Wednesday, December 30, 2015

Even Mrs. Hillbilly Mom Is Sometimes Rendered Speechless

You tell me...




2 comments:

Sioux said...

Yet another room/building I missed out on my tour. I'm sorry I came back, after saying farewell just yesterday.

When you retire, don't even expect a box of muffin stumps, if this is the treatment your followers get. I mean, taunting us with cameras and a blue hardhat, a possible couple of salt and pepper shakers (an old man and an old woman?) and other indescribable goodies.

It's not fair!

Hillbilly Mom said...

Sioux,
I knew you would return. Farmer H is like a drug. Not one that cures things. One that you might find under a big mushroom, in a bottle with a label that says, "Drink Me."

The Hillbillies don't want your muffin stumps! Or your chicken skins and lobster shells, either.

Silly me. I thought the focus of that photo would be the GIANT DEAD RAM'S HEAD, not the minutia on the shelves. I only regret that I showed you Thomas Jefferson sitting on a boot taking a crap. I should have charged extra for that.