Don’t miss the NEW Demijon @ www.demijon.us

The profundity goes on.

And then there was —

Billy Bob was prone to expound on his prowess with members of the opposite sex to anyone who would take the time to listen.
He was relating his latest escapade to Bubba while they each nursed a long-neck Miller Hi-Life at the local road house. It went something like this.
“There I was; In her bedroom making passionate love while her husband was working on the night shift. Suddenly, we heard a sound coming from the vicinity of the front door.”
“It’s my husband, she screamed; He’s home early! You’ve got to get out of here!”
Billy Bob continued, “Not taking the time to dress, I threw my clothes out of the window and climbed through behind them and clung to the window sash by the tips of my fingers for the rest of the night. BOY, was I mad!”
Bubba took a long pull from his Hi-Life bottle and said, “Man, you were lucky to get out with your hide intact. Were you mad because you almost got caught?”
“Hell no, replied Billy Bob, What really made me furious was that when it got light enough for me to see, I found that the ground was only six inches below my feet.”
Enjoy.

MAKES SENSE
Jethro drove his pickup truck into downtown Atlanta for the first time. His ignorance of metropolitan street patterns was obvious when he turned onto a one way street and headed in the wrong direction.
He had gone several blocks when a police cruiser appeared behind him and signaled for him to pull over. The officer approached the truck and in a loud voice asked, “Where in the hell do you think you’re going, fellow?”
Calmly, Jethro answered, “I really don’t know but I reckon I’m late because it sure looks like everybody else is going home.”

Two mice were strolling through the park as two gorgeous models walked by.
One mouse said, “Let’s catch up with them and we’ll climb up their legs.”
“Not me;” said the other one, “I’m a titmouse.”
John Sellers

Skinning ignorance

In the days before refrigeration was commonplace in stores and restaurants, it was said
that oysters were only available during months that contained an “R.” Whether or not this was
true, I never knew, but took this for granted since they said it was.
Once, while seated on the “Sons of Rest” bench in front of the filling station, Fred I-Jolt
(not his real name) mentioned a desire for a mess of fried oysters. A couple of his peers
reminded him of the “R” rule and stated that it would be impossible to find them at this time of
year.
Until now, B. L. Sloan (also not his real name) had remained silent; but hearing this, he
raised what was, to him, a pertinent question
“Why not?” “It’s Argust ain’t it?”

The United States Postal Service was established in the 1970’s. Until that time, the Post
Office was a wholly owned subsidiary of the U.S. Government. One of the popular services it
offered was Postal Savings. Customers could invest and receive a modest rate of interest while
the Post Office used these investments as operating capital.
During the early 1940’s, we were engaged in war against Germany as well as the Empire
of Japan. Everyone was encouraged to invest in war bonds to support our troops fighting to
defeat these aggressors.
One afternoon the “Sons of Rest” convened with the subject of war bonds, as its main
agenda. “Good investment,” said one. “The best,” said another. “Keeps from raising taxes,”
said a third.
Harlow Thurston sat deep in thought throughout this discussion and said nothing. The
sitting chairman of the “Sons of Rest” finally asked his opinion of war bonds and received this
reply.
“I ain’t gonna put my money in war bonds. I’m afraid the government will go broke.
I’m putting my money in the Post Office.”

Many afternoons would find Ben Alsbrooks stretched out on the “Sons of Rest” bench
with his hat pulled over his eyes and apparently in a deep slumber. One such day, a motorist
screeched to a halt at the intersection and yelled to Ben; “Which way is Waretown?” Ben did
no more that point in the general direction. The irate motorist then asked in a loud voice, “Why
in hell don’t you erect some signs around this Podunk town?” Ben raised his hat; glared at the
stranger and replied, “Don’t need ‘em, dumb-ass. We know exactly where we are~”

