Backwoods Olympics ...

Just a quick report pertaining to the latest happenings at the annual DooLittle Olympics which was recently hosted by Grandpa & Grandma DooLittle out behind their barn ... some of which were fraught with a bit of folly and suspense ... musical entertainment was supplied by Ansel Poteet who played the banjo, Uncle Virgil Hunnicutt on fiddle and Grandpa DooLittle alternated between the mouth harp and jug while Grandma DooLittle danced a lively Irish Slip Jig around the chicken coup--Grandma also lit the Ceremonial Oil Lantern ... as to the various contests, Lester DooLittle took 1st. prize in the Watermelon Seed Spittin' Contest with a record-breaking projection of nearly 57 feet ... the previous record of 52 feet which had been set by the Widow VanMeter had stood for 16 years ... Lester also performed well in the Armpit Serenade, along with the Sedgewick brothers ... the Horseshoes event saw Lamar Beefeater come out on top with a total of 17 ringers, Luther DooLittle came in close behind with 14 ringers ... the Widow VanMeter came in first place in the Mudpit Belly Flop, followed by her son Sheriff Clarence A.VanMeter who landed a close second and Clodine DooLittle fell in at a very distant third place ...

Unfortunately a frightening incident occurred during the Bobbin' Fer Pigs' Feet event which brought the entire show to a screeching halt when Aunt Birdie Mae Poteet insisted on participating sans her false teeth ... Birdie Mae had her head immersed under water for an extraordinarily long period of time as she attempted to latch onto an abnormally large pig's knuckle ... she finally got a fairly solid grip on the thing just as she was about to run out of oxygen ... Birdie Mae was desperate to inhale some air, but failed to let loose of that pig's foot before she did ... so when she jerked her head out from the Bobbin' Tub, Birdie Mae sucked that big ol' pig knuckle right down her throat and was about to choke clean to death ... luckily the ever vigilant Deputy Sheriff Cletus A. VanMeter, Sheriff Clarence's first cousin and chief deputy who was patrolling nearby, quickly performed a flawless rendition of the Heimlich maneuver on Birdie Mae as her life was mercifully spared ... the offending projectile however did strike Uncle Virgil Hunnicutt on the back of his head knuckle end first when it came shooting out of Aunt Birdie Mae's gullet thus knocking the wise centenarian face first onto the dirt and into a state of blissful unconsciousness ... due to these tragic and unforeseen occurrences, Grandpa DooLittle called off all remaining events and the 2010 DooLittle Olympics came to an abrupt close ... the Turkey Shoot, along with the Rock Skippin' contest had already been canceled because DooLittle Creek had all but run dry ... and just to make certain that no lamentable experiences occur in the future such as that of Aunt Birdie Mae Poteet ... a new stipulation has been put in place for next year by Grandpa DooLittle ... "if you can't gnaw the kernels off an ear of sweet corn without your false teeth, then you must wear 'em durin' all events ... all contestants will be required to undergo qualifying prior to entering the gate!" ... and for those of you who might be concerned with the welfare and condition of one Virgil Hunnicutt ... he has regained consciousness ... we think ... but is yet to speak!


UPDATE: I just received this report from Barbershop Bob ... who seems to have showed up at the DooLittle Olympics a day late and a dollar short ... but ended up making out like an armed bandit in the end ... the following is what Bob had to say ... almost verbatim:

{So that's what happened! The "DooLittle Olympics" are always looked forward to by the old barbershop's patrons with great anticipation ... and we're always busy that day, what with folks wanting to get themselves all gussied up and all. We close at noon though, so as not to miss out on the late afternoon doins' ... only this year, there weren't none and everybody was gone when I got there, well, everybody except Lamar and Luther who were packing up the Beefeater family truck with Lamar's Mama's unsold pies and such. That they won the horseshoe competition came as no surprise ... when not otherwise engaged in mischief, they're usually to be found out back of the barbershop hustling folks at horseshoes. Now if you've ever tasted one of Maude Beefeater's homemade pies, then you know why I was so surprised to see that truck loaded with her pies ... the Olympics used to include a pie baking contest, but that was discontinued when Aunt Birdie Mae and the Widow VanMeter bitterly complained that Maude always won. A few years back when Birdie Mae was sick, Maude baked her one special ... and wouldn't you know it, she entered that in the competition ... it won too, but was later disqualified when Grandpa Doolittle found the get well card from Maude still in the box.

