Blog No Evil

When Rednecks Talk Polly-Ticks
Our roving Blog reporter, Biff Buff is treking the back roads of Appalachia to find out how the folks of rural American feel about the results of the 2008 Presidential Election. He is currently wandering the hills of West Virginia where the residents say 'they live so back in the sticks that they have to pipe in the sunshine.'

Hello America, Biff Buff here. I'm somewhere in the hills of Roane County about thirty miles from nowhere! I'm sitting in a beer joint with the unusual name of 'Beer Joint.' I'm talking with the owner, bouncer and best customer in this quaint little establishment, Robert Bob Roberts.

Mr. Roberts, that's an odd name. Can I assume you were named after some elder member of your family?

Nah! The name Bob Robert Roberts wuz a'ready taken.

I see. What name do you go by?

Well suh, it's like this. All the folks what knows me jest calls me Bubba.

Okay Bubba it is. Tell me, Bubba, what do think of our new President?

Well shucks! Iffin I'd knowed it was gonna turn out like it did, I woulda throwed this here John Deere cap in the ring!

Oh? You feel you are more qualified for the most powerful office in the world?

Hell, I got more experience than that whipper-snapper what got voted in. Truth of the matter, this good ol' boy'll be 'speckulatin' of course, but I 'speck that feller ain't ever got his hands dirty, 'ceptin' mebbe when crawls in bed wiffin the missus.

Ahem! What skill and experience do you feel you have, especially in leadership and making decisions that will affect our country?

Whoa! Slow down there, son. You done asked me two what-fers 'bout the same danged thing.

I'm sorry!

Lawd a'mighty! Iffin that ain't the first time I ever heared one of y'all Yankees fess up to bein' a sorry lot. Now iffin' I might be 'scused a minute, I gotta go see a man 'bout a dog.

Readers, my conversation with Mr. Roberts should give you a fair idea just how serious West Virginians are when it comes to politics. I'll try to describe the decor of the 'Beer Joint' while he is in the restroom. Across the room ...

Hold on there! Where in the hell did you get the idea that I wuz a goin' to the bathroom? Iffin' I had to go the toilet, then when I 'scused myself I woulda said 'I gotta go take a squirt.'

I guess I must have misinterpreted what you meant.

Misinterperpit? Uh ... What you said. That a fancy Yankee word fer sayin' you wuzn't a-payin' no 'tention? Well, ain't no never mind anyhow.

When I said I wuz gonna go see a man 'bout a dog, I meant jest that, I wuz gonna go see a man 'bout a dog. You see, ol' man Del Parker he's a sittin' out on the back porch a watchin' my ol' hound dog what's tied to a tree back yonder.

Ah readers, while Bubba is outside tending to his dog I'll continue with my description of the Beer Joint's decor which I have determined to be early-primitive-rustic-in-a- state-of-disrepair. I see several ...

Ha-ha-ha! Ye-ha! Y'all gotta see this, Yank. My ol' hound dog is out there a-humpin' away on the bitch from down the road aways.

A stray female in heat?

Yup, it's a stray, but I doubt iffin she's in heat. It's ol' Mrs. Thompson from the next house down the road. My dog is out there a-humpin' on her leg for all he's worth like they's ain't no tomorrow!

Well Bubba, I'm afraid I have to leave now. It'll be dark soon and it's a long walk back to my car. If it's alright, I'll come back early tomorrow to pick up where we left off with the interview about our new President.

Early, eh? I reckon that's good. I'd best set my 'larm clock for noon then. Ya know, I wuz jest mindful of what that dog's a doin' to the leg of that bitch out yonder ... damned iffin that ain't what them polly-tishuns been doin' to us all these years. 'Sept it ain't legs they's been a pokin' at.

Good night, Bubba. Readers, this is Biff Buff signing off until the next in depth interview.

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