Thursday, June 29, 2006

Imported Worms and a Mystery Man

We are going fishing tonight. We haven't been in a couple of years,
what with the #2 son trying to fall in the water on previous outings.
We are not going far. But we are going farther than the creek,
where my Hillbilly Husband takes the boys fishing with baloney and
hot dogs for bait. This is a big event. We even bought nightcrawlers
at Wal*Mart. Real ones, out of a mini-fridge. They are Canadian
Nightcrawlers, whatever that means. It said so on the label. Is there
something I'm missing? Does Canada have better worms than the
U.S.? Who knew? I thought Wal*Mart was all about domestic
products. Except for maybe sweatshop clothing made by Kathie
Lee Gifford's minions. Yes, Wal*Mart has everything. We will have
to go someplace secluded, since HH and I don't have a fishing
license. It's not the money, it's the hassle. I know I could have got
them at Wal*Mart, but it's not so easy when the boys are whining
and poking each other when I'm trying to give all the information.
I'm sure we'll get one during the week that he's off. Shh...don't tell
on us. We are generally law-abiding folks.

On our way to town today, we saw a man walking up our gravel
road by the mailboxes. He was creepy. We don't know why he
was there. This is not a through street, you know. It is about two
and a half miles through here to the next blacktop road. He was
carrying a pair of boots, and limping along with a flannel shirt
over a t-shirt. was already 78 degrees, with about 100%
humidity. Methinks his flannel was not necessary. He looked a
bit unkempt. I thought he was walking on the gravel in sock feet.
He gimped along like he had tender feet. #1 son said he had on
some other boots.

He was really creepy. I thought maybe he was homeless, and
his boots got wet in the thunderstorm we had around midnight.
Or maybe he stole those boots he was carrying because the
boots he stole before were too tight. I told the boys that by
the time we got back, he might be taking a bath in our pool. He
did not have a bow, or a gun, or a fishing pole. It was strange.
We are 5 miles from town. Why was he out here walking? I
sure did not stop to investigate. I'm not such a good Samaritan.
He didn't try to flag me down or anything. You have to be careful
when you're out in the woods in a large SUV and have two
young 'uns with you. And I don't even know what Fitty looks like.

I've stopped to help other people. I've let old people use my cell
phone when they ran their big white Cadillac backwards into a
ditch. We picked up a woman who ran her van off the curve in
a big snow, and drove her home. But I'm not taking any chances
with unkempt boot-carrying pussy-footing bearded men. Nope.
Flip me off and call me Satan's handmaiden, but I ain't a-stoppin'.
There was no sign of him when we came back about two hours
later. Now I'll think he's in the woods watching me. It doesn't
help that someone landed at my blog the other day after searching
for bums and scams in store parking lots,,''ive broken down''.
I suppose I'm just paranoid. Next thing, I'll think he's paparazzi
waiting for the world-renowned Hillbilly Mom to make a grand

If he walks up the driveway, I think the poopies would bark at
him. They don't like anything coming into the yard. Unless it's
someone in a car. Then they lounge around in the dirt holes they
dug under the 5th-wheel camper parked in the front yard, like,
"You get this one. I got the black dog that came under the fence
this morning."

Don't hate me because I have 24 imported nightcrawlers and
you don't. Hate me because I am Satan's handmaiden.


Blogger Cazzie!!! said...

Hmmm, satan's handmaiden..what a cool nick name indeed :)

9:37 PM  
Blogger LanternLight said...

We will have to go someplace secluded, since HH and I don't have a fishing license. It's not the money, it's the hassle.

I can see it now, HH in the pokey.

The inmates are asking each other what they're in for.
Crim1: Arson
Crim2: Murder
Crim3 aka HH: Fishing without a license.

because I am Satan's handmaiden.

Another way of saying you're HOT, OH SO PRETTY one, eh?

5:42 AM  
Blogger MrsCoach2U said...

Ha Ha! Not only are there Candaian Nightcrawlers in the mini-fridge under the 5th wheel but Mr.Coach just bought Sweet Beavers yesterday! I've never tasted one but oldest child assures me they taste like chicken and the bass love them. I'll take his word on it! Mr.Coach is apparently resourceful in making sure bait doubles as lunch......

8:16 AM  
Blogger Hillbilly Mom said...

You say cool, Lantern says hot. Methinks you people need to get your story straight. Perhaps it's like my old post:
The Duality of My Nature.

HH has talked about going to the pokey. He calls it the Crossbars Hilton. HH says he could never go there, because all the guys would want him. Yeah, right. I asked him why they would want HIM, with all the other guys in there buff from lifting weights for 5 to 10 years. HH was not amused. I think I hurt his feelings by suggesting that he was not attractive to men. Go figure! If I'd said he WAS attractive to men, that would have also hurt his feelings.
You men are so sensitive!

Of course I'm OH SO HOT. But not in the traditional supermodel sense. It's an inner hotness.

Sweet Gummi Mary! Your husband stashes Sweet Beavers in your 5th wheel, and even feeds the kids. He's quite a catch, eh? And I mean that 'eh' in the Canadian sense, in honor of their new national export, Nightcrawlers.

9:47 PM  
Blogger Redneck Diva said...

Methinks "Sweet Beaver!" is going to be my new exclamation. The other day I said, "Oh Holy Gummi Mary!" out in public and got the strangest looks....I wonder what "Sweet Beaver!" will get me?

11:01 PM  
Blogger Stewed Hamm said...

I thought I knew what sweet beavers were... until today. Apparently they're more "Rated G" than I thought.
Either that, or fishing is a seriously F'ed up sport.

1:33 AM  
Blogger Hillbilly Mom said...

Perhaps exclaiming "Sweet Beaver!" will get you some sweet beaver...if you swing that way.

Perhaps YOU should exclaim "Sweet Beaver!" and see what it gets you. Let's hope it's not a slap in the face.
And let's hope that Mr. Coach was not storing the other kind of Sweet Beaver in the camper, letting his son taste it, because I'm pretty sure there's an age limit for that kind of stuff. Here in Missouri anyway...though I'm not sure about Oklahoma and Arkansas.

5:30 PM  

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