Since then, Maude has always offered her pies for sale at the Olympics ... well, to be precise, Luther and Lamar converted an old Doolittle Lemonade stand and sold them ... two dollars a pie ... always sold out too, with folks asking for more! This year, not a single pie was sold, no not one ... the boys had no explanation but Lamar thought Aunt Birdie Mae was behind the boycott. Well, seeing this as a rare window of opportunity, I quickly offered to buy a few ... only to find out that the boys wanted $4.00 a pie! Luther was quick to explain the increase ... "we didn't want to raise them prices, but the cost of everything has gone up 10 percent ... eggs, sugar, fruit, flour and milk ... when you add it all up, that's 50% so you see, we had no choice but to do it!" I guess I just stood there with my mouth wide open 'cause Lamar then added ... "I know what you're thinkin' Mister Bob, a 50% increase would would mean charging only $3.00, but Uncle Virgil warned us that if we raised prices 50% we could expect a 50% decrease in sales, so we raised it up to $4.00 to make up the difference." So I told them boys ... "I ain't no near genius like Virgil Hunnicutt, but it's easy to see that he was right ... and, if you had asked him, I'm sure he would have told you if you raised them 100% you could expect a 100% decrease in sales ... which is exactly what you got!" It took some doing but I finally convinced Lamar that taking all them pies back to his mama wasn't the very best of ideas and they accepted my generous offer of one dollar a pie for the lot! They're now on sale down at the shop for $2.00 each, same as usual ... while supplies last!}

--sja

The Dog Days Of Summer ...

Oppressive heat and stagnant, muggy air associated with what is commonly known as "the dog days of summer" had brought most activity in and around DooLittle Hollar to an out-and-out standstill ... during those long evenings after supper, most folks would just sit underneath a shade tree or on their porch sipping cold lemonade or iced tea while fanning themselves with one of those complimentary "funeral home" fans until about bedtime ... it was just too danged hot and miserable to do much of anything else ... except for Lamar Beefeater and Luther DooLittle, who would sneak off to the swimmin' hole for a refreshing dip in the deep, cool water ... that "dip" usually lasted until right about dark when the boys would hurry back home ... now their mamas didn't want Lamar or Luther to go near that swimmin' hole unless accompanied by some responsible adult--if there was such a person around those parts--for fear of their drowning ... and because there had been rumours of a panther sighting nearby--which had likely wandered down from the high mountain ridges in search of water ... so Lamar would tell his mama that he was going over to Luther's house to sip iced tea ... and Luther would tell his mama that he was going over to Lamar's house to sip cold lemonade ... all the while Lamar and Luther were wearing their swimmin' trunks underneath their britches as they sneaked off to the swimmin' hole unbeknownst to either of their mamas ...

