Saturday, February 26, 2011
Luther DooLittle and his lifelong pal Lamar Beefeater had whiled away the better part of the lazy afternoon earnestly toiling on the weedy banks of Grandpa DooLittle's farm pond in a fruitless endeavor to entice any one of the enormous catfish that dwelt therein to latch onto barbed, trebled hooks laden with delectably alluring chicken livers ... to their utter dismay, the cliquish creatures merely hovered near the squelchy bottom of the pool while staring contemptuously, without as much as a flinch, at the tempting morsels lying within half-a-foot of their whiskered noses with no present intentions of grabbing hold ... frustrated, tired and hungry ... and nearly consumed alive by merciless and rapacious "skeeters" ... Luther and Lamar determined their demonstrable failure due to it being just "too danged hot and humidified" ... not a day conducive to the successful angling of big cats, thus they eventually retrieved their fishing lines and removed the rancid bait from their hooks, then flung the offensive globs, along with that which remained in a plastic container, directly into the pond right where those ol' catfish were patiently abiding ... suddenly ... unexpectedly ... that placid water at once became sorely troubled as it commenced to roiling violently about as if being pelted by thousands of angry hailstones from the heavens above as those catfish fell upon those discarded chicken livers forthwith devouring every last one of them in a matter of seconds while leaving nary a fragment ... the water then fell back into its previous state of tranquility ... the boys shrugged their shoulders as they looked at each other in amazement and disbelief at the outright audacity of those collusive brutes, then dejectedly hung their heads as they sauntered off towards Grandpa & Grandma DooLittle's place in hopes of an offer to remain for supper--which always boasted mouth-watering vittles renowned for their general specialness all throughout those parts.
As Luther & Lamar approached the DooLittles' gate, Grandpa was sitting on the front porch in his hickory rocker patiently awaiting Grandma's beckon to supper ... the boys made sure Grandpa would notice their passage by each slowly kicking empty, clanking tin cans along the gravel lane ... although Grandpa had been listening to the nettlesome racket long before the young band came into sight round the bend, of which the aged and intended target was well aware of the conniving juveniles' ulterior motives and reasoning ... thus Grandpa DooLittle cheerfully summoned the clattery boys' attention with a wave and a "haw men" ... then he graciously interpellated as to their status as potential dinner guests for the evening ... with a postiche boggle the calculating duo at once halted , as if genuinely taken aback by the sudden presence of the old man ... without hesitation both boys replied in unison that they "had grand places to go and important things to do"--but indicated that the aforesaid impending affairs might be postponed lest the risk of appearing ill-mannered and less than neighborly should befall them--they therefore humbly accepted Grandpa's kind invitation ... Lamar Beefeater then presumptuously enquired of the generous host as to the substance of the menu ... ol' Grandpa hungrily replied "well fellers, I reckon Grandma's a fixin' collard greens, black eye peas, macaroni & cheese, corn bread and warm nanner puddin' along with sweet tea to down'r all with" and after peering around in all directions, Grandpa carefully added amid a whisper "and pan-roasted BP!" ... the boys gazed at each other and then at Grandpa with a tinge of befuddlement, then Luther wondered aloud "what the heck is BP Gramps?" ... the response was downright astounding "you see that Shakespearian Mule a standin' right over there? ... well he's awful peculiar and tenderhearted ... and can't bare to witness neither the harm nor demise of any of his feller critters, neither domestic nor wild ... why when Grandma wrings the head off'n a Sunday chicken I have to walk that mule way up into the apple orchard out of sight and sound of the requisite deed ... and considerin' the fact that he understands words better'n most school educated folks, I am obligated to use initials of persons, places and things at times so as not to injure his brittle psychological constitution ... so we're a havin' pan-roasted BP is all I can say! ... now for those of you unfamiliar with the "Shakepearian Mule"--you may introduce yourself to the august beast here ... now back to the story at hand, which took place long before the unfortunate occurrences set forth in the aforementioned story ...
