Dixie Dew



A recent article making use of favorite Southern colloquialisms.


Rich Folk Come To Town
Dateline: Kickapoo City

I want y'all to know we had some rich folks come into Kickapoo City last week. Now, I know y'all don't believe they was rich 'cause – if you'd seen 'em – you'd a knowed they was all uglier than a lard bucket full of armpits. However, I'm here to tell y'all that they didn't come to town two to a mule, if y'all know what I mean.

There was a whole passel of 'em. They said their last name was Dust-storm and mostly they was greasier than fried lard. They had a pretty daughter with them, though, and old Jeb 'llowed as how she was cuter'n a speckled pup. There was a bunch of chillins' and one little boy who wasn't even knee high to a duck – he was so small it was burnin' daylight just to try and find him. The old man was dumber'n a box of rocks and their moma was so fat, when she stepped up on the scale to be weighed, it said, "to be continued".

Moma was stuck up too. In fact, she was so stuck up she'd drown in a rainstorm. It turned out they was Yankee white trash and Sheriff Bufort T. Groundwater tol' 'em to get outa' town before sundown if they didn't want to have to open themselves up a family worm farm. Those Yankees started runnin' like their feet was on fire and their asses was catchin'. They stired up so much dust leavin' so fast that the rabbits were diggin' holes six feet in the air all along behind 'em.

Speaking of storms, we had a real gully-washin' toad strangler here last week. And it was so windy Sister Rebekah was usin' a log chain instead of a wind sock. Bubba said
you'd rather wipe a bobcat's face with sandpaper than get caught out in it, but Miss Kitty 'llowed as how we needed the rain 'cause it's been hotter'n a goat's butt in a pepper patch in Cracker Country this summer. But it was rain' like piss pourin' out of a boot so we all went up to Billy Bob's office to sit around and tell jokes and lies all day. Old Jeb was talkin' away until the Sheriff come in. That's when Billy Bob took over. He told so many lies he should have been locked up, but Sheriff Groundwater couldn't do it 'cause he was laughin' so hard he just about shit and fell in it.

After the storm, it got hotter than a stolen tamale in a honeymoon hotel. The Kickapoo City Electric Coop broke down with so many of us using so much 'lectricity for ice cubes and air conditioning and such as that. Then it was like tryin' to herd cats just to find a cool breeze to sit in. All of a sudden we noticed it was fixin' to come up another bad cloud. Afore we knowed what hit us it was rainin' catfish and watermelons again. After that, it got so dry the trees were bribing the dogs. All this changin' has got us so confused we don't know whether to fish or cut bait.

However, every now and then, even a blind pig finds an acorn. So, we finally decided, there ain't no place in the whole world that's better to live in than Cracker Country. In fact, Cracker Country is gooder'n grits. If it got any better, we'd have to hire
some folks to help us enjoy it.

So, Y'all come to see us when you can ….

Anne St. John
Copyright 1999


Anne St. John was "born and bred" in Atlanta but is now a resident of Alabama. Her vivid imagination has created the town of Kickapoo City and its people whose happenings she reports in Cracker Country, A Southern Newsletter, with "all the news that is fit to print ...and some that ain't". Cracker Country appeared on the webiste Y'all.com.

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