It blowed up real good (sorta)

Well happy forth o JOO-ly to yall. As we all gather round to celebrate our countries’ bifday, lets take a moment to pause an be thankful fer the freedoms we enjoy, unlike alla them other folks who live in crap countries like Canada, Sarieyayvo, an North KO-rea.

This year we really got to stick it to them democrats in washinton whos tryin to step all over our freedoms.. Of course I anit talkin about the dems who keep us fed an send checks to old people.. I’m talkin bout the sissy “ooh save the poor children, les outlaw EVERYTHIN’” demercrats. Of course I’m speakin in partikler about how the Commonwealth of Kentucky finaly made it all legal like to shoot off the GOOD kinda fireworks.. Apparently some genuius figgered out that somethin explodin 120 feet in the air was a mite safer-n somethin that explodes on the ground 20 feet away (Or closer if yore brave like me an Clint an Bobby an Leeroy). This finally means we dont gotta drive all the way to tennessee to get the good stuff. You gotta unnerstand, we all live on the backside of nowhere, an there’s hardly 2 miles worth of straight road between her an the nearest innerstate.. So it takes nigh on half the day just to get to a road where you can go faster-n 60mhp. We always used to take these lon roadtrips down south to buy fireworks, only my truks got such bad gas mileage that we ended up spendin bout half of our bankroll on fuel.

`Course we could have probably made the trip much quicker if we’d driven to Wes Virginia, but we’re kinda boycottin that state right now. Relations between Critchens Valley an Ringo County WV are kinda strained after uncle Ray accitentally tried to blow up a bridge whilst tryin to get away from some po-lice who caught him runnin moonshine.

It weren’t his fault, honest! I fergot to tell him I had put some blastin ordinance from the quarry in the back of his Chevy Blazer. I had jus’ bought it for the quarry an wanted to keep it out of the rain till I had a chance to bring it to the quarry for proper storage.

So After a 20 minute chase, Uncle Ray ditched his car on the bridge an jumped into the river. One of the squad cars must’ve hit the back bumper of the blazer a little too hard, cause it `x-ploded and knocked a big ol chunk out of the bridge.

That story ain’t here nor there though, I’ll tell the rest of it later if yore really interested in the borin details.

ANYHOO, so we came back with the mother load of fireworks. See, all these firework’s tents over in Morehead was havin “BOGO” specials.. Now I don’t know who or what the hell BOGO is (sounds like a Muppet to me), but the special was that you could buy one get one free. So we spent mos of our bonus checks on fireworks an took them back to the Valley. So the long weekend started out on a pretty good note; lotsa pyrotekniks and beer. I gotta be honest, after a while all the fireworks started gettin kinda borin. See, me an Clint work in a quarry, as you well know.. There ain’t a firework to be bought that matches the sheer firepower power of some industrial mining-grade explosives, an basically if you don’t `bout get shaken off yer feet by the explosion, then it’s all just amateur hour. On the other hand, while minin ordinance is really loud an explosive, It don’t got the visyoal appeal of reglar fireworks.

So on Saturday, Me an Clint an Bobby an Neil Myers (`Member him? He works at the phone/utilitees company) all decided to make our OWN brand of fireworks.

Neil Usually spends all his weekends on the professinal clogging circuit. That boy had been dancin his whole life, and was known in some circles as “Ratt-A-Tatt Myers, Critchens Valley’s own Dancin Machine”. Personally, I found it kinda dumb.. I mean if you wanna clog for a hobby, thats fine I guess, but it’s a pretty narrowized skill that dont do much good nowhere else. On the other hand, Neil made between 600 an 800 bucks a month just tapdancin on the weekends..

Anyway, Neil’s Saturday event got cancelled on account of no one showing up (cause they was all out buyin fireworks since this was the first year they didn’t gotta go to tennessee to get the good stuff).

So fer once we got to hang out. Neil had all sorts of safety gloves and such from workin with power an phonelines, so we figured he’d be able to give us the “hook up” (hur hur hur) safety wise.

Disckclaimer:

Here are some safety tips if yore gonna try an make your own fireworks.

1. Chew, dont smoke. Smokin around explosives is dumb, an if you really gotta have the nicotine fix, then use some skoal fer godssake

2.Don’t mix fireworks outside. You may not realize it, but most of the inner werkins of fireworks are different sorts of powder. The last thing you want is to spend an hour cuttin open firecrackers, only to have the bang-powder get blowed all over the place by a gust of wind.

3. Dont mix fireworks in yore shed. Theres gasoline an metal an tools an such lyin all over the place. If you spill, you gotta worry about fireworks dust an such gettin into your tools. God knows what could happen next time you start up yore ridin mower if it had flash powder spilled all overit cause you was mixin firecracker powder on the hood.

4. Wear RUBBER gloves. You don’t want your cloth gardenin gloves gettin permeeated by extra flammible materials. We had a fella get badly burned a few years back on account of his gloves catchin fire whilst he was tossin sticks into his burn pile. Turns out he was wearin these gloves whilst he was re-packin shells for his 30/06 rifle, and they musta gotten coverd with black powder.

Thats pretty much it, if you follow these rules, then you dont got nothin else to worry about when makin fireworks.

Anyhoo, we took up shop in this old trackter trailer on account of it not bein used for anythin, it was out of the wind, an it didn’t have no machinery or tools or nothin in it.

So we started cuttin apart an sortin the guts of roughly 60 lbs of fireworks. It was pretty borin work tryin to sort out the different sorts of powder an then sift out all the little hard bits that make for them little fireballs. Most of these bits were about the size of a pencil eraser, a.k.a. WAY too small. We figgerd we could crush up all the little stars into powder an then bind them together with some gum arabic an use some pingpong balls as molds to form respectable size stars.

We covered a bowlin ball with a bunch of layers of paper mache, an let it dry. We then cut it into 2 halves to make our “shell” that we was gonna stuff full of explosives like a thanksgiving turkey. Straight through the center of this we placed a hollow cardboard tube stuffed with a buncha sticks of detcord.

Friends, we stuffed this paper-ball-o-destruction so full of stars an flash powder an pyrodex that it wouldn’t hardly hold together. It took almost 3 rolls of duct tape to get it sufficiently packed and shaped. So what we had kinda looked like one of them round cartoon bombs Wiley Coyote used to use. We were just a little uneasy tryin to transport this thing, it was heavy as hell and we were all plum scared of droppin it.

At this point we realized we didn’t have no suitable apparatus for launchin what we had dubbed “The Armageddonater!”. Lets not forget that this thing was slightly bigger than a bowlin ball now, and there was no way in hell we was gonna use somethin flimsy like plastic sewer pipe for a launcher.. We didn’t trust some of the heftier concrete pipes eiter.. In order to launch this sucker straight up, we’d need at least a 1/2lb charge... I know, this is probably overdoin it, but we didn’t want this thing explodin too low.

Then I done got the bright idea to go over to the quarry an get a heavy duty stone drill sos we could just bore a hole straight into the bedrock. This was probably the safest way to do it since we didn’t hafta worry about it fallin’ over or anything.

So that evenin’ we all made our way to the launch pad where we stuffed “The Armageddonater!” into the hole with not quite a half pound of charge an a nice thick wad of horseblankets in-between. We lit the 30 second fuse an then ran like hell while we waited for the world to end.......

There are certain things in life that really need to be left to the professionals; Doctorin, bein an astronaut, flyin planes, an makin fireworks. See, the ancient art of makin fireworks is a precise science that requires precision measurements and precision placement of the components. It ain’t the sort of thing that a bunch of guys can just “eyeball” till it’s “close enough”.
There is a REASON that them little star bits are as small as they are, an it don’t got nothin to do with costin less.. See, the most important part of buildin airborne fireworks aint about makin sure its got pretty colors, or is real loud.... No-sir, the most important part of makin fireworks is makin sure first that it launches high enough, an second that all the bits an pieces BURN OUT long before they hit the ground.
Oh this explosion shore was was loud enough; it left our ears ringin. But best as we can figger, the shell only went up about 300 feet.
Thanks to the high explosives in the core, all of them EXTRA LARGE, an EXTRA LONG BURNIN stars done got flung an scattered in what must’ve been a quarter mile radius. It warn’t long before we started smellin all sorts of burnin aromas in our general vicinity... course we didn’t hear the sirens on account of bein half deaf from the initial explosion..

