on the shoulder of the highway.
Anyway we made it finally and got to have oursselves some whitecastles before we went to the movie. Then we watched the movie and went home.... thats it!

Now if I ended the post here it would probably be a pretty borin waste of time, an yall’d get pissed off an not read it no more, but the point of this post ain't to talk about goin to the movie, its what happened afterwards as a result of goin to the movie.

Bobby has decided to write a downhome version of Harry Potter, an he wants me to post it on my blog. I tried tellin him that it warnt no hard thing to make a blog, but he jus said he’d rather work on the “storeycraft” and leave the “computer wizzardry” to me.

I don’t want to be discouragin to Bobby, but that boy aint never finished nothin in his entire life, an I’m pretty sure that “Bobby Kettle and the Still of Destiny” won't be no exception to the rule. But i’ll try an report this as accurately as possible, though i’ll have to put some disclaimer-type thing on the front of the posts so that yall can differentiate which one of us is writin it.

In the meantime, I’ll give you list of some of the magicianary-type spells we done come up with.

MaizCanus Apparatus: Causes a corndog to appear out of thin air. Higher level wizzards can summon it with mustard.

Strapus Non-fraeus: All purpose repair spell for broken fan belts, straps, cords, etc.

Illumen Rackus Vehiculus: This lightin’ spell causes 4 balls of light to hover above the roof of yore truck to form a magical light rack.

Treadus Knobulous: Turns regular tires into mud tires.

Dendrae Familiae schizmaticae: This spell causes an attractive member of the caster’s extended family to no longer be related to the caster.

Canae silenciae:A usefull spel foer gettin a barkin dog to hush-up

Aires Velocitus: this spell makes yer Dodge drive way faster.

Goodnes-o gracious-o: Summons a great ball of fire to fly at yore enemies.

Pullae!!!: Summons a magickal clay disk to fly away from the caster so that the caster can shoot his shotgun at it for targit practice.

Ursus arctos horribilis Plentiae: Instantly refills any nearby cans of grizzly-brand smokeless tobacco. (WARNING! If said improperly, may summon a large group of REAL grizzlies)

Petrolatum Sin Costa: Free gasoline spell (not to be confused with Flatulae libertae)

Flatulae Libertae: Imbues the targit with a bad case of gas.

Lingua Sofa: Enables the caster to communicate with livin-room furniture.

Regis-Fermentis: This raises the alchohol tolerance of the caster, thereby makin it sos he can drink way more than anyboddy else.

Avis Libertius: Causes any musical performers in the area to suddenly break into a rendition of freebird.

We’ll try to come up with some more spells in the meantime. I dont know if any or all of em will show up in Robert’s screen play... time will tell I guess...

Doug Palmer aint no cripple!

You know, Its mosly true when they say aint nothin in life is free.. Ok so maybe sometime you can get presence an stuff for your birthday or christmas an you don’t have to pay for it, but by an large even that’s gonna cost you in the end. Once you cross that gift-line with a friend then reciprocation is expected.. So even gifts arent free because you’ll wind up buyin a gift for that person down the road unless you’re a jerk or somethin. Now this aint sposed to sound all mercenary-like. I aint sayin I begrudge gettin people stuff, cause i enjoy birthday shoppin to be quite honest.. What i’m tryin to say is that nearly everythin has it’s price in one way or another, sooner or later.
“Do unto others” the bible says, an its true. You’ve gotta continually invest time, money, love, or a combination of the three in general upkeep.
What really cracks me up about some of the people round here is that they’s always tryin to get somethin fer nothin, even though they’ll spend way more time an effort in tryin to avoid pain for somethin. Like how when the gas-n-go was offerin a BFGO sale (buy 5, get one free) sale on nickel-plated lightup-led skull butane jet lighters, there was a line out the door cause people was wantin to get a free lighter.. It didnt matter that they now had paid for 5 refillable novelty lighters, all theys was carin about was the free one they got.. Needless to say, that christmas most everbody in the holler got them a fancy lighter as a stocking stuffer.

