earschplitinloudenboomer
03-26-2005, 03:33 AM
…..dave from wvangler wrote….”beginning of an anthology….”
pssst...psssssssssst!....dave, hey dry socks dave...SHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH...
phew!...had to lay low fer a little bit. Boy, so much fer them nice fly fishin' fellers...felt like Kevin Harvick, pulled out to pass an' nobody went with me. Anyway, I think you was askin' about Ant Holly G. (anthology...might want to check your spellin' there pardner). Ant Holly G., the "G" bein' short for Grimmandower, was from Dads side of the family. Nothin' EVER happened on that side of the family...'cept, well maybe fer that incident with Cousin Scooter...
His name was Jamsie, everbody just called him Scooter 'cause, uh...any of yall ever have pin worms? Well Jamsie learned that if he could get that seam in the back of his bibs kinder turned up edgewise, ( you know, a runnin' with the grain of his butt crack), then hook both thumbs in his gallises, hitch 'em up real tight, set flat down on the porch an' ooch along on his behind, he could get some relief from the itchin'...leastways 'til it was time for the mornin' constitutional at the little house ( now thats painful just to think about, specially the corn cob finish).
As Jamsies' itchin' got worse, a couple of laps around the porch just wasn't enough anymore, so Cousin Jamsie sorta increased the dosage. He scooted down the steps... out the path...'cross the gravel road to the mailbox...an' back! Once he'd shook off an' dug the seat of them bibs out of his butt crack...he was good to go. Now you'all know how folks is. They kinder took note of this behavior after a while, an' started calling Cousin Jamsie "Scooter"...'cause callin' a youngun red ass just wasn't polite in them days. Turned out, the name (an' the pin worms) just sorta stayed with Cousin Scooter.
Cousin Scooter was Ant Holly's youngest. He was a gangly boy with them huge watery blue eyes you see lookin' back at you through them thick, thick glasses...only he couldn't wear glasses...eyes just looked that way. See one of Cousin Scooters ears was a might lower than the other an' when his glasses got crooked, the eye on that low side kinder started wanderin'. The more it wandered, the less he wore his glasses an' finally Ant Holly let him put 'em in a drawer. Cousin Scooters other mentionable feature was a shock of red hair, made up front, back 'n' up the middle, of cowlicks. Nobody in the family could figure where that head of red hair came from an' to her dyin' day, Ant Holly never spoke of it.
One Friday night, must have been a hatch come off 'cause first thing Saturday mornin' Cousin Scooter hit the floor a runnin', got one leg into his bibs an' was out the door an' on the porch... scootin'....ears laid back… down the steps...lips curled up...out the path...gruntin' an' howlin' eyes squinched tight… into the gravel road! Thats what Buster Johnson seen when he rounded the turn. Cousin Scooter heard the gravel flyin' an' knew right off he was in a hicky. He threw them flailin' heels into reverse, double clutched his underwear an' did a butt cheek burn out. When he finally got some traction he was able to jump the side ditch from a sittin' position an' land back in the yard next to the wash tub...all in a twinklin' of them bugged out eyes! Why, Buster barely had time to swaller' his chew before he cut 'er left through the pole fence. Telly Potter just couldn't say enough about Busters expert piece of drivin' as he was pullin' the truck out of the cow pond with his team. Cousin Scooter started to thinkin' about a new approach to scratchin' his itchin'.
The idea of a bicycle came to him...yeah...a bicycle...peddle, peddle, peddle...rub, rub, rub...peddle, peddle, peddle...rub, rub, rub. The thought somehow seemed real comfortin' to Cousin Scooter. Didn't fly with Ant Holly though. She was quick to tell him there wasn't enough egg money fer no bicycle...Lordy, they was barely enough to keep him in bibs! If Cousin Scooter wanted a bicycle, he'd have to earn the money to buy it. Couson Scooter soon hit on a plan. He'd catch "feesh" bait an' sell it to old man Loomis at the bait shop.
Something about log chains, dragged from the necks of coon hounds, discourages a large and thriving population of night crawlers. This somewhat limited Scooters inventory of bait selection. He could'nt see good enough to tell soft crawdads from hard crawdads. When you grab a hard crawdad...it tends to be hard all over...'specially the pinchers! Cousin Scooter decided his fortune lay in helgramites. Helgramites pinch too, but they're pretty slow walkers, an' he found that he could swipe Ant Hollys moustache tweesers to pick 'em up with, then sneak 'em back in her drawer, an' nobody the wiser.
