Only In The South
I consider myself fortunate to have been raised in a small town, where there are no red lights, no traffic jams, and no sushi bars. The closest thing we have to a sushi bar, is a place that sells live bait (and serves pizza) a few miles up the road. It has been said that you know you're a red neck if the best restaurant in town has a couple of gas pumps out front. That kind of puts me in my place.
Every youngster should be so lucky as to grow up in a place that had a barber named Snooks (who was rumored to have been a former amateur boxer, and had a nose to prove it), an old coot named Fuzzy White who hung out at the barber shop, spinning wild tales whether anyone was listening or not, and a city policeman we all called "Hollywood" because he spent so much time combing his hair.
There was everyone's favorite, Cy Gasses, owner of the local dry goods store, who had more escapades than you could imagine, always getting into mischief and having mischief played on him, often by Mr. John Head, the county Ordinary, who had only one arm but was the best dove and quail hunter in town. Have to save some of these tales for another day, and probably use other names also. I don't want to get in trouble.
It's ironic that Mr. Fuzzy White hung out at Snooks's so much, because he didn't look like he ever shaved or had a haircut. One day Mr. Fuzzy was spinning yarns in the barber shop when he launched into a story of his great hunting prowess. He said that once he came upon a flock of blackbirds all lined up beside each other on a telephone line. He said he got real quiet, sneaked up on them, got just the right angle, squeezed the trigger, and killed 199 blackbirds with 1 shot!
His drinking buddy, Mr. Pete Kelly, said, "Ah Hell, Fuzzy, why don't you just go ahead and say you killled 200." Incensed, Mr. Fuzzy spewed, "You don't think I'd tell a Damn LIE for 1 measly little old blackbird, do ya!"
Only in the South...
