Hit’s Still Winter, Fur As Ah Kin See

B-W Tackle Box

Hit’s bin a rat smart hwal sinst Ah roat sumthin fer yawl. Hit aint that Ah dun fergot yawl. Hits jist that thish hyar ole hillbilly hez bin a mat bizzy. Moast speshly, Ah spint a hwal polishin bars at the cownty jail. Peers thet sum foaks hyar bouts doant take kanly tuh likker iffen hit aint bottled in bond. Fellers sposed tuh pay tacksis, they tell me. But iffen Ah start payin tacksis, thaze less munny in it fer thish hyar ole hillbilly!

Ennywaze, they let me out. Turns owt sum feller got into the heavy dense locker an drunkt up awl muh mash. Thouten the mash, the persecutor didden have no case agin me. So the juj thoad it out.

Coarse, Ah happen tuh no thet the juj was a-hankrin fer sum of the ole hillbilly’s rokkit fule mash. He hadden had nun fer near bowt a weak. An Ah wreckin thaze a persecutor er sicks hoo wont turn up thare nose at a sip of mash er ten.

Sinst Ah bin owt, Ah aint had no tam harley seppin fer brewin up muh mash. Hits bin suh cold thet foaks need them sum corn likker tuh warm up. Thish hyar poler vortices has bin visiting too regler lack fer moas foaks. Even foaks fum Nor Dakota ain’t got nuthin good tuh say bout it. An them foaks is yoost tuh them sum coald weather.

Ennywaze, Ah bin thankin bowt fishin. Ah aint intristed in no ahs-fishin. Ah got tuh thow me a lan. Iffen Ah aint thowin a lan, hit ain’t fishin. Jis a dabblin a lan down in hole in the ahs: well, hit aint fer thish hyar ole hillbilly.

Ennywaze, at air ole Son of Sharecroppers dun taken a photo of sum of muh lerrs. Ewe bet Ah got fishin on muh mand . . .

The Ole Hillbilly Gits Hizzeff a Nuther Ward

The Award

Yup, thish hyar ole hillbilly has dun got hizzeff a nuther ward. Thish hyar ward iz the Inner Peas Ward. Hit wuz giv to me bah Ms. Marlyn Suarez Exconde, hooze got herseff a fan blog naim of Kintal.

Now hoal on jiss a minnit. Ah kin hyar awl of yawl. Yore awl a-yappin lack a room full of rich fellers at a kuntry club, kumplainin bowt tacksiz hwalst a pore gal er feller is a-servin em ten-doller dranks. Yore awl a-sayin, “Ole hillbilly, jiss hwin have ewe evver had yoarseff a ward afoar? An hwut wuz it foar ennywaze? Moast mash drunkt up in a day?”

Well, hits the God’s onnist truth. Thish hyar ole hillbilly did wunst git hizzeff a ward.

Ah member it lack hit wuz yestiddy. Hit wuz muh fith tam goin thoo foarth graid. Ah warnt but sick-stain yares old. Atcherly, Ah wuz hickzackly sick-stain yares an wun day old.

Ah wreckin iffen Ah am a-gonner tell yawl bowt it, Ah naid tuh kummince at thuh beginnin. Hwich was the day afoar Ah got the ward, an at wuz muh berthday.

Ah rattled in late to skool at day. Ah hed bin down at the dravvers lassinz stayshun, taikin the dravvin test, an hed dun got me muh dravvers lassinz.

So Ah shoad up at skule rown bowt levven er levven-thirty. Ah wint on down thuh hawl tuh muh class, oapind the doar, an skwaized inter muh desk.

Ah member Ah wuz sittin bah thish hyar gal naim of Debby Hail. She lookt up at me an sed, “Bowt tam yew got hyar, ewe big ole nukklehaid. Ewe dun mist the rithmuhtick test.”

Thet maid me rat prowd. Ah didden keer nuthin fer no rithmuhtick tests, an far as Ah kood tell, rithmuthtick tests didden keer nuthin fer me.

