After reading the further adventures of Hardboiled Jesus, I could not resist resurrecting another little savior story from my old hard drive. So, without further to-do:
by Bubba Frank Hubbit
In the hours before they hightailed it to Arkansas, when all the last minute rushing round like headless chickens had got to a nearbout unbearable fricasse, an old lady from the Penny Jesuits' Church of Sweet Jesus Come on Home and Save Us Already dropped on in to sit a spell with Paul's mom and them.
It were a warmish night at Cal and Dan's Trailer Park, and home of a rusting junkyard of single-wides, including the one all bashed up from Katrina that the Traydees family had squatted in for pert near going on twenty-six days straight. Like Paul, the whole park was a-shivering under that cold, sweaty suspicion everybody had about a cut to their welfare and disability checks, thanks to them Washington politicians what sold their souls to The Evil One and didn't know the wretched time poorfolks had just a-scraping up enough change each weekend for Bud, Lotto tickets, Sonny's takeout and RAW on pay-per-view.
The old church lady jimmied the lock on the sidescreen door and gimped down the particle board passage by the can, where Paul Traydees slept, seeing he was the only one what could fit on the mildewed floor of that there shower stall while his five cousins, Aunt and her boyfriend and their dog John stayed in his room. She hitched up some so's she could take a gander at him where buddy ray lay all curled up like the lil goober he was.
By the blue zitz from the outside bug zapper, fading and dangling as it were by a thread of clothesline cord on account of being hit by a curve ball threw by Joe Bob Duncanny and slammered by that no-good Thrufer boy with the sadass daddy who named him after some dead President what everybody already done forgot?, the chilly boy child could see him that fat old preacher's bitcher a-peeping through the Tellatubbies shower curtain what his mama bought from the dollar store and used in place of the folding door that his daddy kicked in after coming home all a-pisser from Gator's on All Busch Night. Standing as she was length of a crowbar from his mama, witchy seeming -- Dolly Parton wig sitting sideaways on her big ole bowling ball head, paisley turtle neck waddled under her four chins, eyes like black jelly beans someone sucked on and not liking licorice had sput out.
"Dayum, Chessie, that boy evert gonna sprout t'all?" the nasty old thing inquired, wheezing afore she hocked up a big wad of snot.
"Hell if I know'd, Church Lady." Chessie took a drag off her Marlboro. "Supposed to be them Traydees are late bloomers, but his daddy were sure enough man-sized when we hitched up in fifth grade."
Doon Inspired Giveaway: Bubba Frank has never gotten Doon published (something about a trademark lawsuit from the Tabasco people) but humor author Mary K. Witte has a wonderful little book out called "Redneck Haiku -- Double-Wide Edition" that I think is just as hilarious.
To win one of four unsigned copies of Redneck Haiku, post your suggestion for the next redneck masterpiece Bubba Frank should write in comments to this post by midnight EST on Friday, 2/24/06. Winners will be announced here by noon EST on Saturday, 2/25/06. Giveaway open to everyone on the planet, even if you've won something at PBW in the past.
Thursday, February 23, 2006
Posted by the author at 12:39 AM
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Oh good lord. (Wipes tea off keyboard.) It's the illegitimate child of William Faulkner and Doris Snopes!ReplyDelete
How 'bout: Zen and the art of that there Bar-bee-cue?ReplyDelete
Dear God in heaven, it's my ex-in-laws!ReplyDelete
How 'bout them there Million Lucky Pickups? Them's not junk, them's yard art. Even if I done did got shot in one. Like six times. Yah. B'fore I was arrested for that there child porno shit. She weren't no child, she were twelve! I know it cause she were my nieces's brother's sisters cousin's nephew's girl. Hell, my momma got married at eleven, and she'd knock you on yer ass if'n ye said she were ever a child. But then, ye see, after being railroaded fer trafficking - no, it weren't child porn! It were selling birds from that there Brazil county - I got to go to the state pen fer six years and roomed with Bubba Gump who made me his bitch, and I escaped to become a country music star!! It's all raight there in Million Lucky Pickups. Ever' word it true. Swear to god. Er, my dog. Er, somthin'.ReplyDelete
Bubba Frank, what all ever happened after that family of raccoons shacked up in the crawlspace under Ol' Sadie's singlewide? Always did think Ol' Sadie was just too mean to die...ReplyDelete
Breakfast at Tiffany'sReplyDelete
Dear God, who's bed is this and whut is this beside me and how much did I drink last night? Damn 'shine gets me ever' time. Well, I reckon it'll be alright. She is ma cousin and she ain't really that bad lookin' long's ya don't look at 'er straight on. Wonder if she got any aigs. Damn Pop-Tarts make ma cavities hurt.
Return of the KingReplyDelete
A story about Elvis and his return.