This all leads up to the story I’m about to tell. Now I’ve not talked much about Douggie Palmer; maybe this was cause folks say it aint too nice to make fun of the handicaps. Thanks to a few hours on webmd and some other sites, I found out that Doug aint, in fact, disabled.

It all started years ago when Doug moved into his own place. Now all growin up, Douggie’s parents aint raised him right. Now I can say that cause I growed up with him and got to see first hand what happens when folks try so hard to give their kids a good life that they wind up hurtin them in the long run. Douggie never got paddled or punished for nothin.. Maybe he’d get the occasional “douggie, you shouldnt do that!” from his mama, but that was about it. Now I’m sure this tactic works for some kids, but not Douggie.. He knowed full well he could get away with murder, and it didn’t make one lick of difference. So he basically grew up in an environment where there werent no consequences for what he done, and he didnt have no responsibilities neither. Now I can sympathize that his parents didnt want to make their only kid waste his summer mowin the yard, hell, mowin the yard sucks! But it stands to reason that douggie had never had to work for anythin he ever got.. he’s kinda like takin a spoiled little rich kid, but with none of them trust funds, or fancy cars, or nikey shoes, or family connections, or book-learnin that’d help him get more’ve a shot than workin at the SparkleShine carwash.

ANYHOO, this is all to say that it was quite the culture shock to ol Douggie when he struck out on his own.. Apparently he thought that water, electricity, and propane just sprung up from the ground by magic and was free to use. Apparently Livin room rugs was supposed to sweep theyselves, an the pantry would mysteriously fill itself up with spam and frootloops every Thursday. Now you’re probably startin to see the problem here. Douggie never got taught that you gotta pay for livin in somethin beside a cardboard box.. Of course there’s systems out there to help folk who cant do for themselves, lord knows there’s enough up in the holler, an folks who’re creative enough to milk the system can get by too.. Sadly for Doug, he wasn’t neither type. I don’t know much about them folks that work at the unemployment office, but I’m pretty sure they made the right choice when they told him that even if he had been laid off, jus because there wern’t no “fun jobs” around, it didnt mean he was qualified for an unemployment check. He thought about goin on wellfare, but back before he left home LeeRoy bet him 300 bucks that he was so helpless that he couldnt hold down a job and that he’d wind up on welfare within one year.

So that winter, Douggie learned the lesson that a trailer’s gotta have electricity or propane to stay warm. Now most non-assisted folk would go an get a job to remedy this preedicament, not Doug Palmer. He had this ol fashioned coal burning stove that he found in a rundown ol cabin way up in the hills. He decided that this was better than a furnace on account of he knew where to get some coal for free.
Now the LauraBelle mine had been shut down for about 50 years by this time, because there warnt enough coal left to make it “commerically viable”. This didnt mean there warnt no coal, it just meant that it wasnt worth payin for the cost of business to get said coal from said hole in the ground. Nowadays, the mine was technically closed, but every couple of months, some group of college students’ll stop by on a weekend and spend all day crawlin around while underground pretendin they was hardcore adventurers.. The rest of us in Critchens Valleynever had cause to go down there cause we jus paid the propane or electric bill and enjoyed our climate control.

But dammed if Douggie would take a job that was beneath him just to pay for heat!
So he’d go out at random times with a wheelbarrow a drywall hammer, and an imitation maglight from the walmart to go nam him enough coal to keep his singlewide heated.
Now for those of you who dont know, coalminin is hard work. Its harder than farmin, its harder than paintin, its harder than mowin, or assembly line work, or teachin, or mechanic work. The fact is, that Douggie prolly worked harder than most just sos he wouldnt have to work an spend his hard earned money to pay for somethin trivial like heat. Now most of us realized this, but no one said anythin about it; as long as douggie was diggin coal, he wasnt pesterin no one or gettin into no trouble. We all figgered that the work would do him good, an that he had a few years of hard labor to do before he was caught up with the rest of us.