Jiss then the taicher cawed out. “Boy, jist hwat in tarnayshun er ewe dewin hyar?”

“Ah was spectin tuh larn sumthin er nuther,” Ah sed.

The taicher lookt at me. Her naim wuz Mizz Hatfield. She moas jinrully traited me lack Ah wuz a McCoy.

“Ain’t ewe dun turnd sick-stain?” she axed.

“Jiss rat now tuhday,” Ah antsered, rat promp lack. “At’s hwah Ah didden git hyar till now. Ah wuz down gittin muh dravvers lassinz.”

Mizz Hatfield kanly goggled at me. Thin she wint oaver an cawlt summun on the innercom.

Liddle Debby lookt up at me. “Ewe aint got no dravvers lassinz,” she sed. “Ewe caint raid good nuff.”

“Shoaz hwat ewe no,” Ah rupplad. Coarse, she didden no it, but moast evverbawdy down to the dravvers lassinz stayshin wuz a-purchissin air likker fum muh daddy.

Ennywaze, bowt then thuh printispull waddled into the room. He wade bowt fore-hunnert an fitty powns.

He lookt rown an seen me. “Less go down tuh thuh offiss,” he sed.

Ah maid muh way outten muh desk, an we wint down. Ah figgered Ah wuz in fer a nuther paddlin. Hit didden maik me no nevver mand. Ah hed bin swattid too menny tams. Muh behand wuzz callussed up lack a senator’s soul.

But the printisipull, Mister Statler, didden taik down his paddle. He jiss lookt at me a hwal.

“Aint chew sick-stain now?” he fanly axed.

“Hats rat,” Ah sed. “Ewe foaks is jiss rat on top of that. Mizz Hatfield menshunned it two. Yawl is jist offal kand-harted.”

“Kand-harted,” he sed. “Ah wreckin.” Then he staired at me sum moar. “Ewe no,” he sed, “wunst a feller terns sick-stain, he aint got to go to skool no moar. Ewe kin jiss taik off on out of hyar.”

Ah shook muh haid. “Ah am hurt,” Ah sed. “Jiss plum hurt. Mah daddy didden raze no kwitter. No, Ah sand up tuh grajjy-ate, an Ah wreckin Ah’ll jiss keep a-hammrin away till Ah git mahseff grajjy-ated. Ah plan on bein the furst of mah fambly tuh grajjy-ate. Ah no mah mamma is gonna be prowd. Mah daddy will be to, pervadded he aint too drunkt up.”

Mister Statler’s ah-bawls bowt bload outten his haid. “Grajjy-ate! Grajjy-ate! Yore a-plannin on grajjy-aitin!”

“Ewe aint got tuh yell. Ahm rat char in frunt of yuh.”

He wapt his haid. “Ewe dew unnerstan that ewe aint but in the foarth graid, and yore dun turnd sick-stain yares old.”

“Corst Ah no that.”

“Yore labble tuh be fitty er sicksty yares old foar ewe grajjy-ate.”

“Ah no,” Ah sed. “But Ah am in it fer the long hawl.”

“The long hawl,” he sed.

Ah lookt rown. “Thaze kanly a ekko in hyar,” Ah hobbserved.

“Day in, day owt,” he sed. “Showin up. Sellin mash tuh foaks rat char in skool.”

“Ah doant sell it tuh nobawdy seppin sum of the taichers,” Ah sed. “An thuh sooperintindint.” Ah giv it a thunk. “An moas of the skool bored.”

He jiss sat stairin at me fer a hwal, not sayin nuthin. Thin he oapened up a desk droar an pullt owt a Mayssin jar.

“Well, lookee thar,” Ah sed. “Ewe got choreseff a kwart of muh daddy’s fannest mash rat char.”

He didden say nuthin. He jist unskrood the lid and taikin hizzeff a drank. The too-pay wint an bload offen his hed, an hit got stuck on the seelin fan. But he didden do nuthin. He jiss sat air, an evver now an en he taikin hizzeff a sip of mash, hwalst his hare wuzz a-goin rown an rown on the fan.