Things was goin' pretty good. They was lots of helgramites in the rock bar below the sewer plant, an' Cousin Scooter didn't mind the smell. You know, he was the only person I ever knowed could put 3 or 4 dozen helgramites under his hat an' still have 'em all when he got to the bait shop ( an' boy was them critters ever happy to get into them purty, clean bait cups)...kinder made you want to find 'em some cool white porcelain to lay their little heads agin'.
By 'n' by Scooter was up by about $3.00 but old man Loomis not only bought bait… he sold candy. Cousin Scooter had had a terrible problem with a sweet tooth 'til about the age of 10...now he just had sweet gums...an' they was causin' a cash flow problem. Old Man Loomis always smiled when he saw Scooter comin'. Over a box of Milk Duds, Cousin Scooter had a brainstormin' session. Settin' in a rock bar, ankle deep in "waste management", was his think tank...he had it!!! He'd sell that bait hisself, out at the bus house by the hard road. No old man Loomis...no bait shop...no temptation...perfect!! Wasn't long afore Cousin Scooter found out that when he was sellin' bait, he wasn't catchin' bait...an' if he wasn't catchin' bait, purty soon they wasn't none to sell. Another drawback was the bus house itself, it was hot, no shade an' Cousin Scooter didn't have the advantage of refrigeration or coolers or fans to keep his bait fresh an' perky. His helgramites wasn't doin' at all well in that anti-freeze jug. It turned 'em kinda green too (chartreuse had not become popular back then, we'd have to wait for Bill Dance fer that).
More and more of his customers were complainin' an more an' more were sayin' how they'd just go on down to the A & P an get a tub of chicken livers. Sooo...they wanted chicken livers, did they? Cousin Scooter knowed where he could get plenty of them. Easy pickens too...at night.
First 2 or 3 of Ant Hollys layin' hens that went missin', she got a little concerned. After a half a dozen, including Sadie, the big dominekker with the top knot...Ant Holly got MAD! Ant Holly's motto was, "be real nice to a mean person...they won't expect it when you smack the snot out of 'em!!! Ol' Sadie was the only hen in the holler that laid them big, double yoker eggs reg'lar...she'd truly be missed. The dogs hadn't made a peep since her hens started dissappearin', so Ant Holly ruled out four legged varmints...had to be two legged. Had to be somebody they knowed too...right away Ant Holly thought about Rev. Dingus...he used to come here a lot an' everbody knowed how he loved chicken! Besides it wasn't settin' too good that Rev. Dingus had took to spendin' Sunday afternoons over at the Widder Hatchers.
In the moonlight, Cousin Scooter seen a head shoot up from a dark form on the roost pole. That high comb an' huge waddles (reminded him of Ant Holly's) meant it had to be Daybreaker, the rooster. No never mind now, couldn't afford a ruckus in the hen house this time of night...might wake up Ant Holly. Like twin black snakes, Cousin Scooters boney arms shot out and grabbed the rooster, one hand around the head an' beak, an' both arms wound 'round Daybreaker to keep him from floppin' an' wakin' the hens. Scooter was gettin' a bad feelin' pokin' around amongst them red hairs on the back of his neck. He had a holt of Daybreaker, the only rooster. Scooter knowed that unhappy hens don't lay eggs fer long...no eggs, no egg money fer Ant Holly an' a triflin' breakfast fer him. These were the thoughts goin' through Scooters mind as he backed quietly out the door of the hen house.
Ant Holly was almost late. She hadn't seen him go in....but she seen him now...a backin' out that door, an' he had Daybreaker...just look at them long tail feathers. Ant Holly thumbed back the mule ears on Pappys' ol' side by side, raised 'er up an' let loose a torrent of hell fire and brimstone that she reckoned would be shore to impress Rev. Dingus.