The fire dept eventually got the fires put out, but not before nearly 30 acres of forest, 2 barns, 4 cows, clint’s truck, and the “Welcome To Critchens Valley” sign suffered severe burn damage.

So the Judge says we gotta spend the next 8 weeks plantin trees, fixin barns, buildin a new sign, and rubbin salve on 4 head of cranky angus. Neil is mighty pissed on account of havin to miss half of this year’s pro cloggin circuit... So now he wears his clogging shoes whenever we’re doin community service.. I’m not lyin, I about want to strangle the bastard now.. All day long its CLICK-TAP, CLICK-TAP, TAP TAP, CLICKITY CLICK, TAP... I’m startin’ to get a headache... Anyhoo, lunch is about over, I gotta finish this sandwich [used to be]Aunt Sandy made me.. She shore is sweet...

Some Bad Idears can a learnin opportunity

You know, sometimes folks’ll come up with a really great idear once in awhile.. Like the fella who discoverd the fry daddy, or that one lady who invented xrays.. It stands to reason that theres lotsa bad idears out there too, an that theres prob’ly WAY more bad idears than good ones.

Me an Clint was havin a late night wafflehouse chat sadurday evenin after drivin into richmond to get some transmission parts for his Ford. We was talkin about just what makes a bad idea really bad. Clint says that most “new” ideas happen when folks try to take a couple of already-good ideas, an try to combine them.. You know, things like a clock radio, or a flashlight radio, or a blender juicer, or a blender radio, or a juicer radio (Clint has this obsessive-type thing about combinin’ radios with other objects.... Bobby says its cause his wrists are too dainty to turn the knobs on a real radio.)

So the more we got to talkin, the more we started to realize that you could also combine 2 good idears to come up with a really REALLY bad idea. Obviously you wouldn’t want to combine a twinky an a radio.... but there are some vaguer examples out there that aren’t so plain as day.. Take for instance the fella who decided to combine the functionality of all the TV menu an input select buttons with the convenience of the remote control.. Now i love my remote as much as anyone else, but when a remote’s got more buttons than a computer keyboard, well we start to get into problems.. in my imho opinion, a remote oughtta be simple an NOT have a learnin curve. I wanta watch Deadliest Catch on discovery, not spend 2 hours tryin to figure out how to add an internet mailin list to my remote. Now I suppose I can stomach overly-fancy remote tv channel changers, but why’d they have to go full out on the conversion an take the buttons OFF of the TV? If I run out of batteries, or lose my remote, alls I can really do is pray my tv was already stuck on the X-box setting, cause there aint no way i’m gonna be able to switch it over with the single power button an 2 volume controls left on the actual TV itself.

Anyway, remotes aint tneither here or there. The point of this post is our rumination on the merit of good and bad idears.

Here’s where we get to the heart of the matter.

We was in the Richmond Waffle House on account of Clint boycottin Lexington. He’s actually willin to pay 8 extra dollars for transmission parts in Richmond, rather than sending his patronige to what he calls that “commie police state”. See, the govt in Lexington passed a smoking ban on all businesses a few years back. Apparently non-smoking folks in Lexington are too helpless to just NOT go to places that allow smoking. Nossir, they had to ban it from all stores an restraunts, an bars. So its ok for mom an dad to take their kid to McDonalds for a double helpin of deep fried emulsifyed chiken meat product, so long as they don’t gotta worry about no second hand cigarette smoke. Then they’ll drive back to their mcMansion with the windows down, breathin in car exhaust the whole way. Personally, I think it oughtta be up to the owners of the buisnesseseesses. If they get enough customers complainin about the smoke, then let them make it a no smokin joint (smokin joint... hur hur hur). Now I unnerstand not allwin smokin in places like chick-e-cheeses, or grocery stores where they can get ash on food, but no smokin in the bars? Really people, bar patrons aren’t slammin down the SOCO on account of bein health nuts..

Anyway, I’m not talkin about that anymore, i’ll jus start bitchin an complainin about certain folk’s notion that its acceptable to screw over one segment of society on behalf of another in the name of freedom (jus so long as the folks gettin screwed ain’t them).

So the smokin ban got Clint to thinkin.

“Waffle house just aint the same if you cant smoke,Clayton! It feels all creepy an overly clean. At leas when there’s good honest smoke in the air then the sticky tables dont seem so out of place. Lex’s Wafflehouses are too sterile-yet-sticky.. Its like eatin a cupa Bert’s Chili in an E.R. room...besides, I need my smokes! I always get chased down by the grill cooks on account of me steppin outside to smoke. I guess they think i’m leavin without payin!”

So Clint got the bright idea to combine smokin an eatin into one food product: Tobacco Smoked Beef. Basically the idea was to slowcook beef in a smoker, but usin tobacco leaves instead of hickry. Of course I told him this was a terrible idea on account of it would jus make the steak taste like ash, an that it would be much better to marinate the beef first in tobacco juice.

Ok, YOU know an I know that marinatin beef in tobacco juice is an equally bad idear, but you gotta unnerstand something about Clint. See, once Clint takes to a notion, logic an reason sorta take a back-seat to his imagination.. The best way to get an idear outta Clint’s mind is to let him experience first hand the repercussions, while in a safe an controlled environment.

So Clint spends pretty much half the day Sunday chewin Red Man an spittin it into a tupperwear container. I sat back an let him do this for awhile before I suggested that choppin up the tobaccer in a blender, an then simmerin it for awhile would be lots more sanitary. Clint gave me the finger an called me a bastard for not tellin him that earlier (he was already kinda green around the gills). So he gets the broth set up an sets the steak to marinatin’ for a few hours. Then he slaps it on the grill an cooks it medium rare (he decided not to slow cook on account of him wastin so much time allready.

So after Clint start’s chowin down, he starts turnin greener an greener. I wont bore you with them grizzly details, but he got pretty sick. I wound up spoonfeedin him oatmeal an milk of magnesia for almos 2 days. It weren’t no fun, I think i got a contact buzz jus from movin him from the dinner table to his bed. Needless to say, Clint has now officially quit smokin, an chewin, and is seriously considerin campanin fora tobacco ban here in Critchen’s valley, the communist! We know he’ll be hisself in a few more days, but I imagine he’ll probably be able to make it all the way through a WaffleHouse Waffle now without havin to stop for a smoke break.

Gas station wars...

Thers a kinda fellowship type thing that exists between fellers that visit the same gas station day in, and day out. Its like there’s this unspoken bond that happens when strangers can come together in sieleent agreement that THEIR particuler mid morning commute waterin hole is superior to the rest. There is somethin magical that goes on when you walkup to the coffee counter at 6:30 am, pour yoreself a cup of coffee, and then walk up to the sugar an creamer table where a UPS fella is putting sugar in his cup. Then you’ll nod to him an say
“Mornin’, chilly weather ain’t it?”.
Then he’ll nod back an say something like
“Sure is, wish I wasn’t wearin these shorts.”
Then you both part ways with a heartfelt
“Have a good one, Chief.”

What’s really goin on unnerneath the surface is that you both are really sayin:
“Yeah, I like how they have the Slim Jims up front too, and the creamer pump is a way better idea than those individual packets they use across the street at the OTHER gas stations. I’ve had much better luck with these lottery tickets, and the hotdogs are always fresher…. You see? we are really brothers, you an me……”

Some folks jus don’t get it.. To them a gas station just a place to fill up the car. This aint the sort of post those folks would be much interested in hearin…….thn again, meybbe theys JUST the sort of folks as oughtta be readin this (maybe they’ll up an learn somethin)

We got 3 different gas stations here in Chritchen’s Valley; the Gas-n-Go, the Stop-n-Gas, and the fleet fill pumps at the Critchen’s valley Feed mill Co-op.

As a rule, the feed Co-op don’t really count. Its just a few pumps by one of the silos that truckers can swipe their fleet cards through an get gas. Its usually a few cents higher than the other 2 stations, and only has diesel and kerosene. There’s not much snacking to be done there, they only got a pepsi machine and a half empty peanuts-n-chips vending machine in the front office, and the manager’ll bitch a fit if you try an just hang out smoking in the waitin room without havin no official business with the feed mill.