Well it was nearly dark as the boys made their way out of the sybaritic waters to get dressed and head back home ... this particular evening had been no different than any of the previous ones ... except for the sudden burst of bloodcurdling, hair-raising growls and screams emanating from a thirsty panther which was now raptly staring at them from right near the opposite side of the swimmn' hole ... the boys didn't have no time to grab no clothes ... the panic-struck pair forthwith took off running with nothing but their swimmin' trunks maintaining what scant measure of tenuous respectability they might have had left ... their retreat was reminiscent of the time they thought they were being chased out of DooLittle Hollar by the ghost of "ol Sloughfoot" ... their pathetic screams could now be heard by most of the town's folk and were growing louder by the minute, so everybody had congregated out in the streets to see what the matter was ... it was totally, pitch-black dark by this time and extremely difficult for the fleeing duo to see exactly what obstacles lay before them as they attempted to speedily put some distance betwixt them and that huge genus Felis ... the only thing standing between them and relative safety was Uncle Virgil Hunnicutt's galvanized, barbed-wire fence and they were quickly and blindly approaching it ... fortunately there had been a fence bridge erected for the purpose of crossing that fence without injuring one's self on the jagged barbs--unfortunately there was no time to locate that fence bridge in the darkness and under such urgent circumstances ... they would just have to leap over Uncle Virgil's fence ... then it was merely a straight, downhill shot into town ... well Luther DooLittle made it over the wire fence altogether unscathed--Lamar Beefeater however did not! ... Lamar felt the tug and heard the rip as his swimmin' trunks got snagged on a sharp, protruding barb and stayed right there as he proceeded apace on his way ... no time to go back and fetch them ... as the now exhausted boys finally made it to town, Luther DooLittle ran directly into his mama's house and slammed the door shut ... Lamar lived on the far side of town and sped on down the main street in that direction ... almost home, he turned the corner leading to his mama's house ... to his horror and dismay, there stood a gathering of men, women and children in the middle of the street waiting to see what all the commotion was about ... those folks could hear the sound of bare feet slapping rapidly against the cobblestone lane and heavy, labored gasps as Lamar Beefeater closed his eyes and accelerated right through the midst of that crowd who were at once aghast and abashed by the pathetic sight ... Lamar thought he heard yet another faint wail from that ol' "painter" amongst muffled sighs of embarrassment and scathing giggles as he ran into his mama's house ... Lamar didn't realize it at the time ... but he--along with a man who had been arrested back in 1799 at the Mansion House in London, and sent to the Poultry Compter, who confirmed that he had accepted a wager of 10 guineas to run naked from Comhill to Cheapside--thus joined the ranks of what would later become a popular, nationwide fad known as "streaking!" ... after their harrowing ordeal, both boys thought it might have been more prudent to have taken their chances with that panther--rather than to endure the unpleasantly stern punishment put forth upon them by their mamas!

--sja

Joe ...

Every now and then I like to dust off and republish one of my older posts ... such is the case with "Joe And The Old Man" ... some comments are from an earlier posting ...

Just after first light each morning, the debile old man would slip on a woolen pea jacket, cover his snow-white head with a threadbare Filson Duckbill cap, then he and a dog named Joe would exit their cozy abode to set forth on a briskish jaunt ... they would unhurriedly amble alongside a roughhewn, split rail fence bordering the meadow ... around the slimy, farm pond ... then wind their way back toward the little bungalow through a dense stand of spruce pine and spurge laurel ... at times a bracing, mountain breeze intermingling with wafting scents of evergreens and wildflowers yielded an invigorating redolence ... Joe never wandered far from the old man's heels, always trailing along so closely behind that his curious, wet nose often brushed against the back of his master's trouser legs as he proudly wagged his tail ... the aged gentleman had lost his beloved wife of nearly forty years to a stroke about two decades before, and he reckoned that Joe was the best friend he had ever known ... his sole companion for the past nine years ... the shivering and frightened dog turned up on the porch one cold, rainy evening ... two whole days passed before the piteous, half-starved stray dared approach the kind looking stranger who had been offering homemade biscuits soaked in warm bacon grease ... eventually the hungry pooch could no longer resist and ravenously gulped down the irresistible morsels ... the pair had been inseparable pals ever since ...

This particular morning, as they embarked on their usual stroll they were greeted by a dark, overcast sky, and a glistening layer of ice had covered everything in sight during the previous night ... as they approached the pond the old man carefully placed each of his steps as he walked on the slippery embankment ... suddenly the soles of his worn boots lost traction causing him to slam painfully onto the hard, frozen ground as he helplessly grasped for the sparse undergrowth before sliding into the frigid water ... in a matter of seconds the lethal cold stripped all life from his body and he was gone ... the now panic-stricken Joe began to woefully howl as he realized his master had fallen into the icy pond ... without hesitation, the loyal dog desperately leaped into the deadly water and swam around frantically searching for his dear master until all strength had drained from his exhausted body ... then he too succumbed to the cold as he disappeared beneath the surface of the pool ...

