Tuesday, April 19, 2005

Succotash And Fixing The Gizzard [Exclusive]

Isn’t it always interesting when the doctor comes in and gives you the report while you are still figuring out who you are and how you got there. It’s kind of like the First Mate telling the Admiral that the ship is sinking after the lifeboats have left. Well, my news wasn’t that bad, but he does want to take another trip down candy bar lane. They’re going to put some kind of new fangled device in there that is going to keep a record of what I feed to my face. It’ll attach to my intake pipe kind of like a leech on your leg then at some point it will decide to move on. I know what you’re thinking and no way. They’re going to hitch a little box on my side that will read the signals from the gut bug. Trust me, it will not be retrieved. But, if I have my usual lottery type luck I’ll get to visit Dr. Hacknsaw again. That’s the way it is if this little bug finds anything.

I really like my doctor. He ain’t the type Jeff Foxworthy talked about when he quoted as the doctor saying, “Now whut we got cheer is . . .” This doctor come highly recommended from a trusted source, the local party line. Bet you young’uns ain’t heard of one of them. Truth is he got recommended by another doc who has done me right. But I do miss the party line. Growing up in Alabama we had as many as ten houses on our line. Heck, you didn’t need television, radio, or newspaper. If it was juicy or bad news it always traveled faster than this Internet stuff ever has.

Just how did these fellers up here in Ohio ever get raised on what they eat around here? I went to the store to look for some of my favorites and the cupboard was bare. No succotash. No Brunswick stew. So now I’m gonna have to import stuff from Dixie. I wonder if there’s one of those taxes or laws on importing this stuff cause it’s important for us Southern boys to have our fix of home cooking. I know I told you guys that my wife could cook better than any French chef, but you gotta have the beans if you’re gonna make bean soup. And to beat all I found out they put sugar in the cornbread up here. Folks, that’s dessert. What you want is bread with your supper. You put the sugar in the tea, but it seems they missed that point too. Looks like I’m gonna have a fulltime job teaching folks around here how to eat. By the way, if you look up succotash on dictionary.com those folks must not be from the South either. They left out the most important part, the okra.

Getting back to telephones, I finally got around to reading the fine print on my phone bill today. After reading the fine print I’m beginning to think these are some of the same folks sitting on our city council I told you about. No, I’m not talking about taxes this time, but rest assured the government portion is on there. I’m talking about this inside wiring plan racket they try to sell you. It seems that they give you all this blabber about how they’re gonna charge you if they come out to fix wiring in your house. That is, unless you have their fancy arrangement where you drop them a few extra coins each month. Now that would be something attractive if you hadn’t ever strung tin cans before or if you had reached the point where you really ought not to be looking under your house. But wait, did you read the FINE print. Yep, the part that says even if you drop those coins they are still gonna charge you as if you hadn’t got the plan if they didn’t install the wires in the first place. What? My house has sat here since 1941 but I gained ownership in 2003. Now just who really knows who put these wires in? So had I agreed to this scheme then I would be pouring extra coins each month into a hole I didn’t see myself dig. That’s what happens when you got enough “regulated” money to hire a slew of fancy lawyers and such just to think of these schemes. Now the boys down there at city hall are really jealous.

So with that my fine friends I think I will sign off for another evening. Until we meet again take care and make sure you get yourself a big helping of that succotash. It’ll fix what ails ya.