Part 2:  You get a line, I’ll get a pole

After carrying Ol’ Stumpy to my car and rolling down the windows to fit his 12 foot pole, we were off.  “Go back the way you came and take a right, but don’t speed, ‘course you already knew that.”

The town itself appeared even smaller once you are inside it, the majority of it residences.  A post office the size of a shoebox.  A baseball field Ol’ Stumpy claimed to have hit three home runs in one game on as a kid.  “They had to put a second digit up on the scoreboard for me,” he says.  Of course it wouldn’t be a small town without a church or two, and who could miss the local entertainment of the train coming through town at all hours of the day.

Ol’ Stumpy then instructs me to hang a right at the church and then stop.  I see nothing.  He informs me we are here.  I look around to see what I considered a drainage ditch.  “Yessir, we about to wet some lines sho’nuff.”

He works his magic for a good half hour.  He claims to have had bites, though I silently wonder if they only thing he will catch is a buzz.  At about that time he starts in, “So, the mayor, big business going down for sure.  Rumor has it, ole Mayor Nutt has a taste for that Bojangles chicken over there in Franklin.  He’s been seen driving over there at all hours of the night feigning for some Boberrys.”

He could tell I wasn’t impressed.

“I bet you feel like a fool right about now, huh? You done toted this crazy one armed, no legged black man down to fish in a ditch so he could tell you the Mayor likes him some chicken. Well, it sounds crazy, but that’s all I can tell you. You want your story, look into this Bojangles thing. By the way, can you come hold me up while I take a piss? Don’t look at me like I’m crazy. I said pick me up, not Mr. Jingles, I got that part under control.”

I left Ol’ Stumpy to fish for the afternoon, and called up my boss, Senior Editor.

Senior Editor had really big plans for the Watermelon Festival and had been working on Tracy Byrd material for a solid week. I told him that I’d gotten tangled up with Newsoms and Johnny Law, Jr.

Upon hearing the news, Senior stated, “Eh, who gives a shit about the Watermelon Festival. They cancelled the thing until a bunch of soccer moms got up in arms about it ‘cause they’d have to take care of the youngans an extra day.  Screw it, not like we’ve done anything for a solid year anyway.  By the way, please don’t cash your payroll check yet. We had to pay the lawyers to squash another defamation suit. You would think they’d stop testing the law offices of L’Chaim, L’Chaim and Mozel Tov.  By the way, you should probably call up Trooper Johnson on this.”

After our conversation I rode around town, all under the speed limit of course.  I travelled back towards Drake’s where a Sports Grill called Flavor of the Month across the street was having their “Grand Opening” and “Going Out of Business” sale at the same time.

While flipping through the menu that had crossed out the former restaurant’s name and had handwritten Flavor of the Month, I learned that Flavor of the Month had been the place of 743 businesses since 1997, and that it was the 679th restaurant to open there.  My waitress for the evening was Connie Evans.

She was a first for me. In my time, I’ve seen waiters and waitresses all working to pay off some form of debt. The tired, paying for school, I couldn’t keep my legs closed for the sailor now I got three youngans, or I got a mean coke habit all seemed trite. So when she meandered over and struck up a conversation on how she works just to pay her speeding tickets, well, she had my attention.

It seemed Connie was once an item with a former Newsoms town council member. “Yeah, me and Timmy Sunbeam, we had a thing going for a while,” she said.

“He’d come in from the meetings all excited about the new remote controlled speed limit signs they were putting in that could move up and down the road to trap people, or the new digital speed limit sign that could change its appearance and read 25 in a split second. Of course, all that ended when I came home and found him with the 2007 Peanut Queen.”

Before I could finish my meal, the manager came out to inform me that due to poor business, he was having to close permanently.  Like right then.  They made me leave without finishing my meal or offering a takeout box.  It was time for another Drake’s special.

I returned to the Shaggin’ Wagon, and as I did, that SOB Luke Bryan was on again, singing about his trip to the ICU.  I’d had enough.  I immediately called up Senior Editor again to vent.

“This has to stop. To hell with this Newsoms bullshit, we have to end Luke Bryan.  I can’t turn on my G@% d@#$ radio without hearing that ass clown.  He’s clearly the damn devil, and he’s ruining what was left of the genre.  I never knew a skinny ass in tight jeans that are so tight it makes you sing through your nose was a good thing.  And then, you have the audacity to sing about speakers going boom boom, field parties like they’re a good thing, and making your music sound like you’re trying to make a hip hop album. Then has the further audacity to make comments about Waylon Jennings laying in a gutter somewhere?  At least Waylon sang about real shit.  You live rough, you sing about your demons.  No, you just want to keep rehashing the same song that romanticizes sitting in the middle of a field, swiggin’ nasty shine your buddy made, getting ate up by ‘skeetas all night, and hoping you poured enough liquor down Charleene’s gullet to get into her tube top, but then be living right again the next morning in time for Jesus.

I heard he has a new song, I Got Your Honey In My Fly, the lyrics go:

So pull some strings Editor, I can’t take it anymore.

As my rant continued, Jason Aldean then came on. “Sonofabitch! It’s a damn conspiracy! Who owns these radio stations? Jason Aldean is getting’ rich off of side bets in his songs, I just know it. “I bet y’all right now, I can get a line in my song about a girl being naked in my bed.” And damn if he didn’t do it. It was pretty terrible though. But did he stop? No. He kept going. He too made the same song six times about obtaining questionable consent to hookup. But no, he wouldn’t stop there either. “I’m still rich off my last bet with y’all, but double or nothing, I can get a song on the radio about skidmarks and love stains.” Oh, you’re on Mr. Aldean, and damn if the sumbitch pulled that off too. What the hell is going on with “Country” music!?!

After I finally came down, I realized the call had dropped 15 minutes earlier. Luke Bryan was clearly connected with the NSA. He couldn’t be stopped. I was forced to continue my investigation here in Smalltown, USA.