Instantly the old fellow found himself trudging along an unfamiliar and seemingly endless path with towering walls to each side ... ol' Joe still at his heels sniffing the ground as they walked along ... finally the duo came upon a very wide gate with an extremely determined looking gatekeeper standing its guard ..."enter weary traveler!" the doorman cried "we've been expecting you" he added ... the old man stretched out his neck and squinted his eyes as he peered in through the enormous gate ... therein the sun shone like a jasper stone upon what appeared to be a beautiful city made of pure gold ... lying foursquare ... having twelve foundations garnished with all manner of precious stones ... twelve gates all told, made of pearls upon its walls ... and streets made of solid gold transparent as glass ... the old man had heard stories of a place such as this, but was never sure if those stories were true ... he hurried through the gate expecting Joe to follow at his heels, only to glance back and see his best friend being forcefully restrained by the stern gatekeeper just outside the gate ... "dogs are not allowed within this gate!" declared the furious doorman ... "but is this not Heaven?" insisted the old man ... "of course it is, but dogs are never permitted within!" exclaimed the irate gatekeeper ... the old man retreated back outside the gate and snatched the now snarling Joe from the firm grasp of the heartless sentry, then proceeded on up that long way ... "don't you want to enter in? ... if you go away now, you shall never again be allowed entrance through this gate!" screamed the now disappointed doorman ... "anyplace where Joe ain't welcome, ain't Heaven!" replied the angry, old man ...

The exhausted pair continued to make their way along that forever lane 'till the old man grew so tired and discouraged he thought he might plod no further ... just then, they came upon another gate much narrower than the first, with a much kinder looking keeper standing its guard ... "welcome weary travelers, enter ye in to the joys of our Lord, we've been expecting you!" the doorman graciously said ... "but is this really Heaven? ... and is Joe permitted within?" begged the old man ... "why yes, this most assuredly is Heaven, and Joe is indeed welcome within! ... why do you so enquire?" replied the curious sentry ... "he at the first gate also invited me to enter within, but not Joe ... and he too proclaimed that to be Heaven ... how can I now trust one such as you?" protested the old man ... "oh no, that was certainly not Heaven ... 'twas no less than that beguiling deceiver enticing thee to enter within the gates of hell! ... for wide is that gate, and broad is that way which leadeth to destruction ... any many there be which go in thereat!" exclaimed the gatekeeper ... "enter ye in at this straight and narrow gate ... you and Joe!" he then uttered ... the old man cautiously stepped forward through the gate with Joe ... his curious, wet nose brushing against the back of his master's trouser legs as they slowly ambled alongside a roughhewn, split rail fence bordering a meadow ... around a slimy, farm pond ... then through a dense stand of spruce pine and spurge laurel ... as a bracing, mountain breeze intermingling with wafting scents of evergreens and wildflowers yielded an invigorating redolence ... "well I reckon this must truly be Heaven ol' friend!" the old man declared ... as Joe proudly wagged his tail ..

"Because straight is the gate, and narrow is the way, which leadeth unto life, and few there be that find it" ... Matthew 7:14


--sja

Double Trouble ...

Bertram and Bernard "Butch & Barry" Sedgewick were close brothers who lived in a ramshackle house at the outskirts of town right beside of the main road ... identical twins as a matter of fact ... more notably they were inveterate, overgrown bullies, neither of which had ever been made to sip from the bracing ladle of correction ... "Double Trouble" as they were so abominably referred to ... certainly an infamously  fearsome pair  ... upon hearing their names one would suppose Butch to be the more dominant offender, being that the very mention of the name "Butch" often conjures up images associated with extremely boorish or domineering fellows, especially those found in books or on TV ... however in this case Barry was the alpha bully and chief contriver of most of the wretched duo's egregious, strong-armed rascality ... their normal, daily routine of terror was to loiter around town until some unwitting prospect crossed their path ... the odious team would then stalk their "prey" somewhat akin to lions converging on a hapless gazelle ... then gorge themselves on the unfortunate victim's sudden paralytic hysteria!

