Backcountry Notes

Corn Man was found yesterday morning, bereft of life.  Foul play was immediately suspected.

A popular figure in the neighborhood, "Cornie" had last been seen the previous evening strolling down the sidewalk carrying a parcel.  The police at first assumed that he had perished in a robbery gone wrong . . . but soon a more sinister theme emerged.

The scene of the crime

Pumpkin ManSuspicion began to center on Pumpkin Man, a long-time rival who had once declared Corn Man to be a "charlatan and a fraud." Pumpkin Man often claimed that he is "the true spirit of Halloween." "Pumpie" was taken in for questioning, but then he was released from police custody when a young woman of his acquaintance, Squash Blossom, provided an alibi for "the whole night long."

Straw punksThe authorities then began inquiries into the activities of the Straw Punks, a group of rowdies who had been observed in the vicinity on the night in question, carrying rolls of toilet paper and cans of silly string.  The investigation came to a sudden halt, however, when the medical examiner returned an initial finding of "acute alcohol poisoning." According to the M.E., "Cornie just got too happy and had too much of them good corn squeezins."

Friends and family are planning a roast in Corn Man's honor.

This story is from a letter I wrote to my children on September 29, 2001.  Names have been changed to protect the guilty, but otherwise it is mostly all true.

As a kid, I didn’t go in much for “practical jokes” . . . exceptions including one time when my obnoxious cousin Bull* drove me nuts bragging about how he was better, smarter, faster, and otherwise superior in every way. Bull was visiting the family farm in North Carolina with his parents that day. We were walking along a lane by a field where my grandfather had an electric cattle fence when Bull said, “I wonder if that’s on.”

Now, while electric fences can be dangerous (a short circuit near the power source can be fatal to a man and is known by farmers as a “death short”), normally the amount of current going through the wire is very small. One reason for this is that cattle are far more sensitive than humans to electric current (a man can withstand a shock that would fell a steer several times his size). Another reason is that electric fencing relies on the element of surprise; animals don’t expect the unpleasant tingle, so they learn to avoid it. You don’t want to kill your cattle, see, just keep them in the pasture.

So if you knew that it was a low-voltage system, the standard method of testing whether your electric fence was on was to reach down and grab the wire; if it stung you, it was on. I knew that, but since Bull had spent his entire life, as far as I could tell, bragging and swaggering and admiring his reflection in mirrors, he didn’t appear to know much of anything. So an evil thought crept into my mind; I resisted the temptation, if only briefly, but I was weak, so I gave in.

“I wonder if that’s on,” Bull had said. I reached over and touched the wire. It was “hot.” “Don’t feel a thing,” I told Bull. He reached over and grabbed the wire (he did this only, I knew in my heart, so that he could go back to the city and brag to his friends that he had touched an electric fence and lived!). Bull squealed like a piglet and jumped three feet in the air, waving his wounded hand and blowing on it as if to put out the flames. “It’s on!” he glared at me. So I grabbed the wire and held on; I pulled it up a notch so he could see for certain I was making contact. Yup, it was on. “Nothing,” I lied; “you sure are skittish, Bull.” Not one to be known as "skittish," Bull grabbed the wire again and immediately repeated his piglet dance. I couldn’t help laughing and took the resulting look on Bull’s face as my cue to do the 100-yard dash back to the house.

Bull couldn’t run as fast as he claimed, nohow.

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* Bull - - not his real name, but a term of affection in honor of the credibility of his stories.

James Shott of Bluefield has compiled a blogful of levity, including the occasional jassackery.  Some samples:

 And That’s How the Fight Started

When I got home last night, my wife demanded that I take her someplace expensive ... so, I took her to a gas station

And that's how the fight started.

I tried to talk my wife into buying a case of Miller Light for $14.95. Instead, she bought a jar of cold cream for $7.95. I told her the beer would make her look better at night than the cold cream.

And that's how the fight started.

My wife and I were sitting at a table at my high school reunion, and I kept staring at a drunken lady swigging her drink as she sat alone at a nearby table. My wife asked, "Do you know her?"

"Yes," I sighed, "She's my old girlfriend. I understand she took to drinking right after we split up those many years ago, and I hear she hasn't been sober since."

"My God!," said my wife, "who would think a person could go on celebrating that long?"

And that's how the fight started.

I Have Some Questions!

If 4 out of 5 people SUFFER from diarrhea...does that mean that one out of five enjoys it?

The Confession

There once was a religious young woman who went to Confession.

Upon entering the confessional, she said, “Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.”

The priest said, “Confess your sins and be forgiven.”

The young woman said, “Last night my boyfriend made mad passionate love to me seven times.”

The priest thought long and hard and then said, “Squeeze seven lemons into a glass and then drink the juice.”

The young woman asked, “Will this cleanse me of my sins?”

The priest said, “No, but it will wipe that silly smile off of your face.”

The Marriage Counselor

A husband and wife go to a counselor after 15 years of marriage.

The counselor asks them what the problem is and the wife goes into a tirade, listing every problem they have ever had in the 15 years they've been married.  She goes on and on and on.

Finally, the counselor gets up, goes around the desk, embraces the woman, and kisses her passionately. The woman shuts up and sits quietly in a daze.

The counselor turns to the husband and says "That is what your wife needs at least three times a week. Can you do that?"

The husband says, "I can bring her in on Monday and Wednesday, but on Friday I'm golfing."

FOR MUCH MORE, go to A Little Levity.