Grandma DooLittle proudly rang the dinner bell, and as the boys followed Grandpa inside, they hurriedly and curiously perused the barnyard in search of some edible creature what might carry the initials of "BP" ... tweren't anything beef ... tweren't anything poultry ... but there in the hog pen trotted about a dozen or so energetic and squealing Baby Piglets ... pan-roasted Baby Piglet! ... a delicacy indeed amongst many worldly cultures ... the boys couldn't wait to dig in, and after all were seated at the dinner table and Grandpa DooLittle concluded the saying of Grace the famished pair did just that, ravenously engorging themselves with the delicious fare, especially the fragrant and scrumptuous "BP" ... stuffed nearly beyond capacity, and after determining that the "Shakespearian Mule" was nowhere within earshot, Lester DooLittle unabashedly announced with a satisfied yawn that he had just dined on undoubtedly the finest pan-roasted baby piglet that ever had the pleasure of sliding down his slippery gullet and filling his craw! ... at which Grandma DooLittle nearly inhaled a swaller of her sweet tea before interjecting "oh you poor, simple child ... that there weren't no pan-roasted baby pig ... that there were pan-roasted Boar Possum!!"
Posted by sja at 2:59 PM
Saturday, February 12, 2011
I reckon most of you are familiar with Aunt Birdie Mae Poteet and the Widow Clarabelle VanMeter, Sheriff Clarence A. VanMeter's mama ... both of which were getting up in years, so shortly after Clarabelle VanMeter's beloved husband Cleaver got killed by a stray bolt of lightning, Clarabelle and Birdie Mae had moved out of their respective homes and relocated to one of those modern duplex apartments ... Birdie Mae in the left-hand unit ... Clarabelle in the right ... adjacent ... door to door ... mainly for convenience and practicality ... but more importantly so they could live side by side while still maintaining a shade of privacy and independence ... especially in the case of the Widow Clarabelle VanMeter, who had been carrying on a widely-known and longstanding love affair with Uncle Virgil Hunnicutt ever since the untimely death of her husband ... in other words, Clarabelle and Virgil had been sparkin' right well for quite some time.
That particular evening the Widow VanMeter had invited Uncle Virgil Hunnicutt over to her suite for dinner and a movie as a Valentine's Day treat ... she had prepared his favorite meal of chicken and dumplings, mashed potatoes and gravy, green beans, hominy, homemade bread, churned butter and baked custard topped with fresh, ground nutmeg ... she hadn't yet told Virgil what she was fixin' or what the movie would be, which was also one of his favorites ... 'Gone With The Wind' ... she wanted to surprise him ... in the meantime Uncle Virgil got all dressed up in his finest Sunday-go-to-meetin' suit, polished his wing tipped Florsheim shoes and splashed on a couple handfuls of Old Spice cologne ... Virgil then summoned Lester DooLittle to drive him to the general store for the purpose of acquiring a good-sized Whitman's Sampler and a lovely bouquet of flowers to present to his sweetie ... then they headed toward the duplex ... now Virgil didn't want Lester to drop him off directly in front of the Widow's apartment for fear of drawing the attention of her friend and neighbor Aunt Birdie Mae Poteet ... who was a habitual gossiper ... so Virgil insisted that Lester drop him off at the end of the lane, then he could stroll unobserved up the street right to the Widow's front door.
Now you may also be aware that Uncle Virgil Hunnicutt was rumored to be a near genius, and said to have been well over one hundred years of age ... thus consequently hard of hearing to the degree of being nearly completely deaf, and unfortunately, almost totally blind--maladies which had landed Uncle Virgil Hunnicutt into a passel of hardships on more than a few occasions ... but Uncle Virgil made his way up that street as best he could, turned right at the walkway and approached the front door as quietly as a mouse tiptoeing across a shag rug ... pausing a moment so as to catch his breath, he then confidently rapped on the door ... as it slowly creaked opened a pleasant culinary aroma invaded his nostrils ... the old man quickly brought one hand from behind his back to present his hostess with the box of chocolates while the other hand followed gripping the bouquet of lovely flowers ... he then proudly exclaimed "these goodies are for you my love, may I come in?" as he boldly crossed the threshold entering the flat before his subject of adoration might have a chance to reply ... "how 'bout a big ol' smooch?" insisted Virgil as he stretched out his neck, puckered his lips, closed his eyes and planted a big, wet kiss right solidly on the dear lady's terse lips... then Uncle Virgil added "I sure hope that old battle-axe next door didn't see me come in, she's the worst gossiper in all the land, and a bald-faced liar to boot ... it's none of my business, but I don't know how you put up with her or consider her to be your friend! ... but whatever you do Clarabelle, please never tell ol' Birdie Mae Poteet what I just said!" ... Aunt Birdie Mae Poteet slammed the flowers and candy back into Uncle Virgil Hunnicutt's arms as she forcefully tossed the confused centenarian out the door by his ear! ... Happy Valentine's Day!
Posted by sja at 6:39 PM