These are only three of hundreds of true stories gleaned from the minutes of the “Sons of
Rest” club. Of course, names have been changed to prevent embarrassment to anyone.
The “Sons of Rest” club was active for many years when I was a youngster. The charter
was reluctantly surrendered when the filling station ceased operation. It was during sessions
with these masters that I attained my self-assurance, poise and intellect. It is truly a shame that
the authoritative leaders of this club never harbored political aspirations. Under their leadership,
chartered “Sons of Rest” clubs would be nationwide and every American would benefit.
John Sellers

Decency – (I mean, REALLY)

We don’t eat at the Wayside no more. I reckon you could say that me and Vester was two of their best customers for the past decade or so, but them days are long gone since they up and put one of them condrum machines in the men’s side of the rest rooms. I mean, why do they need that with this being a family restaurant and all? Can’t you just imagine some little boy going in there and cramming a quarter in that machine and coming out in front of God and everbody a’ blowing that thing up and all the time thinking that it’s a balloon. I mean really.

Why, the last time we et there, I ordered my usual hamburger steak smothered in onions and Vester got the meat loaf with mashed potatoes. I drunk so much iced tea that I was pressed to go powder my nose, and just about the time I got to the door to the ladies side of the restroom, Lamar Threadgill went in the men’s side. While I was doing my business I heard a quarter drop and then a click-click when the handle was turned. I’m sure that Lamar had no idea that I could hear through that wall or else he would have waited ’til I was out before making his purchase.

Vester had told me that Ed Poston (owner of The Wayside) said that machine really took in the money, so I reckon that Lamar was not the only one in town who succumbed to temptation. I just hope and pray that Vester’s got more sense than to waste money in that contraption.

I had done set down at our booth when Lamar come out and he went right up to Dotty Sinclair and whispered in her ear. When Dotty’s shift was over, she just hung up her apron, pretty as you please, and marched out with Lamar and climbed in his pickup. I most probably would think that Lamar was just offering Dotty a ride home if it had not been for that click-click.

Now I ain’t never been one to frown on a reasonable amount of sex between husband and wife, say once every two or three months, but I just can’t condone carryin’s on such like we witnessed the last time we et at the Wayside. Thank goodness Vester ain’t never been one to “bother” me ever blessed night.

When I mentioned it at the D.A.R. the next week, Pauline Asterholt liked to of had a fit. She even went so far as to say that her and Waylon would start going to the First Baptist Church over in Sneedville, what with Ed being Waylon’s Sunday school teacher

at Piney Grove. Sez, how can Ed Poston teach Sunday school and then put a condrum machine in the bathroom at the Wayside. We both agreed that it bordered on blasphemy.

Wellsir, to make matters worse, a week or so later I had to run in the Quick Stop to pick up a loaf of bread and some eggs, and who did I run into but Dotty Sinclair. She walks right up to me just like the queen of Shebe and sez, “How you, Mabel? I ain’t seen you and Vester over at the Wayside in a month of Sundays. Where y’all been eatin’?” Now I ain’t never been one to mince no words, ‘specially if I’m on the side of right, so I just let her have it right there in the express lane. I sez, “Dotty, you can tell Ed Poston that genteel folks like me and Vester ain’t about to patronize no place that makes its money off condrum machines even if Lamar Threadgill IS their best customer.” She’ll think twice the next time she decides to accost a member of the D.A.R. AND the chairman of the Committee on Aging for the entire county. After all, the way her and Lamar been carryin’ on is nothing short of scandalous.

Vester’s been after me to let him run down to the Wayside and get us a take-out order of meat loaf and mashed potatoes, but I couldn’t eat a bite of it knowing that condrum machine was still in there. Mayhaps I wouldn’t of known so much about it if Ed hadn’t been so cheap and had put more than one piece of sheet rock between the men’s side and the ladies’. That wall has always been so flimsy that I would wad up tissue and put it in the toilet bowl so as to muffle the sound. Like I said, genteel folks what has been raised right don’t go around advertising bodily functions.