Ah set air a hwal, a-watchin im drank. Ah thott bowt askin fer a sip muhseff, but he didden look lack he wuz intristed in shairin. Ennywaze, Ah hed dun drunk a kupple of kwarts at moarnin on the way tuh skool.

After a hwal, Ah wint on back tuh Mizz Hatfield’s class.

The next mornin, Ah droav muhseff tuh skool agin. Muh daddy had dun give me the fitty-thray GMC flatbed thet Ah still drav.

Ah parkt the ole flatbed and wint in, an thay wuz a hole passle of foaks waitin fer me in the lobby. “Suppraz!” they awl yelled.

Mister Statler come up an grabbed me bah the arm. “Jiss come on in the odditoaryum,” he sed.

Ah wint in, an they had banners, an the band wuz playin, an awl tuther stoodints wuz a-sittin in the blaichers. Thay wuz a red carpit roald owt, a-laidin up tuh the staij on tuther sad of the odditoaryum.

Kwick as ennythang, Mister Statler an a kuppler of others thoad a cap an gown on me an kummincet tuh pushin on me. “Go on up the al!” thay sed. “Go on!”

The band wuz a-playin at song they allus play fer grajjy-aishuns, “Pumpin Circus Dance.”

Ah lookt back down the al. Mister Statler an Mizz Hatfield wuz air, waivin air hands at me. “Go on! Go on!”

Ah lookt rown. The banners awl red, “Con-Agra Layshuns on Yore Grajjy-Aishin, Young Hillbilly!”

Ah win on up the al an clambed up on staij. The sooperintindint wuz air, an the skool bored, an awl the taichers Ah hed evver had, seppin too er thray hwut wuz still lockt up in the loony bin.

Mister Statler ran up behand me. He wuz purdy sprah fer a feller hoo wade bowt as much as a bale of cotton.

He wint up tuh the lecturn an started a-tawkin inter the mackerel-foan, tellin evverbawdy how much Ah hed larnt, an how Ah hed dun passt a test thet shoad Ah wuz brillyunt–a jeenyuss, in fack–an so thay kooden taich no moarn thay hed awreddy dun tott me, so they wuz a-onner giv me muh diploamer, an Ah wuz gonna be fray tuh persoo hwatsumevver cawlin Ah seed fit tuh persoo.

En ay stuck the diploamer in muh hand, an thay wuz awl a-shaikin muh hand, an sum of em wuz a-crahin.

An ay giv me a ward, too. Ah dun kep hit awl eze yares. Ah taikin a pitcher of it fer yawl. Hits got a liddle plack on hit with sum rattin on it: “MASTER DEBATER,” hit sez.

So now Ah dun got me too wards, an Ah aint but fitty-sicks yares old.

Mebbe Ah’ll fand at air Debby Hail an tell er.

Hit Awl Duppinds on the Bate a Feller Yoozes

Not at All Coy

Thaze fellers hool tell yuh thet carp aint wurth aitin. Them foaks’ll say, “Em air fish liv in mud, an ay tace lack mud.”

Doant go lissnin tuh nun of at air nonscents. Carp is fan aitin, iffen a feller traits em rat. Hits moast kriticle tuh put jiss a spunefull of thuh ole hillbilly’s speshul rokkit fule mash in yore skillit hwin yuh frah em up. Hittle maik at air carp jist as smuthe as sikk an dee-lishus.

Ennywaze, wun aivnin a fyew daze ago, thuh ole hillbilly got hizzeff a hankrin fer sum carp. Thaze a hoal passle of em down in Laik Calhoon, so Ah got muh cane poal an sum corn fer bate an heddid off down tuh the laik.

Now, hwinnivver thish hyar ole hillbilly goze summers rown bowt, Ah moas jinrully hed thew the naibers’ bakyards. Ah go rown, maikin shore foaks’ back dores iz lockt an at air aint nuthin rown at a burgler mat stail. An iffen Ah dew fand ennythang lack at, Ah taik it back hoam fer saif-kaipin.

