County Lines by Bob
The governing board of the C.C.C., the Country Columnist Consortium,
recently reprimanded me for using the word sex 117 times and naked
78 times in a North County Lines that explained the proper way to
search for denture adhesive in K-Mart.
I know what you're thinking: What's wrong with those people anyway?
Don't they know, if it weren't for sex, none of us would be here?
Don't they know we were all born naked and still are under our clothes?
Don't they know that's why Superman uses x-ray vision when looking
at Lois Lane?
Thanks for seeing things my way. But Superman's sexual idiosyncrasies
are beside the point. What I must do now to avoid losing my country
columnist license, which entitles me to a 15% discount on any out-of-date
edible item, except bait, at Friendly Farley's Fish Camp, is write
a column that strictly adheres to the rules as set forth in the
C.C.C. Guide to Writing Really Boring Stuff.
According to the first rule, every country column must include
the names of a multitude of people no one else knows or would ever
want to meet.
Arkley Palmsnot, Gerty Blittersmat, Herkel Fudelwipe, Ardusto Finkle,
Pimpy Whapperflink, Bunto Elweenie the III, Horpley Jones, Phyneldia
Levinshipshire, Shifty Zankerwortz, Rebecca Jane Snooley, Jim, Reverend
Horace McMumphrey, Stinkly Stoodle, Dorcey Hoodleman.
Charlotte and Poochie Dorkington, Panama Fats, Dirty Eddie Beevus,
Booger Eating Benny. Wangso Hoshamata, Pinkly Shears, Zig Zag Grekle,
Paramahansa Babamama, Yellow Pus Feather, Gurlup Feedle, Itchy Manereli.
According to the second rule, every country column must include
details of an accident suffered by someone who can't be more distantly
related than a sixth cousin.
Although I've warned him time and time again, Cousin Arlo was running
his table saw while numbed out on muscle relaxers last week, when
his hand went where the board should go.
Fortunately the doctor in the emergency room reattached Arlo's
thumb and forefinger. Unfortunately Arlo's dog, Snapper, snatched
up the remaining unattached fingers and buried them who knows where.
Arlo says he's going to look for his fingers after he's released
from the hospital.
I told Arlo, "Just leave your missing fingers where they
are. They're already rotting and stinking. Let Snapper keep them.
He'll dig them up when he gets hungry."
According to the third rule, a country column must contain a recipe
with jumbled and missing instructions.
Helping with my famous roasted pig brain delight, with love from
my kitchen, yum, yum, is Rosalita, a Nicaraguan immigrant. "Thanks
for agreeing to help me, Rosalita."
"It is much my pleasure, Roberto. What is it I do now?"
"Put on those safety glasses and that oven mitt. Then pick
up the cast iron pot and hold it up and as far away from you as
"In my country it is not done this way. A fire outside is
used to cook the head."
"We're not in your country, Rosalita. We're in the good ol'
USA where things move faster. Now hold still and close your eyes
when I pull the trigger. But before I do, I need to mention something
to my readers."
When cooking with a flame thrower, use short bursts instead of
a continuous stream of fire. And make sure the end where the fire
exits is pointed toward the object you want to cook. If it's not,
you could burn off your eye brows along with the rest of your face.
"Hold still, Rosalita. Don't be such a pollo grande."
"I am not a big chicken, Roberto. I am also not mucho loco
like you. I am going now. Adios, cabron aliento."
"Goodbye, Rosalita. Don't worry, I won't tell the immigration
authorities you're in this country illegally."
When you can't find anyone to hold the cast iron pot in the air,
place it on the floor and blast away. Always have a garden hose
with a spray nozzle nearby to extinguish a fire like the one I just
After the fire subsides and the cast iron pot has sufficiently
cooled, remove the contents, crack open the surrounding bone structure,
splash on Tabasco sauce, and dig in. With love from my kitchen,
yum, yum, tasty, tasty. Excuse me a minute, someone's knocking on
"What do you want? And make it snappy. I'm busy."
"Hi, I'm Jack from the Happy Trails Messenger Service. I have
a singing telegram for you."
"Okay, Jack, let's hear it."
"Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday to you. You smell like
a monkey and look like one too."
"Very original, Jack. But it's not my birthday."
"Aren't you Zig Zag Grekle?"
"No, Jack, I'm not. Zig Zag lives several miles down the road
in a purple Volkswagon van with four flat tires. Be careful. He's
trigger happy and his Dobermans don't like strangers."
Sorry for the interruption. Where were we? Oh yeah, now I remember.
According to the next rule, every country column must include religious
Instead of showing off my ability to repeat a seemingly endless
number of passages from every book in the Christian Bible, I'll
provide lyrics from a song I first heard at Woodstock: "Teach
your children well. Their parents hell will surely go by. And feed
them on your dreams, the ones you picked, the ones you chose to
According to the final rule, a country column must close with a
message to the readers.
This life is only a drop in the great ocean of time. Human form
conceals eternal wings. Fly free, brothers and sisters. Fly free.
Overton County News
415 West Main Street
P.O. Box 479
Livingston, Tennessee 38570