At any rate, we are through with the Wayside. Vester’s getting kinda tired of them whoppers at the Burger King, but ’til they’s a decent place to eat put in somewhere close, he’ll just have to like it or lump it. I hear that they’re fixing to build a Quincy’s down on Route 214. I just hope to my Lord that they don’t put in one of them condrum machines before we try it out. They’s just so much a lady of breedin’ can stand.

“Mabel” (Written by Jay Henry)

Like – “You know”

I suppose that I am just a mite old fashioned, but I find it harder and harder to converse with the youth of today. I was seated beside a young man at a dinner party recently, and I made an attempt to ask if he was employed. His answer was (I think), “Well, yeah, like, you know, I boogied down to the Quick-Check; and I go ‘hey man, do you need somebody to clean this joint up?’ and he goes, you know, like, ‘cool.’ So I, you know, sucked up to the old geezer, and like, you know, here I am.”

I desperately tried to remember what he said in order to question my sons as to his answer. Was it yes or no? I am reasonably certain that he was not taught that this was the correct procedure for a job interview, but then, I have been told that I am out of touch with the real world; therefore, how would I know?

It has not been so long ago that a job interview involved “putting your best foot forward.” Neatly dressed, shoes shined, hair combed and most importantly, presenting yourself as attentive, polite and enthusiastic. Perhaps the lack of this line of reasoning has contributed to the rise in unemployment.

A visit to any video arcade during a workday can attest to the fact that many young people favor entertainment in lieu of working. Dozens of young people are present on a daily basis, so engrossed in the operation of some video game that they were apparently oblivious of the help-wanted signs in the adjacent shops. I well remember when the mere mention of an opening for a job could prompt long lines of prospective applicants.

This brings up the subject of where do they get the money that they evidently have in abundance? I realize that some work different shifts and this would be considered their “down time,” but there are a few who are present morning, noon and night, with no visible means of support for their addiction to a “video-fix.”

The point in all this rambling is simply that I do not understand youth. In another time, youngsters were expected, no, required to earn at least part of their subsistence. Allowances were not feasible for a family who needed all of the income that they could get for survival. Also, I am not aware of any permanent scars on anyone who was required to help with this income.

Getting back to the interview of yesteryear, you dressed neatly, talked intelligently, convinced them of your willingness to work hard and ONLY when you had secured the job did you “suck up to the boss”….

Like, you know, “Hey man, I need more bread.”

Demijon

A Round – tuit

When are you going to mow the lawn? When are you going to wash the cars? When are you going to do this? When are you going to do that?It seems that I hear these questions on a daily basis. Usually they are asked right in the middle of The Jerry Springer Show or just before the afternoon nap. Apparently it has not occurred to my child-bride that my priorities are somewhat different from hers. Also it is fairly obvious that she does not realize that the seasons of the year play a large role in the completion of the above tasks.

Everyone is aware that one cannot mow while rain is falling and, if indeed, it is raining, then washing the cars serves no useful purpose. Other factors to be taken into consideration are temperatures. There are very few days during the summer months when performing these tasks does not require the use of an old sweat rag. I shudder to think of the image I project if I am observed seated on the old John Deere with a bar towel hanging from the pocket of a pair of designer shorts.

When the seasons change, it is certainly not feasible to scrape ice from the vehicles in order to wash them. I sometimes wonder about the rationality of my roommate. Besides, a little dirt on a car don’t hurt the running of it a bit and the horn will still blow. Therefore, my answer to the above inquiries is an empathic; “when I get a round-tuit.”
Well, this past week, the weather was such that I could venture outside for short periods and I decided to tackle the work that has bothered my wife for so long. While engrossed in these activities, I made a couple of amazing discoveries.

I washed both cars and found out that both were white.

I mowed the lawn and discovered that the house needs painting.

This simply proves a point. Getting a round-tuit just creates more problems.

