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Butterbean McCurdy rides again, sorta    

By Clet Litter as told to Bob Simpson

The Butterbean McCurdy Memorial Race ran Saturday at the Muleberry County Fairgrounds. Proceeds will go to the County School Bus New Brakes and Maintenance Fund. The fans were packing in around the track. The adult beverages were flowing, and a few tears dropped outta the old timers, mostly from their eyes, in the stands remembering Butterbean. They tell a history of how he didn’t win as many races in the last few runs of his career cause the officials took his pellet gun out of his car.

     Butterbean put up an awful fight before they pried his pelletnator from his still warm hands, but the Mayor put out an update later on what happened. He said, “It was only a minor scuffle. The 25 or so pellets just bounced off 18 drivers. Several retired dancers got it in the chest, but didn’t feel a thing.” Apparently, the Mayor must be a race fan too, since all the dancers knew his name.   

     A friend of mine, years ago, said he liked a special column from 2008. I remembered telling him about the idea, but I couldn’t find that I’d ever put it in the news. So, I’m gonna tell you about it. If any of you recall it, then I’m repeating it. I had a request to rerun it. That’s my story, and I’m sticking to it like a skunk on a truck tire.

     Here it is: I shot at a rabbit, but I missed him. I fired again, missed again. He ran under some brush and I shot in it, hoping none of my friends were in the bushes. I don’t know that many who would be hanging out in brambles, but there’s a few. Nothing yelled, so I waited for the rabbit to leave. When he did, I shot and hit him, but he kept on hopping. I fired, and the bunny turned into supper.

     I musta scared him pretty bad before he died. When I chomped down on the fried adrenal gland, it was as flat and flabby as a leaky Whoopee cushion. The critter was so full of adrenaline that it pickled him. The only way I can describe the taste was sorely disappointing.

     If you’re upset to hear this, then think of it as harvesting, like you woulda harvested an ear of corn … if you’d tried four times before you blasted it right off the stalk.

     Rest in peace, Queen Elizabeth

     Contact at You know you wanna.

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