By Clet Litter as told to Bob Simpson
Happy New Year. For the pessimists, “Happy New Fear.” The giant pumpkin, grown by Wilbur Fleegle of Winslow’s Holler, rolled off the courthouse roof at midnight. Wilbur was right proud of his mushy gourd. He said, “I grew that plump plopper from a seed.” Folks figured that was the case. Nobody thinks that he cloned it.
Wilbur is from Winslow’s Holler, but it don’t mean he’s dumb. Once I heard a feller ask him to spell his name. He said, “Capital F.l.e.e.g.l.e.”
The feller laughed and said, “I meant how do you spell your first name?”
Wilbur knew what he was doing when he give his answer to the question of how he spelled his first name. He said, “I forgot.”
The barbershop fellers were having breakfast in the Come-On-Give-Us-One-More-Chance Diner. Morton Trubletoof was bragging about how great he’s feeling lately. He said, “I’ve been sleeping like a baby through the night.”
Old Man Grimely said, “At my age, sleeping like a baby through the night means I wake up in a wet diaper.”
Folks are asking how the wife, Punkin, is doing. It ain’t news, but she’s fine and dandy. The only time she’s not F. and D. is when I mess up. The news is that I don’t make as many husband mistakes as people think I do.
We’re facing the 43 days of Christmas. That’s the 12 for the song plus 31 in January for the bills. We’re okay with the 31 days cause we made a lotta gifts ourselves. Well, Punkin made them all, but I did my part and stayed outta her way.
Mumford Pickens says, “The secret to getting somewhere fast is to start earlier and enjoy the journey, cause you’re not late till you get there.”
You can contact Clet Litter at firstname.lastname@example.org. You know you wanna.