Demijon

IMAGINATION and a few funny friends

To be truthful, I lean heavily on events and/or ideas supplied by others. Many of these folks have no idea that they will appear in print and do not recognize the final draft. It is here that the imagination comes in.

When an idea for an article is inadvertently presented, I assign it to a fictional character and build the story around either his good or bad points. To add bulk to this article, it becomes necessary to include some of my own personal experiences, many of which are true.

For example: To hear a friend remark that someone was wearing four inch spike, heels with a mini-skirt is hardly earth shattering. Now, take the same remark and apply it to a situation where “Bubba” is describing the lady of the evening whom he had observed on DeKalb street in downtown Atlanta, Georgia, and it becomes the epitome of innovative dialect, i.e., “I’ll tell y’all one thang, thet gal had heels whot wus so high thet her butt were jacked up lak a ’54 Chevy, an’ iffen that thare dress were any shorter, she’d have four cheeks ta paint ‘stead uv two.” or, “Maw all’as tolt me iffen I looked at sumpin lak that thare, I’d go blind. Howsomever, I figured I’d risk one eye.”

I suppose my favorites would be to take any unusual occurrence, and relating it to my nondescript past, create a story that would be interesting if not believable. As a child during a time when there was little in the way of entertainment and even less money with which to avail oneself, this did much to inaugurate the process of transforming ordinary events into amusing anecdotes. Thus, the characters of Susie Mae and Jay Henry were born.

The antics of this backwoods couple are purely fictional; however, much of the material was inspired by actual incidents which I encountered during my youth. As any “good ole country boy” will attest, the humor of the “backwoods” stems from pure, unadulterated Americana.

Where else can you find the terms such as: “I’ll slap yo’r jaws.” “Git th’ dishrag an’ wipe th’ youngun’s nose, I can’t stan’ nast’ness.” “Pa ain’t here rat now. He’s in th’ back-house.” or “Mazie, iffen y’all don’t empty th’ slop jar, Maw’s gonna tan y’all’s butt.”

In most cases the recording of such incidents are simply for the enjoyment of the reader and have no similarity whatsoever to actual occurrences. They are provided as proof that if one possesses a vivid imagination and a few funny friends, the telling of tall tales is no big deal.

Perhaps the hardest part is trying to remember all of these gems of wisdom once you decide to write them down. This is no minor task for someone like me who, when I make an attempt to record them, has trouble with the “OFF” and “ON” button on a cumputtar thaet canotte spaell shee-itt.

Jay Henry

I’ll bet that you didn’t know –

Webster’s dictionary contains thousands of words which old Noah himself was not completely sure of the correct definition. This article is intended to dispel any inaccuracy, therefore, preventing your “skinning your ignorance” when the occasion arises where you have a need to impress someone.

Append; Webster defines this word as, to attach or affix. Now, everybody knows that this is totally incorrect. It is the rear-most part of the body of a large gorilla, the part that he sits on.

Broadaxe: A weapon or a tool to hew timber? Wrong again. This is a question, covering a wide variety of subjects and is usually axed by a “good ole boy.”

Calcium: Silver-white chemical, found in limestone, right? No. >Cal= is the fellow who observed Corry Mae Poovey and Wadlow Jarvis making love on the fodder.

Defeat: Certainly not, to win victory over; or overcome. Simply put, dis is the part of the body dat de shoes go on.

Ether: Commonly designated as a sleep producing agent but those of us with superior intelligence are aware that; “Ether you pay me that dollar or I’ll whup you.”

Futile: Useless, vain, and hopeless. Ugh-ugh. Correct usage; Futile your kitchen and not the hall, you’ll have a mess in wet weather.

Gentile: Mr. Webster says; any person, not a Jew. Right interpretation; Flooring removed from the cotton gin and used in the kitchen or hall.

Handbill: In the book, it states; small printed notice, advertisement. Precisely put; “Hand-Bill that hammer so he can nail them shingles down.”