Now the Sedgewick brother's favorite quarry were none other than Lamar Beefeater and Luther DooLittle, who were both easy marks ... it seemed as though each time Lamar and Luther were required to travel into town for whatever reason they were obliged to contend with "Double Trouble" ... upon their initial meeting and introduction, the Sedgewick boys had bushwhacked Lamar and Luther as they exited the general store with a sack containing Luther's mama's grocery order ... "what's in the bag?" demanded Barry Sedgewick ... "just my mama's groceries" Luther sheepishly replied ... "dump 'er all out on the ground then run fer yer lives!" Butch sternly commanded ... "er take a whoopin'!" he added with a confident smirk ... Luther dumped his mama's groceries right there on the street then he and Lamar took Butch Sedgewick's advice and took off running like a pair of wild horses ... "Double Trouble" just stood there guffawing like ridiculous fools until Lamar and Luther were clean out of sight ... when the coast was clear Luther had to sneak back and gather up his mama's foodstuff because she was more likely to inflict severe bodily harm far worse than that of the Sedgewick brothers had he returned home without her goods ... on another occasion the boys were again waylayed by Butch and Barry as Lamar was forced to dump half a sack of sweet feed meant for the "Shakespearian Mule" onto the middle of the road "er take a whoopin'!" 

On this particular day, Lamar and Luther were once again ambushed by "Double Trouble" as they walked up the street from the feed mill carrying a large burlap sack tied at the top with a piece of nylon rope ... "what you got in that sack boy?" Butch intimidatingly enquired ... "nothing that would interest you fellers" insisted Lamar ... that response produced the desired affect as Barry Sedgewick's curiosity got the best of him "hand 'er over and run ... er take a whoopin'!" was his command ... "gladly!" announced Luther DooLittle as he surrendered the large yet suspiciously lightweight bag into the eagerly outstretched arms of Butch Sedgewick ... then Lamar and Luther took off running like rabid hyenas laughing at the tops of their lungs the whole way ... Butch and Barry just stood there staring at each other in dismay at the unusual reaction put forth by what should have been an exceedingly disappointed and terrorized Lamar and Luther ... "oh well, open er up and dump er out Butch" ordered the now impatient Barry ... Butch slowly undid the loose knot in the nylon rope and pulled the top of that sack wide open as he grasped its bottom then dumped the contents out onto the ground ... Lamar Beefeater and Luther DooLittle heard the sound of high-pitched screams from nearly a block away as they listened intently from behind Birdie Mae Poteet's rose bushes ... Butch and Barry then sped right past them as they headed on toward the river in hopes of diving in to escape the thousands of angry white-faced hornets bringing up the rear ... the brother's harrowing howls grew a bit more shrill each time one of those Vespula maculatas made contact ... from that day forth Lamar Beefeater and Luther DooLittle didn't have to concern themselves with any further onslaughts of hostility from Bertram and Bernard Sedgewick ... I reckon all those agonizing, well-placed bee stings had made them immune to it!


--sja

Roll Call! ...

This is an opportunity for readers of TheSouthernJackAss to drop by and say hello--in the form of a comment ... while you're here, feel free to critique the style of posts, share your likes, dislikes or ideas for new stories, offer suggestions as to how I might improve TheSouthernJackAss and let me know if TheSouthernJackAss should continue ... your response is greatly appreciated ... so if you have a minute, please leave a reply--it really does matter ... thank you!


--sja

Fool's Gold ...

I'm fixin' to reach way back in time and tell you folks a tale involving Grandpa DooLittle's great grandpappy Amos DooLittle, as recounted to me by the immutable Uncle Virgil Hunnicutt himself ... now Amos DooLittle was a Connecticut provincial and silversmith from New Haven who served under the command of none other than Captain Benedict Arnold ... after crossing the Charles River from redcoat-held Boston, DooLittle, along with scores of other eager militiamen sat idle for weeks anticipating a skirmish that never did take place ... accordingly, most grew tired of waiting and simply returned home ... among those who remained were DooLittle and another young soldier by the name of Ralph Earle from Bolton ... eventually it became evident to military commanders that no battle was to occur, so Amos and Earle were granted leave to visit locales of recent engagements for the purpose of reviewing and recording battle scenes of that day, Amos Doolittle, who was ready to try his hand at picture engraving, directed Earle, a portraitist, to sketch and paint the countryside, filling in the troops and fighting from details Doolittle had collected from eyewitnesses ... at times Doolittle posed on the battlefields with a musket—if "battlefields" is not too grand a word ... back at his shop on College Square near Yale, Doolittle translated Earle's work into metal and was soon ready to sell prints, plain or colored, in sets of four "neatly engraved on copper from the original paintings taken on the spot!"