So one day Doug dug just a little too deep into the ceiling in one particular section of the mine. A chunk of limestone fell from the ceiling and landed on his right leg, breakin it in a couple of places, and completely crushing the toes of one of his feet. He screamed and hollered for about 2 days straight till someone finally found him. By that time there warn’t nothin that could be done about his toes, though Doc fixed up his leg real good.

So far as Douggie was concerned, this here was bout the best thing that coulda happened to him. As soon as he was able to hobble around on crutches, he applied for disability benefits on account of his leg bein too sore and stiff to be able to be a “cole miner” {sick} an crawl around in no mine tunnels no more. He wore this big ol poo-eatin grin on his face while he hobbled around town talkin about how he was goin to a place called easy street. Later that week he had an appointment with them government folks, and them government folks actually bought his story. They asked who he worked for, and it became evident that Doug was what you’d call “self employed”. They asked him about how much he made per year, an he said he maid about $95,000 (which they shore DIDNT believe cause even on a good year a pro coal miner makes round 60-70k a year). So they sent some sort of auditin fella over to figure out exactly how much Doug’s time was worth. Accordin to the calcerlations of the audit-guy, Doug loaded about 5 tons in a heating season. At the going rate of 45 dollars a ton, that rounds out to $225 per year. Spread out over a 12 month period, that’s not quite 19 bucks a month. Given that it took him roughly 8 hours a week to dig the coal , and takin into consideration the trip to the mine and back, Douggies time was worth about $0.10 per hour diggin bootleg coal... oh yeah, I almost fergot! Unemployment only pays at 60%, so in reality he was only makin about 6% an hour! So Doug Palmer’s free ride was barely enough to cover the cost of the wheelbarrow and tools...

Now compare this amount to the $9.50 an hour he’d make startin out at the quarry moovin an sortin stones, (which is a lot like loadin an cartin coal). This is almost 10 times that amount fer doin close to the same amount of work. `Course Doug couldn’t get by with only workin on Thursdays, but it aint like he’d be loadin the rock by hand (we use bobcats fer that), AND he’d get a week of vacation per year worked (up to 3 weeks) and an invite to the company picnic twice a year.

So Douggie works at the quarry now, though he still complains a lot about havin to do so much work. We normally just let it slide, after all he’s handicapped .......at least thats what he kept tellin us sos we’d be nice to him. After a quick search on the web, we found out that missin some toes don’t qualify you as a cripple if you can still walk around and perform normal activities with no more’n a “minimal amount of discomfort”. So now we make fun of Douggie all the time, after all, He has a tough time cause he's a worthless sonofabitch, not cause he's disabled. One of the guys on the drill crew nicknamed him “Smurfy” on account of his foot lookin like the feet of one of them cartoon smurfs cause he don’t got no toes. `Course Douggie hates it, but we figger he’s got a couple of years of gettin bullied before he’s all caught up with the rest of the world...

Whats ever happened to a good old-fashioned stick?

This aint too terribly funny, not "ha hah" funny at least.. meybbe its more "Oh yeah, i've seen that before" type funny. I was at the Walmarts store yesterday tryin to buy some music. This little snotnosed brat was starin blankly at this "nintendo w2" screen for almost an hour playin mario carts. I dont think he blinked twice the entire time, and he shure as hell didnt get out of the way when i prodded him with my boot (he was standin right infront of the Merle Haggard cds).
I’m not reel sure what to think about kids anymore these days... Sometimes I think we give kids TOO easy a time of it... I mean it AINT like they cant take it (remeber back before the depression where kids worked the same hours as adults?)
Now I remeber back when I was a kid... Lemme tell you, stuff shore was different! If the sun was up, I was outside.. This was mostly cause my mamma’d wind up paddlin’ me for gettin into stuff if I stayed cooped up in the house. When we was outside, we played hard all day long, and were tired enough to fall asleep come bedtime. We didn’t have no adult supervision, or safety labels, or bike helmets, or dvr and nickelodeon, or all 12 ice-age movies. We didn’t have no rooms full of toys and gadgets to do the imagining for us, no sir.
The average aresnal of toys we had consisted of:
a bike
assorted sticks and rocks
maybe a football or basketball
whatever scrap we found lyin around
The point is, we had very basic items to go’n play with, and because of that, we had to use our imagination a whole lot..