So Ah wuz stroallin thew the yards, an Ah spad a liddle pond. Ah stopt an lookt in, an hit wuz chock full of carp–big uns, long az muh arm an thick as thuh hed of a tawk-show hoast.

Now, thay wuz kanly odd lookin. Thay wuz awl kands of cullers. Sum wuz kanly orinj; sum wuz hwat; sum wuz awl mixt up, with orinj an hwat an aivin bloo.

But hit didden madder. They wuz carp, plane as plane kin be.

So Ah bated up muh hook an thoad it in. Purdy soon, Ah had ate er nan of em air funny-lookin carp land up sad me in the yard.

Ah wuz jiss taikin anuther offen the hook hwin thish hyar feller come tairin owt thuh howse, yellin his hed off.

Ah wuz tairbull confyoozed. Ah thot thay warnt nobawddy hoam.

But hyar he wuz, an ole ball-haided feller a-wairin sum plad pants, his faice a-turnin a nass shaid of cranbury.

Jiss hwat in tarnaishun dew ewe thank yore a-dewin? he shouted.

Ahm jist a-fishin, Ah sedd. Ah didden see no no-fishin sans.

No-fishin sans!

Izz air a ekko rown bowt? Ah axed.

Ewe dern fool! Ewe caint fish fer em air fish! Em air fish is coy!

Ah lookt at him an shook muh haid. Coy? Em air fish aint coy. Feller jist has tuh yooze thuh rat bate.

His ahz goggled owt, an he kummincet tuh turnin bloo an en purpull. Awl thuh vanes wuzz standin owt on his haid. Then he fell on thuh grownd an startid twitchin an kanly barkin, lack he wuz a sick dog.

Bowt then hiz waff come a-runnin owt of the howse, a-yellin her hed off. Ah dissaddid then thet hit wuzz gittin a bit lowd. So Ah thoad the carp in muh tow sack, slung it oaver muh shoulder, and slipt away.

Yawl let me no iffen yore intrestid in commin tuh muh fish frah . . .

Lake of the Als

SAMSUNG CSC

Yestiddy aivnin Ah drug muh liddle kayak down tuh Lake Calhoon an wint fishin. Hit wuz rat windy on Calhoon hwin Ah kummincet tuh fishin, an Ah warnt ketchin nuthin nohow. So Ah disaddid to paddle up tuh Lake of the Als, hwitch is the nex lake fum Lake Calhoon. 

Ah paddled up an startid tuh thowin muh lerrs aroun. Ah wuz moas jinrully yoozin me sum Rappluhs–sum crankbates an a gold minner bate. 

Ah fanly ketched me wun liddle ole bass. He warnt but bout twel inchiz long, but he put up kwat a fat.

Ah hed juss let at un go hwin Ah hyeerd thish hyar feller sang out, “Ewe ketchin ennythang?”

Ah lookt up, an they wuz a feller sitting on a fantsy boat. He had him wun of em air lecktrick troallin moaders soze he didden haff tuh paddle nun. They wuz ateteen er twenny fishin poals stackt on the deck an a tackle bocks thuh saz of a steemer trunk.

“Ah aint cot but wun,” Ah riplad, “an hit warnt harley wurth talkin bout.”

“Hwatchoo yoozin fer lerrs?” he axed.

“Manely Rappluhs,” Ah sed. Ah hedd up muh poal an shoad thuh feller muh gold minnerbate Rappluh. “Thish hyar is hwut Ahma yoozin now.”

Thuh feller lookt at it. “Hwah, at air’s a fan lerr. Iffen ewe aint cott yore limit awreddy, Ah wreckin ewe doant no much bout fishin.”

Ah thot a seckund bowt thuh fellers rimark. “Ah wreckin ewe got at rat,” Ah sed. Thin Ah shoad him muh flask. “Say, ewe look lack a feller hoo wooden say no tuh a drop of mash. Zat rat?”

“Mash?” the feller axed.

“Well, ewe kin cawl hit craft hwisky, iffen ewe lack. Ah distilled hit muhseff.”