Stop-n-Gas is run by Roy Houlihan (remember Roy was the fella with the prized blue tick hound, DaisyBelle), and this one guy named Musheef. I’m not even gonna try to spell Mushee’s last name on account of it havin punctuation marks an stuff innit. It sounde something like Alabama Fah Haddock, but I know that ain right cos he’s one of them A-rab types, and Alabama is an American name. Now Musheef is OK once you get to know him… but before you get to know him, he looks pretty much like the scariest sumbitch you’ve ever seen. He’s got one of those faces that looks like he’s always glarin’ atcha and fixin to stab you or somethin. Once you can figger out that that’s just his reglar facial expression, then he’s a pretty good fella. Its really kinda funny cause that boy’s got one of the loudest booming laughs I ever heard, so its like one minute he looks like he’s gonna start cutting on you at any moment, then the next he’s belting out this hilarious infectious-type laugh that makes it hard not to join in. yeah he’s a pretty good natured fella.

Let me tell you WHAT…. Musheef makes the best damm regular gas station pizza I ever had.. an that’s sayin a lot comin from me seein that roughly 80% of my meals originate from the shelves of a gas station in some way.

The Gas-n-Go is the older of the 2 establishments, and my preferred place of refreshment. Old Lenny runs it, and like i’ve said before, he’s about the nicest fella you’ve ever seen. Lenny’s a veteran of pretty much every foreign war in recent history prior to the gulf. He runs a pretty tight ship....or else he would if’n he wasnt half blind an deaf.

Lenny’s always good for a story .. The ones about `Nam are the best (Lenny used to be a real hardcore sonofabitch). He loves talking about the Hanoi Hilton, or as he calls it “That one shithole Charlie couldn’t keep me in no matter how hard he tried.”

Nowadays Lenny’s biggest foes are the afterschool skateboarders who try to steal them chocolate Yoohoo drinks, and bonus-pack parliament 100s cigarettes.

Gas-n-go has 3 kinds of coffee (6 if you count that panty-waist cappagina machine), and nas never been known to run low on it’s stock of slim-jims. It’ts got chicken or sausage biskits in the mornins, fried baloney and pimento cheese sanwiches for lunch, an corona an frozen burritoes for mexican-dinner-Tuesdays.

Lenny’s also got a cafey-type setup in the middle of the store with a couple of mustard-yellow restaurant booths and 3 small tables-for-two. The brown ceramic floor tiles aint exactly level, so most of us’ll stand around an wait for a booth instead of havin to deal with tables an chairs that rock back an forth ever time you shift yer weight to try an take a bite of moonpie. What really makes the Gas-n-go special tho is it’s Broaster Chicken.

A chicken broaster is basically what you get when you cross a deep fryer an a Critchens Valley Stovetop Oven (that’s a Pressure Cooker to you outsiders). So it fries the chicken under pressure, which makes it nice and jiucy. The broaster chicken alone is enough to keep me loyal to the gas-n-go.

So lately with the way the economy’s been going, both gas stations have been crankin up the competition as they try’n get folks to keep comin through the front door. Folks gotta buy gas, but when prices start climbin, they start buying fewer energy drinks, doritoes, egg salad sandwiches, ace-of-spaces zippos, an ed hardy air freshners.

Ol Lenny’s claim to fame used to be the largest broaster chicken statue in ky until this sumbitch at a marathon station over in bulleitt county got a bigger one (http://maps.google.com/maps?f=q&source=s_q&hl=en&q=Bernheim+Forest,+Lebanon+Junction,+Bullitt,+Kentucky+40165&aq=&sll=37.851783,-84.572194&sspn=0.014164,0.027874&ie=UTF8&geocode=FR9PQgIdg3fl-g&split=0&safe=on&hq=&hnear=Bernheim+Forest&ll=37.886696,-85.549391&spn=0.014158,0.027874&t=h&z=16&layer=c&cbll=37.886838,-85.549574&panoid=sfinw9qWNt0tHBTv4RJpzQ&cbp=12,186.9,,1,0.83)

So now Lenny had to resort to other tactics to bring in customers. He rented one of them big light up signs for the side of the road that reads “In a hurry? Y Stop-n-gas, when U can Gas-n-Go?”... it kinda backfired because Roy Houlihan (allegedly) rearranged the letters to spell “Crashworthiness Haywagon Pyongyang U.N.”

This really pissed Lenny off on account of him bein a korean vet an hatin the UN and all...

So Lenny decides to start makin Pizza... Problem is, lenny aint got no pizza equipment, but don’t let that make you think he shure as hell didnt try.. That ol boy tried about everything he could think of........he tried puttin it in the microwave, it tasted like ass. He tried cookin it in his oven upstairs, he couldnt climb them steps fast enough when the timer went off an it almost burned the house down. He tried cookin it under the heat lamps, and that particular version of pizza looked even MORE like leather than regular gas station pizza does. Lenny was at his the end of his rope for the whole pizza thing.......that is until he set eyes on the Chicken broaster.. Let me tell you what folks. You aint never had pizza till it’s been fried in a chicken broaster! Likewise, you aint never had fried chicken till it’s been cooked in the same oil as a broaster pizza (tastes kinda like on-the-bone Chicken Parmashauna).

Lenny was in hog heaven, but I gotta say Musheef an Roy were pretty pissed. As the only resident pizza dealers in town, they’d gotten pretty slack on standards.. (Some days the peperoni pizza looked a lot like it had jack links terriyaki jerky hunks innit `stead of peperoni)

So Roy gets the great idea to tell everyone how Musheef once shot him an AlQuaeda. See Lotsa folks don’t realize that the mid east is made up of a TON of different folks, an jus cause they carry tiny carpets an pray toward mecca, it don’t mean they dont hate each other... Hell, them folk’s’ve been hatin on each other almost as lon as they’ve been hatin on us. As it turned out, Musheef was from Iran, an actually fought against some of them Taliban an alquaeda types back in the 80s before the US realized they were bad news.

So Roy puts up this sign that says “Stop-an-gas, Where a real, terrorist-killin, American hero works.”

Now this is a pretty sensitive subject for Lenny. His entire military career had been spent haltin the spread of communism. Nowadays though, since communisim has kinda shrank-like, all folks ever talk about fightin are the terrerists. Ol Lenny had retired long before we went to war on terrorism. So now his feelins are all hurt, and HE puts up a sign basically sayin that Musheef only shot al quaeda caus he was tryin to take it over, just like he’s tryin to take over the Critchen’s Valley Gasoline Reseller Industry.

This warnt exactly fair of ol Lenny, an everyone knew it. Roy an Musheef sued Lenny for slander, and Lenny countersued Roy an Musheef for bein “A couple of freedom hatin’, terrorist kissin, sons of bitches.”

Of course Lenny didn’t really have any sort of case an the circuit judge tossed it out, and fined Lenny for contempt of court. Lenny told the jusdge to go ahead and fine him for contempt of Roy Houlihan and “That evil lookin mustached a-rab”. The judge obliged and fined Lenny double, in addition to ordering him to cease and decist with makin broaster pizza (at Roy’s request)..

Its kinda funny how things work out ain’t it? On the one hand, Lots of words were exchanged, feelings were hurt, and Lenny had to pay a fine. Technically Roy an Musheef won cause the law was on their side.. On the other hand, most folks were so pissed at Roy for gettin the judge to make Lenny stop makin broaster pizza, that they started boycottin the stop-n-gas for the most part. Now Roy’s down to only one display rack of slimjims, 2 fridges full of pepsi, and a forlorn rack of out-of-date auto trader mags.

So even with the fines, the gag order, the restraining order, the cease and desist order, and the 3 days spent in jail for takin a poke at a baillif, ol Lenny came out on top anyway...

The grand science-type deceeit of our young folk.

I gotta tell you folks about somethin thatr’s been eatin me for awhile.... It’s got to do with what sortta future we’re makin for our kids..

PREFACE(skip ahead if you dont wanna hear my opinions on over vs unner sheltred kids):

I’m not one of those sissified folks who think all kids are born with a silver platter in their mouth and oughtta be treated like theyre’ fine chinas. Part of becomin a regularly functioninal adult is learnin to take your licks an move on with it. Some folks try an sheild their kids from every little bad thing that pops up on the horizone..