Here’s a great example of what I mean. When I was wanderin around in the walmart last month, I saw this big-ol battery-powered toy guitar with all sorts of knobs and buttons you could push for different music-type effeckts. Now a gadget like that cost near on 30 bucks..... 30 BUCKS for a pretend guitar! Here’s the problem. A toy like that can ONLY be a guitar, so if little Dakota doesn’t feel like crankin out some AC/DC today, well I guess its time to go to the store and buy him another single-function toy!
When I was a kid, fake guitars was called “sticks”, (or maybe a tennis racket if you was rich). But heres the thing.. whats a stick to a little kid with an imagination? Is it a sword? Is it a magic wand? Is it a gun? If a kid leaves a stick out in the rain, it dont cost no 30 bucks to replace.. besides, its cool to be able to smash your pretend guitar on stage like you was a member of The Who.. you can’t do that with a plastic battery powered guitar!

What about all of them power wheels cars? Why spend 300 bucks on a fake car that drives slower than a kid can run? In my day, powerwheels was called “feet” (or bikes once we got older). I’m sorry, we may not be scientists or doctors here, but aint none of us was so dumb that we couldn’t pretend we was Knight Rider while pedalin a bike!

How about all them video games? Now I will say that vegetatin in front of the x-box aint near as big a problem for little girls as it is for boys.. But have you ever seen some 7 year old sit infront of his game-station thing for 8 hours straight one evening, then come home with a craptastic report card cause he cant sit still in class? In my day, video games was called chores. If we mowed the yard, and helped with the dishes, then maybe we could play nintendo for 30 minutes to an hour. See, it was a reward for doin somethin good, not just a babysitter.. Mosly this was cause our parents didn’t think we needed babysitters an jus left us to our own devices..

I guess this is cause kids get stronger when they have to endure stuff instead of gettin whatever they want whenever they want. OK, so when we played we got scrapes, bruises and the occasional broken bone.. But it instilled within us a healthy sense of what we could and couldn’t do. Its like climbin trees.. Once you fall outta a tree 3 or 4 times, you get real good at judgin what branches is too skinny (and you get loads more careful too). Nothin teaches lessons quite as well as consequences...likewise, nothin hurts the learnin process more than removin the oppertunety to learn like that.

My Mamaw Coleburn had a little cross-stich sampler on her wall that used to say:

A kid who wont eat aint been hungry enough.
A kid who wont sit aint been tired enough.
A kid who gives sasses aint been paddled enough
A kid who can’t think ain’t been `let go enough

She used to say there was a big difference between raisin a kid, and protectin a kid; sometimes the 2 went hand in hand, but sometimes you gotta let a kid trip sos he can learn to walk better....

On the other hand, theres somethin to be said for keepin yer brood placated and quiet till they’re old enuf to kick outta the house. This worked reel good for Clint.

carnies and catpiss continued (but shortened)

Well hell, we done took a power hit at the library and I up’n lost all of part 2 I was writin. This here’s damn frustratin! I dont feel like re writin the whole thing, so i’ll just sum it up for you..

I followerd Sparky over to the grug store where he met his friend Stavros who was from Italy or bangladesh, or one of them european countries. He liked to jibber real fast and was strung out on somethin sos i couldn’t tell what brand of spainish/I-talian/ bangladesheese he was speakin’. So they get in this big ol arguement about the quality of the “ammonia” sparky purchased from yours truly...
Eventually they made up on account of them realizin that they had much more in common than they first figgered: a desire for a cheap way to “chase the white dragon”.