Thuh feller goggled at thuh flask fer a hwal, thin raiched owt fer it. “Ah spoaz hit woant hurt me nun.”

He unscrood the cap an taiken hizzeff a liddle sip. Corse mah mash doant smell lack much a nuthin, sints hits manely alkiehaul. 

Ah wreckin hit past the sniff test, coz thuh feller tipt the flask up an taiken hizzeff a purdy good sip.

Lack Ah figgered, thuh ole boy hadden bin born an bred a-drankin moonshan. Hiz ahs kummincet rat away tuh glaze oaver, lack a kupple of Krispy Kraim doanuts. Thin he startid sladdin kanly slow-lack outen his chare.

Fore he hit the wadder, Ah raiched out an grabbed muh flask. Aint no yoose waistin good mash, an speshly aint no yoose in waistin thuh ole hillbilly’s speshul Rokkit Fule Mash.

He went in, an Ah took me a sip an thot bout it a hwal. Thin Ah disadded thet thuh ole boy wuz rat. Ah doant ratly no nuthin bout fishin. Ah aint good fer ketchin nuthin seppin skeeter bats.

So Ah fisht him owt, thoad him up on his boat, an waived muh flask under hiz noze. He kummincet tuh snortin an coffin, an he shot bowt a gallin a wadder owt of his noaze. But thin he seddled down an startid braithin reggler lack.

Ah disaddid thin tuh go on bowt muh way. An Ah aivin let thuh ole boy kaip muh gold Rappluh minner-bate. 

Corse, Ah disaddid thet after wurkin fer tin minnits tuh git the treble hooks out of his chaik. Ah warnt dewin no good at it nowaze. 

 

The ole hillbilly on brangin up yore young uns

Image

Dear Old Hillbilly,

My wife and I are expecting our first child. At the baby shower, one of our friends gave us a copy of your book Brangin Up Yore Young Uns the Hillbilly Way. I assume that the gift was made as a joke. We began reading the book, our faces growing more aghast with each page. For a time we tried to explain the book itself as nothing more than an ill-considered joke, a spoof on child-rearing manuals. We could accept that explanation–despite the absolute lack of humor in your apparently unedited text–so long as we were reading chapters with titles such as  “Yore Young Un’s Furst Coon Hound,” “Traytin Rangwurms with Mash,” “Clainin Dapper Pales with Mash,” and “Dravvin Way Em Air Noazy Chal Pertecktive Surviss Foaks with Yore Twel-Gaij.”

But then we read the chapter “Innerdoosin Yore Young Un tuh Mash,” including the advice to “kaip the young un’s mama well drunkt up soze her brest mikk is chawk full of alkiehaul. Thaddle giv thuh young un a nacherl taist fer mash.” Just what in the world were you thinking?

Please note that we are not ourselves unintelligent. We each hold advanced degrees; we are both highly paid professionals; and, as something that you can perhaps understand, we own three Audis. Thus, our comments deserve some weight.

Sincerely,

Furious

Dear Oaners of Thray Outties,

Ah am kunfyoozed. Duz aich wun uv yawl hav thray bellybuttins, or dew yawl hav thray bellybuttins twain yuh? Iffen sew, iz air wun of ewe thets got too bellybuttins, an wun thet aint got but one?  Or dew yawl aich hav wun thets kanly fixt on yuh, an then thaze anuther thet yawl swap aroun? An dew yawl hav oanly audis, or dew yawl also hav innies?

Ah doant main tuh be rood, but thish hyar ole hillbilly aint nevver herd sich lack in awl muh laff.

Ennyway, let me antser yore kwisschun. Ah wuz a trahin’ tuh shed sum lat on a vext subjickt. Thaze sum foaks thaddle jiss hand a young un a boddle of mash strate offen thuh still thouten furst gittin um yoost tuh sumthin a liddle weeker. Coarse, thaze menny thaddle put a liddle mash in thuh boddle, hwich is a kander an jentler way.