BuhBoooooooooooom...that double dose of rock salt caught Cousin Scooter full in the seat of his bibs. At that distance, wasn't no permanent damage, but I want you all to know... by the time she got finished with the turpentine…Ant Holly had cured that boy of stealin’ chickens…and pinworms!
pssst...psssssssssst!....dave, hey dry socks dave...SHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH...
phew!...had to lay low fer a little bit. Boy, so much fer them nice fly fishin' fellers...felt like Kevin Harvick, pulled out to pass an' nobody went with me. Anyway, I think you was askin' about Ant Holly G. (anthology...might want to check your spellin' there pardner). Ant Holly G., the "G" bein' short for Grimmandower, was from Dads side of the family. Nothin' EVER happened on that side of the family...'cept, well maybe fer that incident with Cousin Scooter...
His name was Jamsie, everbody just called him Scooter 'cause, uh...any of yall ever have pin worms? Well Jamsie learned that if he could get that seam in the back of his bibs kinder turned up edgewise, ( you know, a runnin' with the grain of his butt crack), then hook both thumbs in his gallises, hitch 'em up real tight, set flat down on the porch an' ooch along on his behind, he could get some relief from the itchin'...leastways 'til it was time for the mornin' constitutional at the little house ( now thats painful just to think about, specially the corn cob finish).
As Jamsies' itchin' got worse, a couple of laps around the porch just wasn't enough anymore, so Cousin Jamsie sorta increased the dosage. He scooted down the steps... out the path...'cross the gravel road to the mailbox...an' back! Once he'd shook off an' dug the seat of them bibs out of his butt crack...he was good to go. Now you'all know how folks is. They kinder took note of this behavior after a while, an' started calling Cousin Jamsie "Scooter"...'cause callin' a youngun red ass just wasn't polite in them days. Turned out, the name (an' the pin worms) just sorta stayed with Cousin Scooter.
Cousin Scooter was Ant Holly's youngest. He was a gangly boy with them huge watery blue eyes you see lookin' back at you through them thick, thick glasses...only he couldn't wear glasses...eyes just looked that way. See one of Cousin Scooters ears was a might lower than the other an' when his glasses got crooked, the eye on that low side kinder started wanderin'. The more it wandered, the less he wore his glasses an' finally Ant Holly let him put 'em in a drawer. Cousin Scooters other mentionable feature was a shock of red hair, made up front, back 'n' up the middle, of cowlicks. Nobody in the family could figure where that head of red hair came from an' to her dyin' day, Ant Holly never spoke of it.
One Friday night, must have been a hatch come off 'cause first thing Saturday mornin' Cousin Scooter hit the floor a runnin', got one leg into his bibs an' was out the door an' on the porch... scootin'....ears laid back… down the steps...lips curled up...out the path...gruntin' an' howlin' eyes squinched tight… into the gravel road! Thats what Buster Johnson seen when he rounded the turn. Cousin Scooter heard the gravel flyin' an' knew right off he was in a hicky. He threw them flailin' heels into reverse, double clutched his underwear an' did a butt cheek burn out. When he finally got some traction he was able to jump the side ditch from a sittin' position an' land back in the yard next to the wash tub...all in a twinklin' of them bugged out eyes! Why, Buster barely had time to swaller' his chew before he cut 'er left through the pole fence. Telly Potter just couldn't say enough about Busters expert piece of drivin' as he was pullin' the truck out of the cow pond with his team. Cousin Scooter started to thinkin' about a new approach to scratchin' his itchin'.
The idea of a bicycle came to him...yeah...a bicycle...peddle, peddle, peddle...rub, rub, rub...peddle, peddle, peddle...rub, rub, rub. The thought somehow seemed real comfortin' to Cousin Scooter. Didn't fly with Ant Holly though. She was quick to tell him there wasn't enough egg money fer no bicycle...Lordy, they was barely enough to keep him in bibs! If Cousin Scooter wanted a bicycle, he'd have to earn the money to buy it. Couson Scooter soon hit on a plan. He'd catch "feesh" bait an' sell it to old man Loomis at the bait shop.
Something about log chains, dragged from the necks of coon hounds, discourages a large and thriving population of night crawlers. This somewhat limited Scooters inventory of bait selection. He could'nt see good enough to tell soft crawdads from hard crawdads. When you grab a hard crawdad...it tends to be hard all over...'specially the pinchers! Cousin Scooter decided his fortune lay in helgramites. Helgramites pinch too, but they're pretty slow walkers, an' he found that he could swipe Ant Hollys moustache tweesers to pick 'em up with, then sneak 'em back in her drawer, an' nobody the wiser.