I think we all can agree that a fella (or gal) gets lots of learnin from the experienses they come acrost in life, but when a parent makes for certain that nothin bad can ever possibly happen to their kids....well....what’s that do to little Billy when he suddenly turns 15 an has a couple of sets of twins an a single-wide payment? Bein raised without no consequences is about as harmful as lettin a kid fail every now and again.

`course there are folks who’re WAY too strict with theyre kids and don let em do nothin normal like watch cable TV, or play X-box, or dip. Those are the kids that usually start out all awkwerd wearin high-top sneakers an acid washed jeans an suspenders(Gingham dresses if theyre girls). Then they up rebellin some how when they’re older and end up workin in a comic book shop when they’re 40 cause they’re still tryin to recapture what sortof childhood they think they was missin out on in the firs place.

This post dont got nothin to do with how kids are raised, I just wanted to offer a dissclamer sos yall didnt think I was gettin soft on kids (cos I aint. If you’re old enuf to figger out one of those nintinder DS things, then yore old enougf to sweep floors an mow the yard)

In my IMHO, our schools are doin our kids a graev unjustice when it comes to science....

Did yall know I was a scientist?

Well... that ain’t exactly true.. I should say that if the nature and criteria for bein a scientist were the same as what they TOLD me it was in gradeschool, then I’d be a scientist by now.

See, when you’re a kid and you go to science class, they teach you bout cool stuff like constellations, an animal footprints, and identifyin birds. They tell you that if you like makin baking soda volcanoes, and takin bark rubbings from different trees, then you’d make a good scientist. Every day you’ll listen to teachers an the like tell you that scientists get to do stuff like go to the moon, an discover cool thiings like xrays.

Beginnin science education leaves kids basically thinkin a scientist is a cross between indianna jones, MacGuyver, and Christopher Columbus.

Of COURSE this is 100% grade A unpasturized organic BULLSHIT!

See, if they told kids that science was basically a godawfull mess of math an paperwork, no kid in his right mind would ever go into that field. So in an effort to catchup with them asians, we pull a giant educationel bait-and-swish. By the time the kids realize Science is nothin but math an paperwork, it’s too late. Science aint about collectin leaves, or taming guniea pigs, or puttin carnations in colored water, but by now the kids aint no good at sports or playin guitar or workin on cars or weldin or nothin. So our attempt to shield the kids from the truth winds up hurtin them in the end an they drop out of college an wind up workin in a comic book store anyways....or else they turn into an uber nerd an yall can kiss grandkids goodbye FOREVER!

If folks want a new crop of scientists, I got a solution that’s simple and truthful. I call it the Eightfold Path

1. Science aint nothin but a lot of math and paperwork.

BUT

2. Bein good in science will let you make more money than God, and you’ll be able to live in one of them fancy houses with a basement.

3. It’s much easier to be a rockstar when you have a bitchin science job to pay for it.

4. If you get good enough at science, you can get other folks to do the hard stuff for you an all you gotta do is read books and talk about science at semminars.

5. if you get good enough at math an paperwork, you can pretty much invent anything you want an never have to worry about not knowin how to do it: Wish someone would make a combination tv remote and beercan cooler? Wish no more!

6. If you make enough of the science-cash, ladies (or fellas) will come an ask YOU out.

7. If you know enough sciency stuff, you wont never have to worry about findin work.

8. yore parents will stop comparin you to your cousin who went an got a chiropractin degree.

See, I think that if we tell kids “Look Johnny, science is really hard.. BUT folks dumber than you have made it, and they’re making ass-tons of money now and can invent anything they want. So get good at math an stuff, an brush up on your paperwork skills.” Then more of the sort of folks we want bein scientists will go for it.

IF the modern consumer votes with his or her wallet

THEN the products that’ll do the best are the ones people wanna to pay for

ERGO The sort of scientist who’s in it for the money an the glory is gonna have the right mentality to make/discover stuff people give a rip about.

Take paleeentology an archeologie... Sure dinosaurs are cool....if yore like 7, but what good has studyin 8 gazillion year old dinosaur shat evver done for society one? Ooh look the blahbblahopterix used to eat dragonflies, lets make us a histry channel special!

Leave that science to the sandal wearin nerds.

I put it to yall that the whole reason we don’t got no giant robots or flyin cars is cos we dont have enough rockstar scientists who do it for the cash an groupies.

New job resplonsibilities can be a pain in the ass unless you know how to milk tha system!

Hey yall, I know its been a while, I just aint had much insperashion of late. I’ve been workin hard down at the quarry on account that we hit a vein of good hi-quality-tye granite. `Problem with this sorta granite is that you shore cant go blastin away at it like you do with limestone-type rock, on account that you wont make no money with itty bitty pieces of granite. Nossir, you gotta cut granite into slabs so’s folks can make counter tops and whatnot with em.

See, Adar Quarry is a mixed aggregate type quarry... that means our equippent is designed to drill rows of holes into the rock that we (an by “we” I mean me) then stuff with dynamite. The resultin explosion breaks the rock into all different size pieces that then get used in all sortsa applications (concrete, gravel driveways, industrial abrasives, concrete, etsetera. Etsetera.).
The point I’m tryin to make is that Adar Quarry didn’t have no proper equipment for cuttin slab granite, and the same was true for most of the quarries around here, seein how quality courses of fracture-free granite is a geographical oddity of sorts in this part of Kentucky, so it ain’t like we could jus take half a day drivin over to morehead to buy the equipment.
So my boss put me in charge of gettin the right equipment.. Now i dont know much about the finer points of geologic-type harvestin. I took this job for one reason and one reason only.. To get paid to legally blow shit up with high explosives nearly every day.

See, ever once in awhile you’ll find somethin that’s so fun that you dont really ever think of it as work. The enjoyment facktor of that pertickular task is way higher than the pain-in-the-ass-fackter of doin’ said task (like gettin paid to legally blow shit up with high explosives.).
On the other hand, a fella can find a task that takes less work to do, but is a much bigger pain in the ass (i.e. doin dishes, mowin the yard, etc), so in the end it SEEMS like more work than it really is.

So now my job was to find equipment and training resources so that Adar Quarry staff could start learnin how to harvest this particlear type of granite... I put up a stink about it an said i didnt know nothin about giant ass diamond saws, or water-fed cooling systems..
In response to my complainin, my boss Bob said “If you cant figger it out, then find find someone who CAN goddamm figger it out!”
I was feelin riled up, so I tol him that sayin “-find someone who CAN goddamm figger it out!” aint hardly proper english, an that the use of “goddam” as an adjunct didn’t make no sense, an that it would have been better moved to the end of the sentence: “-find someone who CAN figger it out, goddam it!”
Boss just tossed a ledger at me an told be to scram.

I was gettin pretty pissed an frustrated on account of my job’s pain-in-the-ass factor was startin to outpace the enjoyment factor. In most circumstances it wouldn’t have been too bad if the boss had asked me to look fer people and equipment, an then let him know when I found somethin. In this case though, he wanted daily status reports on my progress... which is some sorta retarded somethin he learned at a manager semminary at the mariott conference center in Lexington.. The problem here was that findin people and equipment warn’t the sorta project you can really have regular progress on; you either find the stuff you’re lookin for on any given day, or you don’t. So I had to go into his office most ever day an tell him that I still aint found the right kinda equipment, or folks as knew how to use it. He bitched and complained and tol me that time was money. I tol him that things would go lots faster if he’d get the internet donwloaded at the quarry sos I could look up info on places that were further away than a half day’s drive, or weren’t included in the local phonebook yellerpages. He cussed some more an tol me that the ‘internets’{sike} cost money too, an why didn’t I jus go to the library internets and look from there?
I tol him that I was banned from the library on account of owing them 300 bucks for losin a bunch of starwars books on tape. He pulled out 300 dollars on the spot and tol me to go pay the library what I owed them. So I went an paid Critchen’s Valley Public Library the 150 dollars I actually owed them (oops, did I tell my boss I owed them $300? Silly me!)

Then I took the remainin 150 bucks and signed the quarry up for internet service. The boss bout like to skat a brick when he saw me browsin yootube videos of quarry equipment. I tol the boss to calm down on account of the internet bein a free donation on account of granite bein a valuable resource in the manufacture of computer parts. He patted me on the head and said I used good Synergy, and way to Paradigm the hell out of attaining company resources (now I may not know the meanins of lots of these fancy words, but I do have the knack fer bein able to tell when someone aint usin them correctly just the same).