Now for Virgil's tale ... it seems as though Amos DooLittle's pappy raised chickens, laying hens to be exact, and sold fresh eggs gathered each morning to folks who lived nearby ... now nobody knows who the culprit was, but some hapless prankster had obtained a golden egg about the size of that a large goose might produce ... this mischief-maker believing the golden egg to be no more than a clump of worthless metal thought it would be greatly amusing to place that egg beneath one of Amos DooLittle's pappy's prime laying hens ... that very night, the trickster did just that ... the next morning as Amos' pappy collected the eggs there it was 'neath his best laying hen -- a golden egg! ... Amos' pappy didn't tell anybody about this incredible find, he did however take the egg into town to have the local evaluator take a look at it -- his conclusion being that of "solid, pure gold!" with a weight of approximately sixteen ounces ... very valuable indeed ... Amos' pappy was beside himself ... what to do with this precious object? ... so he came to the conclusion that he would have the initials "AD" engraved on the egg for identification purposes and set it aside for his son Amos, then present it to him on his twenty-first birthday ... so the day came when Amos turned twenty-one and his pappy proudly presented him with the golden egg ... Amos pretended to be extremely pleased with this unusual gift, and although himself a silversmith, he figured that his pappy had never given him anything of real value before, thus this golden egg was nothing more than a clump of worthless metal ... so Amos set it aside and soon forgot about it.

So the golden egg, believed to be no more than a clump of worthless metal, became a DooLittle family tradition, being handed down from father to firstborn son down through the generations from Amos' pappy to Amos ... to Amos' son ... to Amos' son's son ... to Amos's son' son's son, which is Grandpa DooLittle ... from Grandpa DooLittle to his son, which is Luther DooLittle's pappy ... and finally from Grandpa DooLittle's son to Luther DooLittle hisself ... then Luther DooLittle broke the longstanding DooLittle family tradition when he sold the golden egg to his pal Lamar Beefeater for the Brobdingnagian sum of two dollars ... now it so happened that Uncle Virgil Hunnicutt also raised chickens and sold the eggs ... and ol' Lamar Beefeater thought it would be greatly amusing to place that golden egg beneath one of Uncle Virgil's hens ... so that very night Lamar did just that ... the next morning as Virgil Hunnicutt gathered the eggs there it was -- a golden egg with the initials "AD" engraved on its side! ... as you may know, an all but deaf and well-nigh blind Virgil Hunnicutt ... rumoured to be well above one hundred years of age and a near genius ... dazzlingly skilled in any field with an astronomically immense IQ ... ain't no fool!! ... he recognized that golden egg right off the bat to be the infamous "DooLittle egg" ... sixteen ounces of "solid, pure gold!" now worth thousands of dollars ... Virgil was beside himself ... and very appreciative of the long line of fools that delivered the golden egg into his hands ... fool's gold no more!


--sja

A Hard Lesson Learned ...

As Uncle Virgil Hunnicutt made his way into town in search of a fierce and efficient "mouser," he came upon the OldBarbershop and decided to drop in for a quick trim ... as many of you know, barbershops are infamous for being places where folks gather to visit with friends, share life experiences and tall tales, or maybe discuss politics, religion, sports, news, weather, current affairs, idle gossip or just about anything interesting or imaginable ... it seems as though when one climbs into any barber's chair, one automatically feels a compulsion to "spill one's guts" concerning anything and everything on one's mind ... if police detectives were to replace all usual interrogation methods with a comfortable barber's chair, most criminal mysteries would be readily solved ... on this particular day Sheriff Clarence A. VanMeter was already sitting in "the hot seat" as Virgil Hunnicutt ambled through the door ... Clarence could be overheard telling Barbershop Bob the barber to "take just a little off the sides please" ... Bob sharply replied "where else could I take some off, the sides are the only places you have any remaining hair?!" to which all present had a great laugh, including Clarence ... so Bob began clipping away at what little Clarence had to clip and their conversation at once resumed, the topic of discussion being Sheriff Clarence's use of a small airplane to locate moonshine stills in dangerously remote and inaccessible areas of the county ... mainly because Sheriff Clarence and his deputies were afraid to approach these locations on foot for fear of getting shot at, dog bit or caught up in some unpleasant booby-trap.