As you can probably well imagine, it stank like hell and it didn’t work. Zeke tried to make the arrest, but them fellas stank so bad that he didnt dare touch em till they got hosed off by the fire department. As it turns out, cookin meth is only illegal if you actually cook it usin all the necessary ingredients... Nyquil and cat urine doesn’t count for nothin in the legal sense cause its not illegal to fail miserably at makin somethin you dont even have the right ingredients for.. Its like how you can’t get arrested for tryin to shoot someone if you just keep pointin a stick at em while shoutin’ “bang bang bang!”

On a sadder note, the manager/foreman/ringmaster, or whatever the hell the carnie boss is called was so mad that they pulled up stakes early and left town.. Apparently Critchen’s Valley is now on the Carnie blacklist. It ain’t no big deal, we made our own carnival equipment that was lot better than them rickety ol carnie rides. That thars a story in an of itself.
Here’s some of the idears we came up with to compensate for the missin midway in the county fair

Rick Terrance replaced the bucked on his old hitachi UH07-7 excavator with the roll cage and driver seat of an old dune buggy. “Ricks Excavator Extravaganza” was a real hit with the kids as well as those grown men who never did quite grow up.. (I rode it at least 4 times)
Dave McAlister tied a couple of mattresses to his bobcat an strapped a saddle to the top. The mechanical bull was pretty popular till he busted a hydraulic hose an it got fluid all over the matresses.. his wife Elle was mighty pissed off about that, which ended up bein every bit as entertainin as the rides.
Crazy stab-happy Debbie McPhearson (remember her? She got out on parole) started an interesting hybrid game called “Hit the goldfish with a stuffed Elmo and win a free softball.” Most folks played that one cause they didn’t want to piss off Debbie and get stabbed.
Leeroy started a cornhole tournament with a buncha Morehead State vs EKU cornhole boards he’d been makin for Ebays. While most folk thought that 7 dollars was a little steep for a buy-in in the tourney, most agreed that the prospect of winnin one of Leeroy’s purebred pitbull pups as the grand prize was well worth the risk.

We even had Miguel Mendoza, our RMF (Resident Mexican Fella) bring out somethin he called a “pinyata”. It was basically this paper donkey that people could pay to take a swing at (providin they was wearin a blindfold) . Now I was first in line, and let me tell you I absolutely MURDERED that donkey.. I guess it was cause of all that practice I got playin backyard ninja back in the day when I was like 27. Imagine my surprise when I found out that “Pinyata” is Mexican for “Donkey Full of Candy”. Shoot, that Miguel is allright! Here I was thinkin I was payin a dollar just to hit a fake donkey with a stick and not only did I get to do that, but out pops handfulls of bourbon balls and moonpies as a bonus! I love the fair!

Carnies, Meth, and cat piss (episode 1)

Well yall, the county fair is in town this week and I gotta say that all us folks in the holler are perty excited.. Now what we all think is probably the best part about the fair is gettin to watch the carnies.. Theres truckloads of them come up from tampa for the summer!

Now I know that I up and write all sorts of crazy stuff about life in the holler, but I aint nearly as colocqwial as I let on.. I use somethin called autistic liberty when i write to make stuff a little more entertainin.. (Like when i say Leeroy has 32 cats living under his trailer when he really only has like 12 or 13). I realize that addin some exajeration to a story can make it more entertainin, so I try an fill in stuff here and there to make the story more enjoyable to them readers (yall). My point is, that we may be a little bit behind the times than those folks in big ol cities like Morehead or Cynthiana, but we sure as hell ain’t as screwy as them carnies!!

So there I was at the Gas-n-Go, eatin a fine lunch consistin of corn-nuts, slim jims, some jones soda, and one of them red-hot pickels that come packaged in a plastic bag, individual-like. All of a sudden, in walks this strange lookin fella carryin a jumbo-sized mayonnaise jar full of pennies. This boy was wearin cutoff shorts and nothin else(I could tell he was wearin nothin else cause there was a big ol hole in his pants where the pocket got ripped off.) He was sunburned about 3 shades redder than one of them tijuana mama red-hot sausages (I knowed this cause the meat-snack stand was right in my line of sight sos I was able to make the comparison).