In about 2 days I found this company in Massachusetts that leased equipment and provided consultation for this exact sort of situation. So we had them send one of their fellahs down to analyze that big ol granite vein and try to figger out how big it was, an how much equipment an services we needed while still maintainin a healthy profit.

It turns out that they had a prety good lease-to-own deal with the equipment, and they provided in-depth learnin services included in the maintenance fee. So when all was said and done, we got all the equipment we needed for a small-scale harvest outfit for “artisan granite”.. You know, I’ve worked with rock for near 20 years now, an I am amazed at how much folk will pay for this sorta rock. Now I can unnerstand payin lots for precious stones like diamond, and amethyst, and silver; those things take lotsa time an skill to make, an are fairly rare. Granite on the other hand is a different. It’s harvested in the same spot as the limestone-type rock, an don’t really take THAT much more work, yet doctors and law folk will pay out the nose fer “artisan granite” countertops....
It almost feels like highway robbery.. but if they’re willin to pay it, i’ll just take my raise and shut up.

Now you might think I’d be out of sorts now that my job is mostly cuttin `grannit slabs (at least until this vein runs out). Now I admit, I do miss gettin paid to blow shit up legally... I miss it BAD... But try to see things from my point of view.. I now operate what essentially looks like an overweight forklift with a 40 hp, 9-1/2ft articulated chainsaw attached to the front... So even though I used to get-paid-to-legally-blow-shit-up-with-high-explosives, I can now say I get-paid-to-operate-a-giant-robotic-chainsaw.. So it aint exactly a step down the career ladder for me.
Also, I try to look at it this way, I’m the only one certified to operate the GRC (giant robot chainsaw), and no matter how busy we get, the boss has to go home eventually. You’d be pretty impressed at all the sorta things we’ve tried cuttin up with the GRC..

Deap Freeze: 9.6 sec

Chevy engine block: 23.3 sec

Big ol hunk of bologna: 1 sec

24-pack of Bud Light: 4.25 sec

Dead Cow: 11.5 sec

8 ft stack of tires stacked around a 8ft section of telephone pole: 2 min, 27 sec

Tool box full of concrete with heavy chains rapped around it and placed inside a 55 gal oil drum full of nails thats placed inside of the back half of a 78 buick thats placed inside of a construction-waste dumpster: 4 minutes till the chain broke, then another 2 minutes, 12 seconds after we replaced the chain.

The challenge is gettin it all cleaned up before the boss gets back in the mornin.. It makes for some long nights, with not near enuf sleep... but come on, seriously, how often does a fella get to play “How fast will it cut?” with a Giant Robot Chainsaw?

As an added bonus, I now have internet at work. I told the boss that we had to keep the internet now as part of the maintenance cost since we would need to be able to do online trainings to keep up with industry standards.....that is unless he approved overtime for us to do training after hours in the library.. needless to say he approved the internets subscription thing pretty quick!

Where do i even start?

It dont fail that `bout every time I think I got wemmin figured out, I find I still dont got no clue. Now I aint talkin about wemmin in general, cause everyboddy knows alls you gotta do is be polite, shut up and listen, do what they tell you (within reeson), an bring them flowers on mothers day, birfdays, valentine day, flag day, etc. My problems start when I stop dealin with wemmen in general an start dealin with wemmin in specific... `Meanin that with certain specific type wemmin, it dont matter what you bring em, or how hard you work, or how many concerts you take em to, or how many times you take em fishin, or how many times you let them borrow yer truck, or how often you do everything for them and work hard all day long in the quarry, or how often you take them to the bowling alley, they aint NEVER GONNA BE ANYTHIN BUT A CANTANKEROUS POLECAT TO YOU IFN YOU LET THEIR BLOOD SUGAR CRASH! Thats right Hepisbah, I’m talkin to you!

Hepisbah’s sorta a relation to me, but not really. She’s my aunt Sandy’s older half sister. Since Aunt sandy aint really my aunt anymore, that means Hepisbah is sort of my EX-half cousin onced removed or somethin like that. Anyhoo, Hepisbah had been livin with me for a few weeks..

Now before you savvy internet folk start makin kentucky jokes, unnerstand that it AINT like THAT.

Here’s WHY Hepisbah was livin with me (be patient i’ll get to why it sucked in a little bit)
See, Aunt Sandy an her mom Pat an stepdad Monroe done went to Gatlinburg for a few weeks. They happened to be in the right place at the right time and wound up takin one of them free tours that the timeshare companies is always talking about...`Thing is, Pat and Monroe went an did this about 10 or 12 times.. So they had about 2 weeks of free timeshare tours racked up. After doin this they only had to pay for about a weeks worth of fees at the Motel6. Needless to say, they didn’t want to take Hepisbah..

Actually “needless to say” dont really work on account of yall not knowin Hepisbah.
Hepisbah warnt exactly what you’d call “well adjusterd”. See, she was born with a hole in her head an SugarDibetes. They patched up the hole pretty good (for a home job) an now you can barely see the numbers from the piece of license plate under her skin. The sugar diabetes on the other hand is another matter.. Now I aint too sure the specifics of Sugar Diabetes, but i’m pretty sure that AINT what Hepisbah’s got, on account of my former great-aunt Pat just decidin one day that Sugar Diabetes was what ailed Hepisbah (an Pat aint a doctor no matter how many taped reruns of general hospital she watches.)
Whatever Hepisbah’s got wrong with her means she turns into a terror whenever she gets hungry.(I looked on wikipedia an i think it mite have to do with somethin called hypor glysemia or somethin...) I mean she flies off the handle and will bout like to kill you ifn she dont get somethin to eat once the hunger sets in. Its kinda scary to watch. She’s just a little thing with big ol thick glasses, huge teeth, an about 9 cats. She usually wares these old style gingham-type dresses that make her look like a nerdy laurie ingals from little house on the prary. She LOOKS liek she wouldn’t hurt a fly, but WATCH OUT! Aunt Sandy’s gotta mean lookin screwdriver scar on the back of her leg from the time when Hepisbah missed the bus from school and was late for dinner by 3 hours. Honestly, all Aunt Sandy said was “where’ve you been? Suppers cold.” And Hepisbah went SNAP an stabbed her with a screwdriver.. Of course the screwdriver had been sharpened to a point so they could use it to punch extra holes in Monroe’s belt after thanksgiving, but i’m pretty sure it would’ve broken the skin even if it wasn’t sharp.
So Hepisbah had no desire to go to Gatlinburg on account of them mountains bein too far away from the different eateries for her to make it before the hunger-crazies set in.

So Pat and Monroe was lookin for someone to watch Hepisbah. They figured that since Aunt Sandy and I was friends that I’d be cool with watchin her.
“Jus keep her fed” they said, “As long as she dont get hungry she’ll help you with all sorts of stuff around the house. As a bonus, we’ll get you a buncha Pigin Forge shotglasses!”
Never one to turn down an offer on free booze parafinalia, I said I’d give it a 'shot' (hur hur ). Besides, Hepisbah was kinda like family, an my trailer’s nintendo rooms got a futon in it.

Now here’s where things started turnin sour. Apparently Hepisbah’s condition means that she dont process sugar too well. And by “doesn’t process sugar too well” I mean she tends to get hungry a lot quicker if’n she gets lots of complex cerbohiderates an dont get fat or proteen to blance it all out. Monroe (who dropped her off) neglected to tell me that bit of info.
I was plum out of race steaks (thats fryin’ baloney for you newcomers) and gizzards, but I had plenty of moonpies, crackers, cinnamon donettes, and hotdog buns.
Bein the good host that I was, shared my lunch with my cousin/aunt/former relation/ whatever.. She complained a little bit about not gettin proteen, so I tossed her a snickers bar (snickers has got nuts innit, right? Aint nuts got proteen?)
Well come about 3:00 I hear this ruckus in the livin room. I didn’t pay it too much attention cause I was about to break my old record on DoubleDragon. A few seconds later I hear this big ol ripping noise followed by a big WHOMP that shook the wall that the ninttendo room shares with the livin room.. It shook so hard that the skynyrd flag up on the ceiling fell off an landed acrost the TV sos i couldn’t see the game no more. I reckoned this was as good a stopping point as any (since i’d have to pause the game to get up an remove the flag). So I picked myself up and stuck my head in the livinroom to see what was causing the ruckus. Turns out, she tore up part of the carpet an punched a hole straight through the floor on account of gettin so mad about how the sun was shinin through the window an how it was messing up her day and how this part of the world sucked because the sun was too hot this time of the year, etc.(I should probably mention that it was a soft spot in the floor anyway from back when the pipes burst, and I’d been meanin to fix it anyway.)
Anyhoo, I had to make real sure she had plenty of nuts and bacon and cheese in addition to the other food groups foods like cereal and twinkies on hand.. this was shure startin to feel like the sorta complex dietary plannin you hafta do to raise yourself a prize 4H steer.