Indicate: to direct attention to; the right way; “Billy Joe broke his hand when he got it caught in-de-cate.”

Juncture: a point or line of joining; Another Boo-Boo. “Bobby Frank tol me that you juncture car atter you wrecked hit.”

Kickapoo: Noah says, a tribe of Indians; I say, “If you sass me jus’ one more time, I’ll haul off an’ kick a poo outten you.”

Locale: Incorrect definition, a place of locality; Proper usage; a fitting greeting for former race car driver, Yarborough, you know, “Lo Cale.”

Mater: Definitely not, the mother, as depicted in the dictionary. It is a red fruit produced by mater vines.

Nairn: I will not doubt that this was a county in Scotland, however the correct definition is; “How come you got two co-colers an’ I ain’t got nairn.”

Outwit: to overcome by cunning; Totally wrong; exact pronunciation; “Joe Lee went inta’ that poker game wiff two dollars an’ come outwit seben.”

Petty cash: money for incidental expenses; No, No; The amount of winnings derived from the NASCAR circuit by driver Richard.

Quotient: Certainly not, the result obtained when a number is divided by another; Literal usage refers to, “I run that quotient light an’ got me a ticket.”

Reply: Here is another of old Noah’s mistakes. He indicates that this means to answer or respond. Everybody knows that this is what you do when your plywood rots.

Screen test: testing suitability as a movie star? Hail no! It’s simply determining if a fly can get through the mesh covering your window.

Teleplay: Not a written account of a television play; Used mostly by coaches in the game of football, i.e. “Teleplay to that dumb-ass quarterback an’ he forgets it.”

Unpolled: You would think that Webster would know that this does not mean, not canvassed in a poll. It means that the boat merely sat there, unpolled.

Vaccine: The stuff in a shot? Definitely not; What Bubba call the waitress at the diner because he pronounces an M like a V.

Wet Bar: Once again, incorrect; Not a serving counter for drinks. “They ain’t nothin’ slicker’n a wet bar of soap.”

X Ray: Not a photograph of the bones in ones body; “Stella is like a different person since she divorced her X Ray.”

Yam: Surely everyone knows that this in not a ‘tater. This is dialogue used by cartoon character “Popeye”, i.e. “I yam what I yam.”

Zeal: Noah’s book says intense enthusiasm; Not so; This is one of them animals that live in the cold waters near the north pole.

I sincerely hope that you have learned something.

Demijon

Th’ Fust Time I Seed Her

She were a gangl’y gal whot wudn’t dress out more’n a hunnert an’ ten whenst she sole popcorn at that movin’ pitchur show. I allus figur’d that her Pa an’ Ma’d sorta rooted her ta th’ high end uv th’ troff an’ whot vittles she got wus not th’ kind ta put meat on a gal’s bones. She were twelve an’ still single an’ a’comin’ clost ta bein’ a old maid.

Now, this here nite, I didn’t have me no gal ta be wiff, so’s I jus sash-ayed up thare an’ sez hidey ta her. She grinned rale big and I knowed that I had made a m’pression on her wiff my sharkskin britches an’ duck-tail haircut. Atter I leaned up ‘gainst th’ wall an’ rolled me a cigarette, I axed her iffen she’d admire ta set in th’ show wiff me. She took me up on hit, which weren’t no mor’n I’d ‘spected, me bein so debonner an’ all.

Atter that thare nite, hit were near ’bout a year ‘fore I seed her agin. Me an’ Jerry had parked th’ log truck in front uv the dime store one nite whenst this here same gal come outten th’ store. LAW, how she’d COME OUT! She weren’t gangl’y no more. She were a’wearin’ peddle pushers an’ a sweater whot ‘peared ta be ’bout ta bust an’ I ‘cided rat then I’us gonna marry up wiff that perty thang.

