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Hillbilly Hilarity
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The Spectator
founded 2004 by ron cruger
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A place for intelligent readers
 by Frank Shortt
2016 Spectator Ron - The Spectator All Rights Reserved
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          It has been noted by several writers of Southern fiction that the hillbilly holds a special place in the hearts of Americans, as being somewhat lightheaded, or maybe airheaded. This was true until it was found out that those stupid, ignorant hillbillies over in Hot Springs, Arkansas was selling water to those brilliant Yankees.
         
        One story that came out of Buchanan County, Virginia always seemed to hit the funny bone of local would-be comedians. It seems that a few years ago when outhouses were in vogue, Basilo Compton sat down and wrote a letter to Sears and Roebuck which read: “Dear sirs, I sure would appreciate it if you would send me a case of toilet paper as soon as possible!”    He sealed the letter and sent it off to Chicago to the headquarters proposed to him by WSM radio station in Illinois. After a few days, Mr. Compton received in return mail a short letter from Sears stating: “We’re sorry Mr. Compton, we regret that we cannot send the requested item because you failed to include a catalog number!” By return mail he sent this short note: “Huh, if id’a had the catalog, I wouldn’t ‘ave ordered the toilet paper in the first place!”
       
         Jake Jones stood out in his cornfield cutting corn suckers as hard as he could. Pretty soon, along came Art Horton walking along so fast that he almost didn’t say good morning to Jake. Jake, being a cordial type of fellow, made sure that Art took the time to speak.
        “Whar you headed in such a tizzy, Art?”
        Art replied, “I just saved up enough money to buy myself a Cadillac so I’m headin’ down to the dealership to buy one.”
        Jake, being a religious sort of fellow said, “You mean, Lord willing I’m gonna go buy a Cadillac!”
        “I’m for sure going down to buy a Cadillac! I’ve got the money right here in my shirt pocket!”
        Jake let him go.
        As Art rounded one of the curviest curves leading down to town, a couple of ruffians jumped out and beat him unmercifully, ripped the shirt pocket off, and took his Cadillac money. Art was glad to escape with his life.
        Art began slowly dragging himself toward home. As he did so he had to pass Jake Jones, still cutting corn suckers. “Whar you goin’, Art?” Jake inquired.
        “Lord willin’ I’m gonna go home! Art mournfully replied.
        Just so no one thinks that I am immune to hillbilly humor, I must tell one on myself. This was told by none other than one of the most natural comedians to come out of Richlands, Virginia, our cousin, Henry McGlothlin.
Sunday afternoons was the time that relatives and friends used to get together for visiting, eating, and in my dad’s case, to get a chance to talk about his favorite subject, God.  Along about one o’clock Henry McGlothlin pulled up in the yard. As he was not a frequent visitor to my dad, although they were first cousins, he was greeted heartily by all present.
        “Sure is good to see you, Henry,” mom and dad both said in unison.
        Mom and Henry’s wife went on into the house, to see what there was to eat and to get some sweetened iced tea. Henry seated himself in one of the ladder-back, split-hickory chairs that Grandpa Addison had re-caned.
        “How’ve you been, Henry,” Dad inquired.
        “Fair to middlin” Henry replied with his sly little grin that he always had.
        Turning to me, Dad said, “Frankie, go into the house and get the book that we all know and love so well!”
        I’m telling you, I was as innocent as I could be! When I returned I came out toting the Montgomery-Wards Catalog!
        If Donald Trump was to be asked to pull out the most important book, common to many people, would he recommend the book ‘How to be a Millionaire’? After all, he claims to be the greatest Christian in the world!