And if your aim is good, you can mount its head upon your wall, cover the floor with a rug made out of its hide, and grind its innards all up in a combination with some spices. Besides some nifty new home decorations, you'll have plenty of meat to gift upon your hapless neighbors. Ah, the thrill of being a redneck.
Speaking of rednecks ... have I ever told you the story about my navel and the Buddha belly upon which it rests? Bubba says I ain't nowhere near close to being Buddha-sized, and I guess Bubba should know about that. I suspect they ain't made the T-shirt yet that can stop Bubba's belly button from eyeballing the crowd. Bubba's belly might match the Buddha, himself. I'd love to see the two of them in a pie-eating contest.* Bubba loves his pie. Joe Bob says that is why Bubba's wife is always smiling. I wanted to take off my cap and scratch my bald spot but, instead, just nodded. Then I scratched my navel. End of report.
*Joe Bob said they'd most likely be sumo wrestlin'.
Posted by Tiger at February 7, 2005 10:48 PM | TrackBack...I think I saw Bubba eating pie at the local cafe this afternoon... :-)
Mmmmmm...pie...
--TwoDragons
Posted by: Denita TwoDragons at February 7, 2005 11:09 PMHere's the Valentine Bubba picked out for his wife:
Yore hair is like cornsilk
A-flapp'n in the breeze
Softer than Blue's
And without all them fleas
You move like the bass
Which excite me in May
You ain't got no scales
But I luv you anyway
You have all yore teeth
For which I am proud
I hold my head high
When we're in a crowd
Still them fellers at work
They all want to know
What I did to deserve
Such a purty, young doe