So for a few days things were goin ok I guess, but she shore got cranky real quick!
I took her to the bowlin alley in Grayson and we didn't get halfway through the first frame before she tossed down her bowlin ball (she cracked the floor) and started shouting about how she hated this game and how aint nobody unnerstood her and how this town was just full of terrible people an how the world was out to get her. I hoofed it over to the concession stand and nabbed her a hotdog or 3 and she soon calmed down after trying to choke some poor fella with his own ball towel. I explained about the hole in her head an the “sugar diabetes”, and the fella decided not to press charges.
The next few days were ok, an we didnt have too many fits because I was able to toss her some cashews whenever i started hearin her grind her teeth in agitation.

Thursday came around and I was runnin mighty low on supplies, so i decided to head on over to Adar Quarry an pick up my paycheck, then head to the gas-n-go for some groceries. After pickin up my regular load of Bacon, lunchables, slimjims, RC cola/Ale-8, and Good-n-Hot potato chips, I noticed this here display for “!Magnum!Strike! Power Drink” On the back of the can it said it was loaded chock full of proteen, plus lots of healthy sounding stuff like Ginseeng, Taureen, Guaranna, Effedrin. According to the cardboard cutout of Brett Michaels, this was supposed to be one of them technological advances in energy drinks, an that it had a days worth of vitamins an energy in one can.
This sounded almost too good to be true! You shouldn’t have to be some sorta rocket chemist to figger out how to feed your cousin the right balance of food so she stays as close to normal as she can get. I reckoned I could give her one of these cans per day to get her vitamins an stuff, an then let her eat regular food like honey smacks and pretzels without havin to make sure she didnt have an episode and wind up alterin the countryside or killin someone. So I went up to the counter with an armload of snacks and about 8 of them energy drinks.
`Ol Lenny took one look from behind the register an said “`Gotta be careful with them drinks Clayton! I hear they’re mostly full of this thing called Hi Fruitcost Corn Syrup! An the lady on TV says its really bad fer a fella!”

I told Lenny that just cause its on TV, it don’t mean its ALWAYS true. Who ever heard of Corn bein bad for people? BESIDES, Corn aint no fruit, its a vegetable.. everybody knows that! And vegetables are lots better for you than fruit.
To me this seemed just like a bonus if the !Magnum!Strike! had vegetables in it!

So I headed home to find Hepisbah sittin on the front porch carving cusswods into the cushions of the old Ford F100 benchseat I was usin as a porch swing. (Usin parts for furniture and door stops is about the only thing Fords are good for.. MOPAR!!!)
So I tossed her a can of the !Magnum!Strike! and 2 packages of twinkies an told her that I was goin fishin an that if i got back an she had messed up any more of my stuf that I’d horsewhip her.
She took a sip of the drink and started complainin that it tasted all “mediciny”. I told her that she needed to be a good girl and drink her vitamins or she couldnt have any more twinkies.
So I headed off to the west branch of Critchens Creek to try an catch some rockbass an bluegill to fry up for dinner.. (I’m off Fridays, so Thursday nights are kinda like the start of the weekend for me).
I didnt do to bad at the fishin hole, and I reckoned i got enough fish to make supper for both Hepisbah an me, so i headed for home.

All I can say is that what I sawd when i got back was nothin but pure desolation. I walked up the hill, an once I got past the bushes at the end of my driveway, I saw that the end of the trailer had got tore clean off. At first I thought it was a tornado hit it till I saw racial slurs spraypainted all over the inside of the trailer. I stuck my head inside what was left of my livin room and shuddered.. All the upholstery on my sofa had been tore off, the stuffing shreded and tossed all over the place. The floorboards were tore up an piled barricade-style in the hallway along with boht the stove that worked, as wel as the broken stove I used to store pots in. It was only half noticed all 8 !Magnum!Strike! cans lyin empty on the kitchen floor.
Then I started hearin the screamin. It started out as a low buzz, but then it started gettin real loud (like hurt-yer-ears-loud) and I could hear exactly what Hepisbah was sayin from behind the barricade. I won’t repeat exactly what she said on account that i’m pretty sure typin stuff like that on the internet aint legal. Basically she was goin on an on about how everyone in this town was a lazy nogood sonovabitch and how we would all pay and that she’d make certain all this damm water underground would stay there and how the government was sending airline jets full of chemicals to spray the sky above her to keep her quiet, etc.

I didn’t know what to do! I could wait till she passed out, but it was almost getting to the point where she’d done more structural damage than could be fixed with tarps an 2x4s.

Ok i gotta confess. I may sound pretty calm right now, but I was pissed as hell at the time and was shoutin my share of colorful language too.. I mean, she’s plum destroyed half my house! Why in God’s name is she even out an about in public ifn she’s able to do this kinda destruction?? I decided I had to do somethin ifn I still wanted to have a home left standin. So i went outside and hooked up my pressure washer an quietly snaked the nozzle through the broken half of my bedroom window (I could jus barely see Hepisbah on the floor.. It looked like she was carving “REDRUM” or somethin like that in the floor boards with one of my buck knives).

Next I went to my truck an got out my stungun from under the seat of my truck.. Why do I have a stungun? Well, when you combine lots of friends, lots of beer, a bonfire and a stungun, it shore makes for a fun Friday night!

Anyhoo so I nabbed the stungun and things went down like this :

I turned on the pressure washer and the hose started thrashin around the bedroom while sprayin water all over. Hepisbah screamed like a wet cat, ran out of the room an jumped the barricade.. She warn’t runnin in terror, she was just even more pissed and was gonna carve my ass in two with that there knife. I knowed this was the case on account of her screamin “Clayton! I’m gonna carve your ass in two with this here knife!”
So she jumps the barricade an I hit her with the stungun before she can stab me. She dropped right away like all the bones had done got removed form her all of a sudden.
I scooped her up an put her in the broken chest freezer i had out back....
Now dont worry, there were airholes punched in the freezer. Like I said, it was broken. I punched airholes innit so i could use it to keep snappin turtles in. I had some blankets i’d been keepin in there cause I aint got no turtles yet, so i figured she’d be sorta comfortable. So I padlocked her in the freezer along with some slimjims an some hardboiled eggs from the store.
After awhile she wokeup and ate her food an then started crying. I felt real bad, so i sat down an started talking to her. It turns out she was cryin on account of how she tore up my house after I was so nice to her, an how she hates when she goes crazy. She said it was like watchin a movie about someone else when it happens.
Its easy to stay pissed when someone acts like they didnt do nothin wrong, but when someone is real sorry like that and is actually upset by their own actions.... well call me a sucker for nerdy holly hobby types who wish they didnt do screwed up crazy things.

So we came to an agreement, Hepisbah an me. I let her out of the chest freezer and she would help me fix up what part of my trailer was still salvageable. When I had to leave the house she would go into the freezer with some snacks an a stack of my guns-n-ammo magazines (she said they were soothin). I cut a small window in the end of the freezer an dragged my TV an Nintendo out on the back porch so she could play nintendo or watch TV ifn she got bored. This actually worked pretty well. Hepisbah liked the chest freezer well enough. She said it made her feel shut in and isolated from the world when it started to piss her off.......oh yeah, she beat my score on Double Dragon too..

A few days later, Monroe an Pat an Aunt Sandy came back home pullin a brand new airstream camper Monroe won in a raffle at `The Forge. They sorta stood around in shock as they looked at what was left of my house... Of course it was in a little bit better shape than when Hepisbah tore it to shreds a few days before, but the front end looked more like a giant tarp-tent than a living room.
“Was there some sorta tornado?” asked Pat..
“Um... no,” I said, “Hepisbah had one of them.....episodes...”
I took a look at Monroe, then looked at the camper... then back at Moroe, then back at the camper. I raised my eyebrows and held out my hand... Monroe sighed, then nodded an handed me the keys to his new camper.

