ell, I'll be horn-swoggled. All of a sudden, all the people in the city figured
out that it sucks to live there. So they're all comin' here. And all of a sudden
that run-down shack on Little Shootin' Hill looks pretty nice. You know the one,
the one where the barn burned down a couple years ago, the one with all the beehives
and wasp nests on it and the lead paint and the badly done electric that feller who
lived there kept tryin' to fix up even after we told him knob and tube went out in
1947. How many times did he ask us if hot was the white wire or the black one? He
was quite the kidder. Poor fella, we'll miss him.
These city folks are the same ones who argue heatedly about whether a wireless charger has a bigger carbon footprint than those tiny micro-USB cables they all use. I heard one feller yellin' at the other one for being too lazy to plug it in, and he oughta be ashamed for killing all the polar bears.
The only good thing about living in the country: no city slickers
Them fellers are all touching in their faith in big corporations. You know, the same big corporations whose windows they were all smashing a few years back. Those big companies put out a bunch of ads telling everybody how we were all “in this” together, and how all some kinda lives or other matter, and how they're truly and sincerely opposed to this, that, and the other thing, honest, and you believed 'em.
I reckon it never occurred to 'em that if they can work remotely from East Thousandsticks, Kentucky they can work just as well from Nagpur, India or Tambacounda, Senegal for one-tenth the salary but they don't need health insurance and they never file a sex discrimination lawsuit. The only difference bein' that in Nagpur they don't need a backup generator or a satellite dish or a water well or a septic tank. The bean-counters have somehow convinced 'em they can live someplace where the nearest grocery store is twenty-five miles away and they can take care of their cows and chickens and still stay up to speed on the latest harassment rules and the latest computer jargon and still be on call twenty-four-seven.
We tell 'em: before you come out here, watch that old TV show Green Acres. It's not a comedy show. That poor Mister Douglas learned the hard way. It's a documentary.
City fellers still haven't figured out about the mice and the poisonous snakes that sneak into your house at night or the bears that drag your garbage can into the woods or the rabid raccoons or the coyotes or the deer that walk right up to you and snort at you, telling you, in bush-muncher language, to get off their turf or else. Maybe they think those deer will learn real quick you mean business when you start shootin' at 'em after you find yourself and all your city friends trying to figure out how to get food and still pay the 500,000 dollar mortgage you took out to get that little 700-square-foot log cabin with a skeeter pond and a dead tree on it and then found out that the reason nobody lives here is there ain't no jobs out here.
Don't worry about the fact that you can't get a plumber or a carpenter in less than a week or that the locals will just laugh at you for askin' if they know anybody who can cut down that dead tree that's scraping against yer shingles and letting all the squirrels in. You'll discover that using a chainsaw to cut those things down without gettin' killed is not as easy as it looks. If a tree falls on ya, don't worry—if you manage to get more than one bar on your phone—the sheriff might send somebody out sometime in the next coupla days, if he can figure out where your house is. And don't worry if you cut your hand off out here in the country, no one can hear you scream. Which is the opposite of the city, where they can hear you scream but they don't care.
Oh, and one more thing: We don't take kindly to folks usin' the F word. And we don't actually say “y'all” out here like you city folk think, so please stop sayin' it.
oct 22 2020, 5:16 am
