the true stories
Last summer my wife and I were invited to an outdoor concert in a favorite little town ours. In between sets, the guitar picker decided to tell a joke to warm up the audience who sat under some old apricot trees on folding chairs in the fading light. I will paraphrase it below.
Two farm boys were out pitching hay one morning. The elder, who was ten years old stopped and leaned on his fork for a moment. He looked at his brother who stopped and looked back.
“You know what little brother, I reckon it's time we started to cuss. Tell you what, when we go into the house after our chores, I'm going to use the word hell. You pick out one too, alright?”
The younger boy, not to be outdone, thought long and hard.
“I'm going to use the word ass,” he said after proper reflection, with gravity in his seven year old voice.
They shook hands on it and the pact was made. You could take it to the bank.
They finished up, walked to the house, removed their dirty boots, washed their hands and tromped up to the breakfast bar where their mother was ready and waiting. She turned to the elder son and asked him what he would like to have for his breakfast that morning.
“Hell, Mom, I reckon I'll have me some Cheerios.”
Seconds later he picked himself off the floor where his mother's bear-slap had landed him and went to his room where he had been banished for the remainder of the morning.
The woman wiped her hands on her apron, turned to the younger boy and placing her hands on the bar in front of him, looked him dead in the eye and asked in the sweetest of voices, “And what can I get for you young man?”
The boy returned her steely gaze and replied immediately, “You can bet your fat ass I ain't askin' for no Cheerios.”
Copyright © 2015 by Michael A. Hawes. All Rights Reserved.
Michael Hawes was born in Texas, raised in Louisiana and lives in British Columbia.