They bundled Hepisbah into the truck, along with her newfound “Fortress of Solitude” (aka my old chest freezer) and got ready to leave.
Aunt Sandy gave me a hug an told me that she was shure glad that at least I dint get stabbed with a screwdriver. Then she squeezed my hand but didnt let go for a few seconds.. She jus looked at me an said nothin. Then she walked back to their truck an looked over her shoulder at me an smiled.. then she was gone.
That made me feel ALL kinds of funny inside.. but it was a good kinda funny, an THAT was what was scary... I mean Aunt Sandys my aunt an all....of course she wasn’t may aunt no more after she got divorced.. An she WAS only a couplea years older’n me... I wonder why she held my hand like that? Like I aint got enough to worry about now..

OMG. HAHAHAHahh! http://www.amazon.com/Mountain-Three-Wolf-Short-Sleeve/dp/B002HJ377A/ref=cm_cr_pr_product_top

you gotta read this fella's review. I SWEAR that's got to be Leeroy's borther who wrote that. We's always givin him a hard tim for goin to fancy stores like the walmart..

I swear my friend Clint from back in the hollar's gots him one of these.. course Clint's a scrawny fella, so he had to special order an Xsmall-long size. Me-n-him done went over to the Gas-n-Go to get some Merle Haggard tapes from up by the register and Lenny form behind the counter offered to sell us a couple of "Stairway to Zepplin" tickets for cheap. So Clint an me decided to go to the show. He wore his wolf shirt to the show, an I wore me a special tee I made from cafe express. It's gots a picture of a bald eagle dressed in a nascar jumpsuit with a #3 helmet under his wing (we aint never gonna forget you Intimidator!!). There's an American flag in the background an spudz Mackenzie the dog playin an electrical guitar while he rides one of them monster trucks over a bunch of them commie al quaeda terrierists on the back. Its got letters on the pocket that spell "Claytonz Krazy Backyardz Kustomz" with a photo of my chevy s10 truck with all 4 corner panels sportin different paint jobs. I'm jus tryin to decide which one I like the best. Sos we up an went to the show an listened to the tunes, only we got in a fight because they didn't slee PBR there for cheap, an as everboddy knows, PBR aint good unless it's cheap! so we got banned for 2 weeks from the only bar in Critchens Valley. We were stuck out on that friday night with our fancy shirts an no one to notice (on account of most everybody who wasnt jailed was at the concert). So Clint got the bright idea to go cash his paycheck at the gas-n-go an then go over to the county jail an see if there was any pretty wemmin who needed bailed out. (Clint likes em firey, so about once a month he goes cruisin for alleged public disturbance types). There werent nobody fun at the jail except for my aunt Sandy. Sandy's only a year older'n me and aint really my aunt anymore.. Still, she's always lookin fer help makin corn squeezins out at her still behind the first baptist church picnic shelter. So even though we didnt find no dates (outside the family tree, but sandy's not really a date cos we's too good friends) but we did get some free shine in the end. you gotta find silver linings like that in life!

I'm back, but the tarps on the roof keep leakin..

Its been awhile since I up an posted on this here inter web diary thang. At first I was putting it off on account of me n Robert gettin writers block about the whole bobby kettle saga, but then the roof of the library got done got tore off by Hurricane an that put a hold on my musins’.
Naw I aint talkin about them big ol water tornadies they get down in floraida on account of Kentucky bein way too far north for that sorta thing (in the hills all we git is this here wind/rain/ice cocktail all winter long so that by spring time yore roof is all leaky and half of the branches on the dead maple in yore driveway up an got snappt off in the storm.
Anyhoo the roof of the library got tore off by big ol Ralph “Hurricane” Stodge. I’ll come back to the Library in a little bit cause I gotta tell yall a little bit about him sos you can unnerstand what sorta fella he is. (You know me, I aint one to just tell a story without offerin plenty of suppermental background materials)
Ralph was obsessed with wrestlin... Well I shouldn’t say obsessed on account of him not really following pro wrestlin all that much. No sir, what Ralph was obsessed with was his VHS collection of the old Hulk Hoagan’s Rock-n-Wrestlin cartoon series. He watched those beat up old tapes almost onna daily basis. Of course all of us true wrestlin fans shore did make fun of him lots on account of him not knowin much about the real thing. I kinda felt sorry for Ralph though, cause them cartoons is pretty far fetched. I mean its tough to unnerstand from watchin a cartoon just how much of an athelete you gotta be to make it in the ring (or Octagon on more special-type occasions). I mean if you really watch Wrestlin’ closely, you can see how much sweat an strain it takes to pull off all them near-deadly special moves. We tried tellin Ralph that it took hours and hours of training to become a pro, but it didn’t do no good, Ralph said he got enough talent sos as not to have to worry with all that trainin stuff’. “Besides,” he said, “This extra weight’ll give me an advantage in the ring, an if I worked out and slimmed down I might lose my edge!”
So Ralph thought he was obsessed with wrestlin’, so he started referring to himself in the 3rd person as “hurricane”. He done made hisself a uniform outta a black teeshirt with the meatierological symbol for a hurricane on the front, and a pair of old realtree camo pants. It warnt ever real clear if Ralph…scuse me, I mean “Hurricane” was a good guy or a bad guy wrestler… According to him, and I quote, “The Hurricane’s too complex and deep to be classed as good or bad. Some days he’s good and passes far to the south in the ocean before makin landfall, but other times he smashes into retirement homes and carries off people’s dogs and used gold jewelry!” Now that didn’t make no sense cause he was talkin in weather terms, an we didn’t know weather or not to believe him. Anyhoo, all he ever did was wander around town (he was pretty much a slacker) and bum cigarettes and Ale-8 offa folk tryin to take their lunch breaks at the gas-n-go. Mos folks obliged an handed over the goods if Ralph would promise to show off some of his wrestlin’ moves… He had such feared signature moves as the “Deadly Landfall”, “Record Swells”, and “Gale Force Wind”… In reality, these moves consisted pretty much of Ralph shouting the name of the move, then doin a pretty bad rendition of a roundhouse kick. Ralph nearly always ended up hurtin himself or breakin somebody’s personal property, or fallin down and crushin someone’s yorkie-type dog.. Usually the breaking of property was preferable cause we got to see Ralph try to fight the pissed off owner of said property whilst usin his extra special moves that jus didn’t work (we called this a double on-tandrah). Either way, Ralph usually wound up at the doctor gettin stitched up an generally pissin off the doc.
Now Doc brown was a nice enough fella, but he didn’t tolerate anny sorta jackassery at all.. Needless to say, he shore picked the wrong place to open his practice. Anyhoo Doc tol Ralph that he was getting hurt on purpose, and that that hippopotamusic oath he took didn’t cover no jackasses hurtin theyselves on purpose, an that if Ralph came in one more time with wrestling related injuries, then the doc would refuse to see him an he’d have to go to the urgent treatment center next county over.. Well Ralph got hurt again, and true enough to his word, the Doc sent him to the emergency Services. Now this particular ambulatory care center charged 100 bucks a pop for people jus poppin in to get the same stuff done that they coulda had fixed at the doctor (like when Clint got the flu on Sunday night and didn’t feel like waitin for Monday morning to roll around to go see the Doc).
So Ralph didn’t change his ways, so he kept windin up in the ER next county over.. Needless to say, he kept rackin up the medical bills.. As I mentioned before, Ralph didn’t work…nossir, he was too busy tryin to get “discovered”. So the bills kept pilin up and he started getting pestered by collections folk.
So ol Ralph starts lookin fer ways to make money, cause bummed cigs and Ale-8 bottles won’t pay the bills. So he tries mowin yards, only no one ever mows their yards around here cause theres lots of shade and it don’t need it. He tried bailin hay, but that was too much like training and he didn’t want to lose his edge. Finally Ralph started stealin copper and selling it on the gray market (We don’t got a black market here on account of all the bootleg whiskey and medical grass practically bein legal tender, so its really more of a gray market than black). So he starts stealin coils out of folks AC units, stealin copper pipes outta people’s vacation cabins by the lake, etc. Well now the roof of the new library was made out of copper sheeting, so now it probably makes a little more sense when I say the roof done got tore off by Hurricane.
Yeah so we figgered out who tore off roof off and we sent his ass to jail.. Sorry but that library got paid for with our taxes. Stealin copper offa the roof is like stealin copper from all of us. So he went away to prison for a few years, and wouldn’t you know, the pokey was just the thing Hurricane needed to toughen him up. He’s gone semi-pro now and is actually makin enough to pay for his old ER bills. I guess sometimes crime does pay if you learn your lesson and grow from it.