Atter us’ens sparked fer a spell, I axed her Pa iffen he wonted ta git shed uv her an’ he sez “Uh-huh.” Well’sr, hit wont long atter us’ens got married up an’ she commenced a’eatin’ all them rich rations like potted meat and wennies ’til she come ta be consarned ’bout a’gittin’ hefty. She sez ta me one day, “Jay Henry, honey, does you reccon I better go on one uv them diets?” I tolt her that hit were either that er she were gonna be ‘quired ta buy her some new peddle pushers.

She got me ta read her all them diets whot comes out in th’ almaneck an’ she picked her one an’ sent off atter hit. Hit were th’ one whare you drink them cans uv stuff ‘stead uv eatin’ an’ hit mus’ of worked ’cause she commenced a’fallin’ off. She were so tickled wiff that thare diet, she ‘cided ta keep a’drinkin that thare stuff, ‘cept this time, she wud drink hit along wiff her potted meat an’ wennies.

She had fell off ’til she cud git them peddle pushers back on an’ then she got tarred uv a’starvin’ an’ taken up th’ ‘spression: “Perty is lak perty does.” She taken them peddle pushers an’ that thare sweater an’ cut ’em up fer dish rags.

Now, whenst us’ens go sommers an’ she sees a young, gangl’y gal, she sez ta me, “Jay Henry, honey, ain’t you glad I quit a’drinkin that thare stuff in them cans an’ don’t look lak I done fell off ’til I ain’t nothin’ but skin an’ bones?”

Me, I jus tell her: “Perty is lak perty does,” an’ let hit go at that thare. ‘Cides, flour sack frocks be’s a whole heap cheaper than them thare peddle pushers.

Myself, I purely b’leve that iffen I cud break her uv her ‘fatuation wiff cheese crackers ‘n belly washers, she cud fall off anytime. I ‘speck th’ only way ta do that thare wud be ta break boff her arms an’ then she cudn’t hold on to th’ plow handles an’ I’d be in a mess, shore ’nuff.

So I sez ta myself: “Self, jus leave hit alone.”

Writ by Jay Henry

How well I remember

I go back to what some folks refer to as the good old days. Their primary reasoning for this description of the 1930’s is that they have heard, from us old folks that a pair of shoes could be purchased for $1.98 or a shirt for $0.98. They have not taken into consideration that one would have to work for better than two days to earn enough for these expenditures. In those days, an adult’s weekly wages would have amounted to less than the money that many of today’s children receive as an allowance. I suppose the fact of the financial situation of most families during and just after the depression was, at best, despondent.  This is primarilly  the reason that even now, I cannot bring myself to pay $150.00 or $200.00 for a pair of shoes. Allowances were something enjoyed by the rich, city, children and something that rural kids only dreamed about. Any monies that they were able to earn were combined in an effort to keep the wolf from the door.

As the economy improved, more modern conveniences were added to the lives of rural Americans. A couple of these conveniences were the automobile and the telephone. The automobile was perhaps the most helpful for the rural families since they could travel distances in a few hours that would take all day in a horse-drawn wagon. But, few of today’s citizens are aware that their cost for a tank of gasoline for their $25-30,000 cars is more than the average adult wages for a month.

Now comes the telephone, the first of which was a wall-mounted box with a crank that rang into central where a pleasant voice would say, “Number, please. If we didn’t know the number, all that was necessary was to ask central to ring Dr. Pervis. If the call was confidential, we simply asked Mrs. Belton and Mrs. Smith (two of several people on our party line) to hang up. Certainly, we were not asked to press or say English. Nor were we asked to press or say one if we wanted an appointment, or were asking about a bill, etc.

These computer-driven telephones have been a thorn in my side for several years. Dialing a number and being asked to say what language I want to speak really grates on my last nerve. Hey, Look! This is America and we are Americans, talking on an American telephone. If different languages are so important to the ones we are calling, they should hire an interpreter to answer their damned telephone. I seriously doubt if any other country worries about whether or not we can understand when we make a call on their telephone.

I’ll quit bitching, now.

Demijon