But thaze sum thet doant hold with givvin a young un mash til thuh chall iz as much as twel er thurtain yares old. Jiss lay yore ahz on the pitcher Ah am attachin. “NOT FOR BABIES”? Well, mebbee Uncle Cooter’s mash aint fit fer nobawdy nohwair. Ah wreckin that aint tripple distilled, lack thuh ole hillbilly’s Speshul Rokkit Fule Mash. 

Ennywaze, they iz jist a passle of diffurnt ahdeeyers rown bout thish hyar isshoo. An Ah wreckin muh advass is thuh best: iffen thuh mamas drunkt up awl thuh tam, thuh young un’ll git a nacherl taist fer mash. Purt soon, thuh liddle un’ll be a toddlin roun, draggin his er her oan jug an stoppin fer thuh kaizhnull sip, jiss lack thuh chal’s pappy. 

An at air is the troo hillbilly way.

Hit maiks an ole hillbilly proud

The ole hillbilly aint poastid nuthin laitly cozzen Ah bin on sumthin kanly lack a vaykayshun down at the Hennypenny Cownty Jale. Hit lookt lack thuh ole hillbilly mat spind moar tam in the gray-bar hoatel thin jiss iggzackly soots him, but they fanly had tuh thow out the case agin me. Turnt out thaid dun drunk up all the heavy dense. Pairntly they wuz a hoal passle of poelease an lawyers and jujjiz an sichlack a-staggring roun downtown Minniapples, Sum foaks thot mebbe the Vakkins had dun wun the Sooperboal in November sumhow or tuther.

Ennywaze, thuh ole hillbilly is back out, layin in supplaz tuh maik sum moar of muh speshul rokkit fule mash. Ah wreckin they is foaks hwool preashyate it roun bout Jannwary, hwin it gits rat coald hyar.

Today, Ah red bout thezhe hyar moonshanners down south a-settin up a still in a sitty hall. Aint offen thaze good nooze lack this.

Hyars the lank:

http://news.yahoo.com/moonshine-makers-set-shop-ga-city-hall-150416252.html

 

The ole hillbilly on maikin mash

Deer ole hillbilly,

Ah hev red yore book Makin Mash the Hillbilly Way, an Ah hev follered yore dreckshuns rullijussly. Thoanly thang is, muh mash hez got a terrbull hwang to it. Hwin Ah uncork a jug, hit kills skeeters fer haff a country mahl. Hev ewe got enny ideear as tuh hwut wint rong with muh mash?

Sanned,

Failin the pang of hwang

Deer hwang pang,

Ah am gonna take it fer granit thet ewe hev yoozed ewe a kopper kittle an a kopper wurm. Aint no yooce a thankin, Ahll jiss run thish hyar mash thew an ole raidyaiter. Hit aint a-gonna taist rat iffen ewe dew it, an yooze a-runnin the risk a blandin yore kusstimmers. Aint no yooce in blandin yore kusstimmers. Yooze aimin fer rupait kusstimmers, an bland kusstimmers is gonna have a hard tam fandin thair way tuh yer dore. Hit doant madder how good the mash smezz, a feller aint gonna fand it iffen haze bland.

Ennywaze, Ahm a-soomin thet ewe is dewin evverthang else jiss rat. Iffen thets the case, thin moar lackly thin not, ewe hev got ewe a raccoon er mebbe a possum er two in yer mash. Yood bess git out yore net an go a-dippin in the mash barl.

Now, they is fellers’ll tell ewe, a coon er possum er two doant make no nevver mand. But thems the same folks thettle bile air mash thew raidyaiters. An thems the same folks thettle sell ewe thet ole thump-kaig hwisky. The ole hillbilly doant hole nun with thump-kaig hwisky. Hit aint as smooth as the dubble-run mash discrabbed in muh book.

So ewe git yoreseff a-dippin with at air net. Ah wreckin yule soon dip ewe up a coon er possum er two, an mebbe a kupple of aich.

Yoars trewly,

The ole hillbilly

PS: Iffen ewe doant mand, sind me a kupple of jugs of at air mash with the hwang to it. Iffen ittle drav off skeeters, Ah wreckin Ah got me sum new after-shave.