An all but deaf and well-nigh blind Virgil sat there listening intently as he pretended to peruse the local newspaper he had unknowingly clutched in an upside-down position in his hands, but immediately perked up at the mention of the airplane ... "who do you hire to fly you around Sheriff VanMeter, if I might be so bold as to enquire?" Virgil asked of the Sheriff ..."not at all Mister Hunnicutt sir, but I don't hire anybody, I fly myself and use my own airplane ... as a matter of fact, I am an extremely proficient and experienced aviator having accumulated well over 20,000 hours at the controls of an aircraft ... and I'm a certified flight instructor to boot!" replied the Sheriff ... "I wasn't aware of that ... I'm impressed ... what kind of airplane to you own?" added Virgil ... "a vintage WWI, two-seater biplane with a powerful engine, likely used as a trainer for fighter pilots way back when" answered Clarence proudly ... "do you by any chance have your pilot's license Mister Hunnicutt?" he added ... "oh no sir, I never had any use for a pilot's license ... as a matter of fact, I haven't been up in an airplane for quite a few years now" replied Virgil ... to which Clarence made this generous and kind offer "well why don't you meet me over at the airfield tomorrow afternoon and I'll take you up for a spin in my airplane?" ... Virgil was ecstatic blurting out "most definitely sir, I will assuredly see you there!"

The next afternoon Virgil enlisted the services of one Luther DooLittle to drive him over to the little airfield in Luther's Daddy's old Dodge pickup truck ... Sheriff Clarence A. VanMeter had already removed the bright, red biplane from the hangar and was just finishing his preflight check when Luther pulled up with Virgil ... Clarence greeted the motley pair as he and Luther assisted Virgil from the truck and strapped him into the front seat of the fully restored yet clearly antiquated aircraft ... "now you ain't scared or nervous are you Mister Hunnicutt?" Clarence politely asked ... "no sir, not a bit ... I think I'll be alright" proclaimed Virgil with a bit of a chuckle ... Clarence climbed in and cranked up the powerful engine as the propeller spun with a loud roar ... he then taxied out to the end of the short airstrip, powered up and  rolled down that runway rapidly picking up speed as the aged aircraft leaped into the air and began a steep climb skyward ... Clarence yelled "you still okay Mister Hunnicutt?" ... Virgil waved then assured Clarence that "all was well" ... so Clarence began explaining the controls and the purpose of all the gauges in the cockpit as they sailed effortlessly through the calm air.

As soon as Sheriff Clarence A. VanMeter was satisfied that Uncle Virgil Hunnicutt seemed to be unusually at ease while floating ten thousand feet above the ground, he reluctantly asked the savvy centenarian "would you like to take the stick for a bit and get a feel for for what it's like to be a pilot Mister Hunnicutt?" with the knowledge that the old trainer could be flown either from the front seat or the back if need be ... "why certainly!" exclaimed Virgil, as Clarence relinquished control ... well Virgil did real good, held 'er level and steady ... then without warning Virgil flipped 'er over into inverted flight as a terrified Clarence held on so tightly his knuckles turned white ... then Virgil did a loop ... then an outside loop ... then Virgil did a roll ... then a barrel roll ... then a snap roll ... then Virgil went into a spin ... then an inverted spin ... then Virgil did a stall turn and a hammerhead ... then Virgil brought 'er around again level and steady as he said "you may take 'er back now Sheriff, that sure was fun!" ... ol' Clarence was now at an impasse, he didn't know whether to simply jump out or completely succumb to the shear surprise, shock and terror of this frightful ordeal right there on the spot ... when he had regained control of his beloved flying machine along with sufficient composure and breath to again speak he declared "I thought you said you didn't have a pilot's license Hunnicutt ... and that you hadn't been up in an airplane for several years!" ... Uncle Virgil then sheepishly confessed "I have never had a pilot's license sir ... and I haven't been up in an airplane for quite a few years ... not since I was an ace fighter pilot back during World War I ... highly decorated with twenty-two confirmed enemy kills!"