Well ol sparky (I dont know his name, so i’ll call him sparky) here had the shortest set of dreadlocks I’ve ever seen.. Now I’ve seen dreads.. About every 2 years or so we get this crop of kids pop up who decide to go all alternative on us.. they buy a buncha Korn shirts an order a truckload of black canvas shorts that reach about 11 inches below the knee (they gave me the finger when I told em that shorts that were that long were’nt shorts no more, they were capris). So anyway I knowed full well what dreads look like, an i’m tellin you that this guy’s dreadlocks looked to be all of 2 inches long.. I aint got no idea how he grew them that short and still kept them all dreadlocky. I kid you not, this fella looked like Lisa Simpson, but with black hair.

It seems Sparky wanted to cash in his pennies for somethin, which wasnt exactly fair to old Lenny who was workin the counter. Lenny had been workin the gas station from way back when Exxon was still called Esso (way before my time). His eyes aint too good (his hearin is even worse) and he prices everythin in the store in multiples of 25cents sos he dont have to worry about small change.. He still has to keep some nickles and dimes on hand on account of them Kiwanis and Lion’s club sons of bitches droppin off their gumball machines in his gastation like they was phonebooks or somethin. So kids are always askin for change to go buy some cheap gum so them Kiwanis folk can go buy new sashes, or help orphans, or whatever the hell it is that they do..

So Sparky walks up an puts the jar on the counter an says “Here”.
“Eh? Wassthat? Pennies? I dont remember stockin no jars of pennies son.” Said Lenny.

“No. I need dollars.” said Sparky, in a stright to the point manner, “Kyle says the drugstore dont take pennies. He needs sudafed”
“Ohhh” said Lenny with a look on his face that said ‘Oh god, this is gonna take days to count and my old hands hurt’.
Now Lenny was way too nice a fella to tell Sparky to take a hike, so he started countin out them pennies as carefully as he could.

“Where I can get a propane burner?” Sparky asked.. “And anhydrous ammoinia too?” .

Now it dont take no rocket scientist to figger out what Sparky was up to, what with him wantin sudafed, anhydrous ammonia, and a propane burner.. He was fixin to cook himself up some meth!

Now I’m as big a fan of meth as the next guy..... OK, OK, so maybe I’m just sayin that sos it’ll give me some HC (thats “Highway Cred”, our version of street cred). But the fact remains that them folks as decide to go cookin meth usually wind up all messed in the head. When you couple this with Sparky’s pre-existing Carnie nature.....well....Lets just say that this is one show I didn’t wanna miss.

I shouldn’t go makin fun of folks for havin carnie nature cause preacher says its what leads to sin. “Deny your carnie nature!” he’s always sayin, “flee the temptations of the flesh!” I’m not too sure what that second part means, but my skin seems just fine to me..

ANYHOO so I stand up and walk over to the counter and hand ol sparky $11.47
“Here you go fella,” I said, “this’ll cover the money in your jar.”
Sparky looked at me all skeptical an said “How do you know it’s 11.47?”
So I pulled out this here card I keep in my wallet that says:

Critchens Valley Church of God VBS
Summer 1987
Certificate of Achievement
This is to certify and recognize
Arlester Braxton Clayton
For the winning of the guess the number of jellybeans contest
For 5 years in a row

Ol Sparky looked at this and asked “What’s it say? The type’s too small to read.”
It says i’m a certified champion guesstimator, and you’ve got exactly 11 dolars and 28 cents in that jar, but I’ve only got quarters for change cause I hate what those kiwanis sonsofbitches did to old Lenny. You can get a propane burner at the true-value place downtown. I can sell you that ammoinia stuff up the way.

Now I feel I oughta mention that what i was fixin to sell this guy warnt anhydrous ammonia.. neither was it technically mine to sell... Clint’s Uncle Shannon had been collectin cat piss for as long as anyone can remeber.... Now dont get me wrong, i dont think collectin cat pee is funny, its pretty disgustin, but Clint’s uncle Shannon swore it was the best weed killer he ever saw. We tried to get him to buy some roundup, but he got all mad an said that cat piss was free, it was organic, and if all it took was a round or 2 through a distiller to not have to pay the corporations any more money, then that was fine by him.
So we pulled up behind Clint’s uncle Shannon’s trailer an I brought out 2 gallons of the stuff.
“Thats not what I want,” said Sparky, “It comes in large tanks.”

