Me An' Cletus Is A-Feudin'

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Vol 30 Issue 09

Who Will Win the Base-Ball Matches?

My nurse informs me that it is now the autumn-time, which to every red-blooded American boy means the season in which the professional base-ball sporting clubs vie for a berth in the great Championship Series of the World. I predict that the Knickerbockers will give those accursed Red Stockings a sound thrashing. Of course, we can't count out the great Pie Traynor and his Philadelphia Peglegs.

Voter Apathy

Despite many national campaigns to increase turnout, nearly half of all Americans eligible to vote are still staying home on Election Day. Why aren't we voting?

Bitch Be Gettin' All That Way

DETROIT—Sources revealed Monday that Keshonda Lewis, a played-out, certified stank-ass ho from the Detroit area, be gettin' all that way. "Keshonda think she all that," said Tamika Wilson, 22, a one-time friend of Lewis'. "Well, I got news for you—she ain't." According to Wilson, Lewis "be all like, 'I'm Miss Thang,'" when, in fact, "None of the brothers around the way want a piece of that coochie." President Clinton declined comment on the situation.

Former Marine To Watch Lots Of TV

STOCKTON, CA—At a packed press conference Monday, former U.S. Marine Randy Barcynski unveiled his plans to watch lots of television in the coming months. "I am going to watch a hell of a lot of TV," announced the unemployed Barcynski, who served with the 57th Division in the Gulf War, earning two Silver Medals of Distinction. "The Price is Right, One Life to Live, Seinfeld, Cybill, ER—those are just some of the many, many shows I am going to watch." Barcynski added that among the new fall shows, Mr. Rhodes and Party Girl are his favorites, though he stressed that he would watch all the others as well, even those he dislikes. Added Barcynski, "You have no idea how much freaking TV I am going to watch."

Society Tea Party Spoiled By Ocelot

LONDON—A formal tea party, hosted by Lady Edwina Wolford-Bingham and attended by many of the finest members of London's high society, was spoiled Sunday by the appearance of an ocelot. "Oh, dear," said Lady Wolford-Bingham, whose father, Lord William Alfred Shropshire-Wolford, was a third cousin of Winston Churchill's. "There appears to be an ocelot at my tea party." In addition to "badly scratching" Lady Catherine Norwich Baker Putnam-Howe, the angry ocelot overturned a number of tables and broke an expensive vase.

Man Captures Ross Perot, Is Granted Three Wishes

FAYETTEVILLE, AR—Area resident Darnell Tanner was granted three wishes Monday when he discovered and captured Reform Party presidential candidate Ross Perot in a magic pea patch. "I was just walking along when I saw something rustling among a clump of leaves," Tanner said. "I went closer, and there was Ross Perot, helping a group of tiny bees sprinkle fairy dust. I picked him up, and he told me I could have anything I wanted." According to Tanner, who has spent his first wish on a 50-foot yacht, the Texas billionaire's only condition was that he may never reveal the location of the secret pea patch. "Perot said that if I told anyone, I'd lose all my wishes and be banned from Pretty Pixie Land forever," Tanner said. "He also told me that it's time the American people had a government that worked for them."

Chinese, Ants Announce Alliance

BEIJING, CHINA—The people of China and the world ant community signed a treaty that will establish close relations between the two civilizations.

I Saw Fabio at RomantiCon '96!

Hate to say it, folks, but your old pal Jean had just about the lousiest summer since the Bay City Rollers canceled their show at the Schenck Ice Arena in June 1977!

The First Wives Phenomenon

The film The First Wives Club has all of America talking about the issue of men leaving their wives for younger women. Even Time magazine featured the movie's stars on its cover last week. What do you think about the film and the sensation it's causing?
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Me An' Cletus Is A-Feudin'

Shut yer tater trap and listen here— that consarned Cletus an' I is a-feudin' agin', and ain't nothin' on God's green Earth gonna stop me from tannin' his hide but good!

Cletus just better not send that hog's ass ugly bucket a' guts he calls Momma up here no more t' speechify to me, cuz it's bad enough bein' shot at by that varmint all dang day without that cat-screechin' momma o' his wailin' about don't hurt her baby boy. I got me enough business killin' that no-good Cletus without havin' ta see that hooer what pupped him.

Y'see, Cletus, he went and got all high-hat on about how his shine is better'n mine, which'n it sure-hell ain't. That possum sweat that Cletus brews ain't no proper whiskey. Oncet I fill his ass fulla 30-caliber, everyone'll go t' his shack an' find out that what I said about his 'shine was right—that he makes it out'n goat feed and brews it in the galdang radiatter of his rackety ol' Chevy.

An' who shouldn't know better'n me, who's lived acrost the holler from that shif'less polecat Cletus this past 37 year? It was my Granpappy what found the secret of Knob Holler shine, and he passed it down to my pappy and then o'course to me. That Knob Holler shine—well, son, it'll set the preacher and the schoolmarm to screwin' every dang time.

Sure as Christmas, that Cletus, he wants that secret white lightnin' on account o' that coon piss he cooks up ain't fitten fer fuel or floorwax.

Sure'n I still din't reckon I'd find that skunk nosin' round my still late one night. It was dark as the inside o' a dead mule, and I'd just gone out to the two-holer to set a spell when I seen somethin' looked like a skinny monkey up by my pappy's still. Shore 'nuff, it was that Cletus, stickin' his nose in where he shouldn't and sniffin' like a blue tick hound after that secret white lightnin' recipe!

Well, I was put in mind of a thing my pappy hisself used to say. "A man shoon't own a goddamn thing what'n he can't take care of, not a pick'em-up truck or a gun or a woman, but 'specially not no still."

That ain't nothin' but God's truth, so I grabbed my special repeatin' shootin' iron what a man can load on Sunday and shoot all week, and I took off up the hill after his skinny ass.

Well, surely Cletus was ahind the door when the good Lord handed out the brains, but he's right crafty and quick as a rattlesnake. He seen me comin' up the hill and cut loose somethin' fierce with his two-piper shotgun, and I was plumb lucky not to catch a skinful o' buckshot.

I lit off up the hill and jumped behind a tree and set to some shootin' myself, and I damn near parted ol' Cletus' hair for him and his noggin too. But when I made to creep from stump to stump over to where I done reckoned Cletus had to be, well, he was gone as a shadder at noon.

So hear my words, neighbors. Me an' Cletus ain't gonna stop feudin' till one of us wakes up dead one fine mornin' in Hell, and since Jesus hisself was an honest bootlegger of souls, the only yeller-belly from Knob Holler fit for the company of Lucifer is my pig-humpin' neighbor Cletus Straight.

I kin see his shack up there on the ridge from my verandy, and every now and then I let loose a slug or so through his settin' room winder just to be sure that jackass got his fool head down.

So don't send that bone-ugly momma o' yours 'round here no more, Cletus, or ol' Jeb'll send 'er back to y'all in a cheap pine box, just liken I did yer daddy and them two preachers.

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