Small Town Relations

You know, relations in a small town can get all tangled up and confusin like a pile a coat hangers.

Today at the Bar None Bar & Bar-B-Q Later Billy told me he just found out he was his own father. Well, I knew this town was small I just didn't know it was that small.

Without a knowin it he married his late daddy's ex-wife so now he's his own daddy and his only child. And what inheritance he has left he's gonna lose all over again to his step-momma. And that ain't the half of it.

Turns out she may be his sister too. Later Billy splained to me but was way too drunk and not communicatin good.

But I got to ponderin there on that barstool.

If his momma, I mean his step-momma, wife and sister had a kid he could be the uncle, father and brother to his own child and his wife could be the sister, mother, aunt and grandma.

Then a feller at the end of the bar asked, "Hey, Later Billy, you got any kids yet?"

Well, a hearin that I decided to get me another beer and do some serious ponderin.

You Gotta Love Stupid Too

Is it just me, or are some folks goin kinda weird these days? Like maybe their tinfoil hat is on crooked.

Just the other day I was at the Bar None Bar & Bar-B-Q ponderin a way to get aholt of my drinkin problem -- I got whopped on the elbow of my right arm with the bidness end of a heavy duty fence gate and now I can't hardly raise my hand to my mouth -- when Harmon Hicks plopped down on the stool next to me.

"My tobacca ain't growin. Been nearly a month now and nothins happened."

Well, Mr. Hicks is ever bit as dumb as he looks and twice as lazy so I never figured him to actually work at anything let alone growin tobacco. I was curious.

"So," I asked, "what kind you growin?" I know next to nothin about the topic myself but I had to ask.

"Marlboro Reds. Filter Tip."

"Excuse me?"

"You know. Marlboro cigeretts. Ready rolls. Went down to the feed store and bought me some of them little pots for plantin, some high dollar pottin soil and stuck one in each of em. I water them regular like, but nothin."

Well, I thought he was plumb outa his gourd till he held out a picture of his enterprise like he was showin me photos of his grand kids or such as that.

"Hey!" I called R.L. and Later Billy over to participate in this peculiar event. Sometimes you just gotta share.

"Harmon's got a tryin situation and needs our help!"

Well, Harmon repeated what he told me and passed around the photo.

R.L. slapped Harmon on the back sayin, "Dang boy, no wonder this ain't working for you. You got the filter side down. It can't take root."

"Yep," Later Billy chimed in, "and them pot's ain't near big enough. What kinda fertilizer you usin?.

"None. It comes in the pottin soil. The high dollar kind."

"Well that ain't near enough. You need some good cow manure in there too. That'll help em grow faster. And set out a whole pack a them Marlboros nearby so's the plants can see that and know what they're sposed to turn into."

Well, figurin he was well educated on the topic Harmon Hicks hopped offa his bar stool real sudden like and headed to the Sack and Git for another pack of cigs and then over to his makeshift greenhouse.

By then the entire population of the bar had gathered around, some ten in all, to witness stupid in action.

"Is he nuts?" R.L. asked.

"No," Later Billy said, "he's jus practicin."