Bobby Kettle an the still of destiny part 7

Ok so I know its been a right long time since i done wrote the last entry for this here screen play, but the library done got a leak in it's roof over the summer, an the circuit pc guy only comes round once a quarter.. When I say "circuit" I don't mean he works on microchips an such, i mean he's got one of them circuit positions where he moves from town to town durin the year.

Anyhoo, here's the next part of the story.


After the run-in with the tiny house Elvis, Bobby was feelin even more confused than usual. Dopey done threw him for a loop an it was pretty hard to stay focused on account of that stupid letter. He decided to go for a walk before class to try to sort things out he didnt bother lookin for Cletus an Henri; he was pretty sure they were still sleeping on account of havin a late night NOT meetin each other out by the big rock an NOT swimmin in the moonlight.

As he walked, Bobby tried real hard to think wo might be tryin to sabotage his work.
“Hell’s Bells” Bobby thought, “It ain’t like I’m doin’ anything wrong, an mos every student I talk to has been all pumped up about goin to R.E.A.L.M.A.G.I.C.A.B.Cs... It aint like any of them teacher know either, or else they’d put a stop to it real quick... And that oughtta be enough motivation to keep any of the members from squealin.. besides, who’s want to stop summoning hydras an meteors an stuff sos they could go back to twirlin spaghetti with a magic fork? So it aint a student, and it aint a teacher... who could it be?”

“Scuse me fella,” said a ragged voice over Bobby’s shoulder, “You done trampled mud all over mah clean sidewalks! Im gonna hafta nail your hands to a shingle. Its the rules!”

Bobby whirled around and came face to face with Archie Fitch, the school janitor, and his pet polecat Ms Stinkles. Fitch was holdin a hammer and a pair of mean lookin nails.

“Gawd Fitch,” Said Bobby, “I didnt track no mud over no sidewalks, these here walkways is made of packed clay, its ALL mud!”

“Oooooh” said Fitch, “fella thinks he’s so high an mighty cause he can use magic! That’s the way yer thinkin right now! I can see it written all over yer face! I got my eye on you Kettle! Don’t think I don’t know what yer up to! Me’n Ms. Stinkles done been watchin you! You best watch yourself too, cos we’s watchin it, aint we Ms Stinkles?”

“I don’t reckon what you’re talkin about Fitch, and I’m pretty sure I don’t care,” Bobby replied, “But since I’m pretty sure you aint gonna leave me alone till we talk, you might as well say whats on yer mind.”

“Not here,” said Fitch “fellas might hear what i gots to say. Meet me in an hour out on the southside field by that ol sycamore that stands all by itself. Come alone!”

“Whatever.” Said Bobby.

After breakfast Bobby made his way out towards the southside field. As you can weel imagine, he was gettin pretty pissed about the stuff he was havin to put up with. It seemed like a day couldn’t go by where he didn’t have to deal with some idiot from this here magic community. Bout every one that he done come across seemed to be of one of two minds: The first sorta person seemed to love bobby and kept goin on and on about legends or prophecies, or that he survived a football game with some badass in the magickin’ world. The second sorta person hated Bobby’s guts from day one. Apparently Bobby had a real big ego an was too big for his britches according to them, etc.
Bobby warn’t too fond of either way of thinkin; the folks that loved him an the folks that hated him all seemed to have their minds made up before even gettin’ to know him.

Bobby was so lost in his thinkin that he done tripped over a plaque on the ground.

Now before you go an make fun of poor Bobby, you gotta remember that the middle of fields are usually the sort of places where folk dont have to worry about watchin where they’re goin. It ain like you gotta worry about walkin through a slidin glass door on account of if bein too clean `cause your aunt Peggy uses the Windex way more’n she should. Fields aint the sort of place where you gotta keep an eye out for low hangin signs or worry about bumping into someone. Bobby wasn’t exactly wanderin’ around a cemetary or takin a tour of a plaque-on-the-ground museum. I jus wanted to make sure we’re clear on this sos you dont go wonderin how a football star was clumsy enough to trip over a plaque.
(Ok in all honesty, Robert made me put in the disclaimer in the last paragraph. Bobby Kettle’s about half based on Robert himself an I guess he thought the girls would laugh if they thought his namesake was clumsy)

ANYHOO
Bobby tripped up and fell flat on his face. Cussing under his breath, he got up and dusted hisself off an then went to go see what the plaque said. (Hey, if it was you who done tripped on a plaque, wouldn’t YOU want to know what it said?)

BEWARE!
SMASHING SYCAMORE AHEAD!

“Smashing Sycamore?” Bobby said aloud, “I ain’t heard of that before, but chances are it’s probably stupid as hell, or cursed, or it wants to knock some invisible chip offa my shoulder, or is way too dangerous to be near any sort of school with little kids running around.”

As Bobby neared the tree, he was sorta surprised to see it was a perfectly normal lookin sycamore tree. It wasn’t 900 feet tall, or pink, it didn’t smell terrible, and it sure wasn’t glowing or screaming or singing or doing anything annoying, (which was probably why it was planted so far from the school grounds).

Just as Bobby started thinkin he might have actually found somethin normal, the tree whipped out a limb and caught Bobby in the stomach with a right hook that sent him flyin. It suddenly occurred to bobby why they called it the Smashing Sycamore.

“Oh I see,” said Bobby, “its gonna be like this, is it?”
Bobby quickly ducked as another big damm branch barely mised knockin his head offa his shoulders.
“Time to trim the bushes!” Said Bobby as he raised his wand, “VOCATO SERRA VINCULUA GIGANTOS!”

With a flash of reel bright light and some magic-sounding thunder, a giant chainsaw materialized out of thin air. With a flick of his wrist, Bobby sent that ol chainsaw to work. Within a few short moments, lopped off all the sycamore’s lower branches and trimmed the rest into a 60 ft leafy rendition of Jeff Gordon’s helmet. The tree whimpered and cringed back as Bobby approached it.

“Now lets get a few things straight Mr Sycamore,” Bobby said sternly, “you was all ready to take my head off, an if i wasnt quicker about it, I’d be dead now, am I right?”
The tree shuddered in a way that sorta looked like a nod.
“By all rights I should used this here chainsaw to cut you into tiny lacquered driftwood clocks with pictures of eagles an american flags painted on em.. Now stop whimperin, I aint gonna chop you down. The way I see it, a big ol tree that can kick some ass is about the first thing I’ve seen at this school that’s halfway cool. So what I’m gonna do is let you keep your new haircut for a few days. `Aint nothin like lookin like an idiot for awhile to learn you a lesson. Then, once I’m sure you’ve taken your medicine, I’ll come back and we’ll talk. If ‘n I like the way our conversation goes, I’ll cast you a grow charm and you’ll get all your branches back. Is that acceptable?”
The tree creaked moaned, and twisted some of it’s roots in the durt to crudely spell the words OK Boss.

Bobby made his way back toward the school. It was mighty suspicious that Fitch tol him to go meet somewhere so dangerous. It started occurrin to Bobby that maybe this Fitch character had somethin to do with all these attempts to keep bobby from practicin real magic. It didn’t make no sense though; he aint talke to Fitch but maybe once or twice, an the janitor usually ignored most students so long as they didn’t break nothin or make a mess.. not that it mattered really since most things could be fixed with magic, an most messes were easily cleaned up with a spell or two... It was at this point that Bobby realized that he aint never seen Fitch clean or fix anything with magic. Whenever there was a spill in Distillin 101, fitch was there with a mop. Any time someone broke a chair or a fence rail, Fitch was there with a hammer and nails to fix it. Come to think of it, Bobby hadn’t never seen Fitch actually use magic for anything.

“Thats strange” said Bobby, “howcome the fella with the worst job here would choose to do it without magic? It don’t make no sense...... Unless he CANT do no magic... but why would the school ever hire a non magical-type person for that job?
To be Continued...

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--