Tuesday, April 16, 2013

Next I'll Have A Pig Under The Sink For A Garbage Disposal

I've been out on the town tonight. Newmentia town. Except the venue was Basementia. Awards were handed out in recognition of our scholars and post-season-honored athletes. Mrs. Hillbilly Mom is both a giver and a taker. Well, a taker by proxy. I handed out awards for my Science Fair placees. Did I mention that every one of our contestants placed? I think I did.

The Pony nabbed a Science Fair award. Genius raked in honors for W.Y.S.E., academic team, and the Missouri Top 100 Scholars. So technically, THEY were the takers. By the time that little soiree was over, the whole room needed arm slings from patting ourselves on our respective backs.

The ride to the event was fraught with danger. Farmer H was once again behind the wheel of T-Hoe. He was back into his GAS GAS GAS BRAKE BRAKE BRAKE rut. Though I will admit that he kept his sweaving to a minimum. That does not excuse him for the several times he almost hit a curb like he was an errant bowling ball on a bumpered alley.

He comes by it naturally, it seems. As we rounded the S-curve in the town square, Farmer H called over his shoulder to The Pony, "If you look real close, you might see that scar I put on the fire house wall when I was a kid. I goosed it, and the back end slid out from under me." He was talking about his car. Not the fire engine. Needless to say, but I will type it anyway, The Pony was confused. That might have something to do with the old fire house now being the police station.

That was not the most horrific act of Farmer H this evening. As we went through town, we passed a bulldog in a front yard answering the call of nature. Am I wrong in declaring that the polite thing to do is look away? No need to gawk at an animal that already looks embarrassed. Farmer H turned his head ninety degrees. Toward, not away. THEN he resumed his surveillance by way of the driver's side mirror. "Sweet Gummi Mary! Look at the SIZE of that turd!" Except Farmer H didn't say Gummi Mary.

I think he's devolving. I need to look into a Fred Flintstone fur muumuu sort of outfit, and find him a club at the auction. Farmer H can build his own car to ride with the family down the street, courtesy of his two feet.

4 comments:

Sioux said...

And then he can bring home Brontosaurus meat from the auction...

Hillbilly Mom said...

Sioux,
If he starts talking to the Great Gazoo, we're in trouble.

Kathy's Klothesline said...

Just yesterday I look towards the building known as "that's the barn, don't go in there, you may not be able to find your way out", where my prince stood next to the tractor with one of his cronies and commented to my friend that I married Fred Flintstone ......

Hillbilly Mom said...

Kathy,
Maybe he was looking for his dinosaur lawnmower before he went to borrow Barney Rubble's lobster mower.