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If you want to know anything, or want to find out about something ... DON'T ASK ME, PLEASE. I'm far too busy feeding my pets, and writing my silly prose . . . which no-body has read because I don't let them. This address is for
all of you visitors who get chased away from younger sites.
Over here . . . we complain a lot, throw stones at unruly
neighbors, compare operations, the fit of dentures, and try
to work the daily Crossword before we fall to sleep. We are
mostly a group of Hadacol grumps and dollies. We were sort
of ran off from Buzzard's Belch, AZ, but believe me we are here to stay, as they say, for a "rightly piece." We are well rounded, versed in many subjects ... such as arthritis
remedies, and old-time cookin'. We surely don't imbide more than we can hold, but if you feel like testing us ...
just bring over your best jug of "shine" and squat a while.
Thar's always vittles on the stove, and if'n they ain't to your taste ... then just make yourself at home. The larder's full, and I do love "possum and cornpone ... if'n
ya gat a recipe to do away with all the grease.
We are God-fearing ones, and love the outdoors ... that's
why this house is really too big fer us. All we needed was a
kitchen and a courtin' parlor. Uncle Tully is 93, but not about to turn his chips in. We have to run the fillies off
most every night ... the younguns, ya know. Jes' in their
70's. Unbridled love, I think they call it ... unbridled
youth.
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We didn't have to tote in much, jes' the rags on our backs and our blisters. Sister Katie, she's the one that sings bass all night, is jes' a might under 100, and lookin'
fer a hubbie to play "house" with. She's a fair cook, and can surely plow a mean row. Now Cousin Bess is the real
beauty of our little clan; won herself the title of Miss
Hog-Call of 1921. (And she hasn't lost nary a decibel since.
On the night of her 7th wedding she hollered so loud ... it
scaired her fella right good, and he tore down 9 acres of
pine stand getting away from her. She still misses him.
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