--sja

Of Mice And Man ...

Uncle Virgil Hunnicutt ... all but deaf and well-nigh blind ... rumoured to be well above one hundred years of age and a near genius, dazzlingly skilled in any field with an astronomically immense IQ ... sat at the dinner table ... before him a large bowlful of hot grits covered with clumps of melting creamery butter piled high atop ... to one side a platter bearing a stack of crisp, apple-cured bacon, along with a pitcher of thick gravy made from its grease ... strategically placed on the other side was a tall glassful of fresh buttermilk, and a tray loaded down with homemade biscuits also coated with that tantalizing butter ... a jarful of elderberry jam at the ready ... Virgil could hardly wait to thrill his restless tastebuds and dig in ...

Just as Virgil was about to dip into the toothsome contents of that bowl with his spoon he heard what sounded like light scuffling ... seemingly out of nowhere approached a tiny mouse skittering apace across the table and right up to the edge of that bowl which held the grits .. it then perched on its hindquarters while leaning over the bowl's brim for a better look and a whiff of the steaming fare ... its elongated front teeth, beady eyes, exceptionally long whiskers and tail and over-sized ears made the diminutive critter appear more than a bit cartoonish ... suddenly Uncle Virgil thought he could hear the faint sound of a voice speaking to him ... he looked down at that little mouse which was quizzically peering back up at him with its piercing eyes ... surely not thought Virgil ... then setting all doubts aside Virgil heard the squeaky voice yet again, although now clearly and loudly "I say, excuse me sir, please forgive my forwardness ... but those grits smell delightful ... may I impose upon your manifest kindness and generosity ... and have a taste for myself?" said the mouse ...

Uncle Virgil quickly put down his spoon and slid his chair away from the table ...then looking all around the cramped yet tidy kitchen he made sure nobody else was there before he replied "but of course, help yourself" ... at which the lilliputian rodent stuck his long snout right into those grits gulping down a huge mouthful ... "exquisite ... absolutely scrumptious ... much better than stale bread crumbs and orange peels from off the dirty floor ... perfectly cooked ... my compliments to the chef! proclaimed the mouse ... "may I have some more, and would you mind if my wife joined us?" the bantam creature presumptuously enquired as a daintier mouse crept nervously toward her mate ... the ever charitable Virgil complied "but of course, eat your fill ... by the way, if I may but be so bold as to ask your names?" ... the mouse again pulled his snout from the bowl, his whiskers now coated with butter and grits as he answered "my apologies sir, I suppose the aroma emanating from this delectable food must have stymied my good manners ... my name is Rickie, and this is my dear wife Ginnie" ... Virgil now more at ease responded in kind "glad to meet you both ... my name is Virgil Hunnicutt ... welcome to my home" ... "do you have any children?" he added ... "why yes we do, four in fact, they're called Eenie, Meanie, Miny and Moe ... they're now hiding 'neath the table with their friends, may they dine too?" begged the mouse ... "sure they may, there's plenty enough for everyone" exclaimed Virgil as four baby mice rushed toward the grub ... well before Virgil realized it there were hundreds of mice attacking and consuming his dinner as he looked down to see but a single spoonful of grits and a dab of butter left untouched in the bottom of the bowl ... "better eat up" quipped the mouse "before it's all gone!" ... Virgil grabbed his spoon scooping up the last of the grits and just as he brought it to his lips -- he awakened in a cold sweat bolting upright in his bed from the disconcerting nightmare ... his covers twisted in knots ... his overstuffed stomach roiling and rumbling ...

Uncle Virgil Hunnicutt came to a couple of solid conclusions that early morning just afore sunrise ... he would never again consume bacon, gravy, grits or buttermilk right before retiring to bed for the night ... and he would adopt a cat the very next day ... a good "mouser" if one could be had -- just in case!


--sja