“Aww this’ll work fine! This here’s a NEW kinda `hydrous ammonia thats lots more stable, an its concentrated too!” says I.

“I don’t think you know what you’re talking about ‘Billybob’ .” said Sparky.

“Looky here fella,” I replied, “I’m from Kentucky...Askin a fella from Kentucky if he knows how to cook meth is about as stupid as askin a fella from Kentucky if he knows how to play banjo, or shoot squirrels, or make moonshine.”

.... Ok, so I dont cook meth, or shoot squirrels no more, or make moonshine since I relaized I could get it for free by helpin out LeeRoy’s dad, but I REALLY wanted this fella to buy my story, so had them hillbilly stereotypes turned up pretty far.. Well he eventually caved in and bought the distilled cat piss from me. I tol him I was runnin late for a family feud with the Haskills in Raccoon holler an he’d have to go back to town hisself. So off I drove till he was outta site, then I stopped at the nearest house and asked to use the phone which i then used to call up Deputy Ezekiel Hansen. (Yall remember `Zeke? He’s that big ol that ex-amish deputy with a sixgun that weighs about 30 pounds)

“ZEKE?” I hollered into the phone, “I thought you’d wanna know that we got ourselves a couplea carnies who’re gettin ready to cook some meth.”

“Brother Clayton,” said Zeke “Hast thou proof this time that these carnival folk do be engaged in the fabrication of illicit substances?”
“Hells yes I do Zeke,” I said “I jus sold this one Florida carnie 2 gallons of distilled cat’s piss an told him it was anhydrous ammonia!”

“I thank thee for this information Brother Clayton, If you can tell me the location of these suspects, I shall arrive shortly to make the arrest.”

“Wellllll,” I said, “That’s just it Zeke, I wanted to let you know in hopes that you wouldnt arrest them....at leas not till we can see what happens when they try to cook meth with concentrated cat piss weed killer. It might be kinda funny, you know?”

Zeke thought about this an then said it’d be a derilicktion of his duty if he didnt arrest them right away. I told him this wasnt a problem, an that he could just go on his lunch break early and not “clock in” till it was time to make the arrest.. Zeke was amiable to this arrangement, so we agreed that I’d head back down the road and try to figger out where the carnies was gonna go to cook their meth, an then give him a call (providin i could get me some cellphone reception)

Dont never go fishin in the grate lakes!!

Well I done got back from my vacation in Wisconsin in one peace. Lemme tell you, its LOTS further up the road than Cincy. Its kinda strange up there in the north.. it ain’t like it is down here in Critchens Valley on account of it being all wide open an spread out.
The folks up in wisconsin are real nice tho.. I mean really nice.. So nice that I almost had to re-tool my thinkin about yankees in general.. `Course the drive back through illinoy and indiana reinforced my notions of yankee rudeness, but I reckon we could make Wisconsin a honoraree southern state on acount of everboddy bein so nice an down to earth..

So the main attraction of my trip was that I got to tour the Pabst mansion in milwaukee.. [You may be kinda surprised that the name dont got nothin to do with Miller, or with walking.. Wikipedia says that some indian fella named Al Gonquin made up the word, which means “Good Land”.. I dunno why he didnt jus call it that an be done with it... “good land” is lots easier to spell than Milwaukee. ] Its a pretty big town and its got lots of factories an stuff, and i think there might be a river or two as well.

So i got to tour the mansion, and it was one fancy-type place.. they wouldnt let me take no pictures though, on account of it bein so old ( I know, I know, it dont make much sense, does it?) But I took pictures anyway, an as soon as the drugstore opens up, i’ll get my film developed and scanned in back at the library sos I can show you the ones i took before they made me put the camera away.