Things was goin' pretty good. They was lots of helgramites in the rock bar below the sewer plant, an' Cousin Scooter didn't mind the smell. You know, he was the only person I ever knowed could put 3 or 4 dozen helgramites under his hat an' still have 'em all when he got to the bait shop ( an' boy was them critters ever happy to get into them purty, clean bait cups)...kinder made you want to find 'em some cool white porcelain to lay their little heads agin'.
By 'n' by Scooter was up by about $3.00 but old man Loomis not only bought bait… he sold candy. Cousin Scooter had had a terrible problem with a sweet tooth 'til about the age of 10...now he just had sweet gums...an' they was causin' a cash flow problem. Old Man Loomis always smiled when he saw Scooter comin'. Over a box of Milk Duds, Cousin Scooter had a brainstormin' session. Settin' in a rock bar, ankle deep in "waste management", was his think tank...he had it!!! He'd sell that bait hisself, out at the bus house by the hard road. No old man Loomis...no bait shop...no temptation...perfect!! Wasn't long afore Cousin Scooter found out that when he was sellin' bait, he wasn't catchin' bait...an' if he wasn't catchin' bait, purty soon they wasn't none to sell. Another drawback was the bus house itself, it was hot, no shade an' Cousin Scooter didn't have the advantage of refrigeration or coolers or fans to keep his bait fresh an' perky. His helgramites wasn't doin' at all well in that anti-freeze jug. It turned 'em kinda green too (chartreuse had not become popular back then, we'd have to wait for Bill Dance fer that).
More and more of his customers were complainin' an more an' more were sayin' how they'd just go on down to the A & P an get a tub of chicken livers. Sooo...they wanted chicken livers, did they? Cousin Scooter knowed where he could get plenty of them. Easy pickens too...at night.
First 2 or 3 of Ant Hollys layin' hens that went missin', she got a little concerned. After a half a dozen, including Sadie, the big dominekker with the top knot...Ant Holly got MAD! Ant Holly's motto was, "be real nice to a mean person...they won't expect it when you smack the snot out of 'em!!! Ol' Sadie was the only hen in the holler that laid them big, double yoker eggs reg'lar...she'd truly be missed. The dogs hadn't made a peep since her hens started dissappearin', so Ant Holly ruled out four legged varmints...had to be two legged. Had to be somebody they knowed too...right away Ant Holly thought about Rev. Dingus...he used to come here a lot an' everbody knowed how he loved chicken! Besides it wasn't settin' too good that Rev. Dingus had took to spendin' Sunday afternoons over at the Widder Hatchers.
In the moonlight, Cousin Scooter seen a head shoot up from a dark form on the roost pole. That high comb an' huge waddles (reminded him of Ant Holly's) meant it had to be Daybreaker, the rooster. No never mind now, couldn't afford a ruckus in the hen house this time of night...might wake up Ant Holly. Like twin black snakes, Cousin Scooters boney arms shot out and grabbed the rooster, one hand around the head an' beak, an' both arms wound 'round Daybreaker to keep him from floppin' an' wakin' the hens. Scooter was gettin' a bad feelin' pokin' around amongst them red hairs on the back of his neck. He had a holt of Daybreaker, the only rooster. Scooter knowed that unhappy hens don't lay eggs fer long...no eggs, no egg money fer Ant Holly an' a triflin' breakfast fer him. These were the thoughts goin' through Scooters mind as he backed quietly out the door of the hen house.
Ant Holly was almost late. She hadn't seen him go in....but she seen him now...a backin' out that door, an' he had Daybreaker...just look at them long tail feathers. Ant Holly thumbed back the mule ears on Pappys' ol' side by side, raised 'er up an' let loose a torrent of hell fire and brimstone that she reckoned would be shore to impress Rev. Dingus.
BuhBoooooooooooom...that double dose of rock salt caught Cousin Scooter full in the seat of his bibs. At that distance, wasn't no permanent damage, but I want you all to know... by the time she got finished with the turpentine…Ant Holly had cured that boy of stealin’ chickens…and pinworms!