Eustice here
again, reportin' from the lovely Double-Wide Estates out on
Route 5 (right off the Interstate) in semi-scenic Krum, Texas,
where the smell of cow patties tickles your nose like a dainty
flower plucked fresh from the field....
I gotta get serious on y'all's behinds now. Lately, I been
hearin' on FOX News that there's all them left-wing,
Commie nay-sayers out there screamin' about losin' freedom
since that 9/11 thang. They been makin' noise 'bout "W",
the fair-elected president of this great, God-fearin' United
States, and a few little limitations he hadda put on people
after the Big Day, like the gummint bein' able to listen in
on all your phone calls and read your love notes and check
your toilet droppings for terroristic devices. Well, I have
a message for you folks: The only way we can gain freedom is
to lose freedom. "W" says so, and he wouldn't do
nothin' that would steer us wrong.
Speakin' of freedom, it ain't blossomin' more anywheres than
here in Krum, where August 23rd marked the world premiere openin'
of Vern's Fried Chicken and Tri-Boobal Barn—the
best durned place in this here country to experience the elegance
of greasy poultry necks while enjoyin' the gyrations of women
that other cities wouldn't touch with a ten-foot pole.
See, Vern is what you'd call a true humanitarian.
He believes in helpin' those who are endowed with a blessin'
from Above that some folks claim is actually due to nuclear
runoff from the Midwest Peak Power Plant. I'm talkin' breasts
here. Most women just have two of 'em. But Vern's place gives
you more for your money—each woman has three of them
jiggly thangs to treasure! It's like God's own hand reached
down and gave them wimmin a little more to us to enjoy. If
you don't like it, take it up with God.
I know—you heard about the Beebowitz twins over in Hinkle.
They used to do a mean routine with the travellin' circus where
they could play "Chopsticks" on a xylophone with
the only three talents each of 'em had. Story was, they was
s'posed to show up to perform a rousing musical rendition of "How
Great Thou Art" at the Third Baptist Church in Hern, when
tragedy struck—seems that one of them suckers deflated
right on the spot. Turns out they wasn't natural after all—some
doctor in Tijuana had agreed to add the extra bazoom on in
exchange for a carton of Marlboros and a half-eaten cheese
sandwich.
Was an ugly time after that 'round here. Townsfolks was beginnin'
to talk. It's like you couldn't trust a boob to be the real
thang anymore, at least when they came in odds. But, that river
of doubt came to an end in 1986, when the town's nuclear power
plant came online and started leakin' into the local reservoir
where we get our drinkin' water. And a world of magic began.
Now, there's more boobs than people in Krum!
Not that there ain't been no tough times... We got these protesters
from some of the liberal parts of Texas, like Waco and Killeen,
come up to make a stir at Vern's. Now, at first, I
admit to bein' a little confused. These hairy gals started
walkin' around in circles outside, holdin' up signs sayin'
thangs like, "Eat the babies!" and "Abortion
means never having to say you're sorry!" and "One
less fetus—one more chance to buy a new Ferrari!" I
didn't rightly see what that had to do with Vern's,
so I stopped to talk to 'em.
One lady in flannel had this sign that said, "My body,
my business!" in one hand and "A woman's right to
choose!" in the other. I didn't think neither slogan would
probly win any creativity awards, but I chatted her up anyways,
seein' as that she was the looker of the bunch....
Eustice: "Saw your signs there, little missy. Where's
the fire?"
Hairy Lady #4: "My female brethren and I are picketing
this offensive establishment that thrives on the sleazy exploitation
of innocent women. We won't give up until it shuts down! Power
to the feminist spirit and the Earth Mother who dwells deep
within us!"
Eustice: "I can't help noticin' that your signs
talk 'bout your body bein' your business and it bein' your
right to choose. How do those thangs fit into this here protest?"
Hairy Lady #4: "Harriet, we're holding the wrong
darned signs again! Go to the Chevy and get the other ones
from the trunk!"
Hairy Lady #4: "Sorry, those were from our abortion
rally over in Azle earlier today. Yay, abortion!"
Eustice: "So, let me get this straight—when
women want abortions, it's their body to control. But when
they want to make a livin' here by dancin', it's your body
to control? Ain't that what's called 'being a hypocrite?'"
Mebbe it was somethin' I said, 'cause them ladies made a beeline
for the Chevy and sped off faster than you can say, "Jack
sprat!" We ain't seen 'em back since. Seemed nice enough—I
was gonna invite 'em to have some chicken feet with me and
perch on my lap as we watched the dancers do their thing to
the only song in the jukebox—"Achy Breaky Heart." (The
other songs got stoled by the local kids. So, if you don't
like that one, guess you're plumb out of luck.) Anyhows, I
s'pose I struck out with the wimmin-folk again. I was almost
*sure* I'd win 'em over doused in my bottle of Aqua Velva—bought
straight from the Bait-n-Shop down the road, next
to the Old Mill.
Well, I gotta get back to the show. If y'all have time, come
on in with me. If not, I guess I'll have to see y'all next
time. |