Now what did I like most about Wisconsin? I think it was the beer.. Folks handle beer up there a little differently than in Kentucky. You can get beer pretty much anywhere you want, unless its at McDonalds or somethin. You can get vodka at a gas station, and jaeger in a walmart on a Sunday.. Its not that I’m an alchoholic or anything.. hell i didnt even drink more’n usual in wisconsin.. its just that it’s pretty damn convenient to be able to jus walk on down to pretty much anyplace you want to buy drinks, an it don’t matter if its on Sunday, or pas midnight, or nothin.

I tried my hand at fishin up there too, and lemme tell you.. its differnt than we do here.. or at least its different on the grate lakes.. Now the states got lots of small lakes, an you do normal-type fishin all day long on those, but i wanted to try fishin in the grate lakes. For those of you that dont know, Most northern states are attached to these big ol lakes called the grate lakes. I kid you not, Lake Superior is at least 5 times bigger than lake Cumberland! Its so big that I’m pretty sure its the size of the ocean, only you can drive around these lakes on account of them not going as far in the north/south direction as the ocean does.. Now I know what you’re thinkin, “But Clayton, I done saw them lakes on a map and they dint look too big to me!” Well lemme tell you what, you gots to add the area of all them lakes together.. of COURSE one single lake aint the size of the ocean, otherwise it couldnt fit inside america now could it? It dose make me stop and think though.. if you can boat from one lake to another without goin through any kinda river or canal, or connective-type ditch, is it really 2 different lakes? Anyhoo, `jus food fer thought.
Oh yeah, I was talkin about fishin.. So I figgered that if these was the biggest lakes in the world then it only made sense that they oughtta contain the biggest smallmouth basses in the world.. So I when I met a this here one fella named Fred Koenzig, i was pretty happy when he said he was a professional fisherman from Michigan... I begged him to take me fishin, but he said he didn’t have any money to pay for an extra “hand”. (I thought this must be the Wisconsin term for someone who goes fishin). I told him that I’d be happy to pay him to take me out fishing. He started lookin at me reel funny and said that he aint never heard of someone payin to go fishin, but that if I was that interested then he guessed he’d let me pay him so’s I could come on as an extra “hand”..
Let me tell you what! That aint like no kind of fishin I ever done before.. First off I was on that damn boat of his for near-on 3 days. Second, those folk didn’t even use fishing poles, they used nets, which AINT very sportsman-like, I tol Fred all this (who now insisted that I call him “Captain” like everyone else) and he said they wasnt doin it for sport, but that his boat and crew was a commercial fishing outfit. I told him that this was gonna make the most boring-ass commercial that I ever saw and that they had better get Billy Mays (rest his soul) or that Vince guy from sham-wow to do the commercial if they wanted anyone to buy their fish. He just shook his head and called me a “Green Horn” an made me go down an clean the fish. I could tell this fella already thought i was an idiot, so I figgerd I’d oblige him and REALLY give him something to tell his friends about..
So there I was, in the hold of the Maria Skivvertonne...... I had me a bucket of clorox, a scrub brush, an about 50 or so nice sized whitefish. I cleaned them fish real good sos they didn’t even smell like fish no-more.. I didn’t tell the captain of course, but I’m sure his customers will throw a fit when they find out. The way I figger, the sumbitch had it comin when he let me pay to come work on his commercial thingy.
Now the cap’n did let me keep this one 50 lb lake trout we pulled in, (cause he obviously didn’t know about the clorox incident) an I’m gonna get it mounted an then hang it on the wall in my livin room right over that fancy olan mills family portrait.. I’ll have the taxonomy fella put a rapala shadrap or a triple-wing buzzbait in its mouth so’s my friends’ll think I caught it normal-like.
After that fishin broohaha, I didnt have much time left on my trip at all, an aside from pickin up a couple of dozen cases of PBR for cheap, I didn’t really do much other than drive back home.. Its a shame about gettin shanghaied on that boat, cause I’m afraid it scarred me for life.. I cant watch Deadliest Catch no more without cussin at the TV..