Saturday, Sunday and possibly Monday

Bubba Earl, a great American, wrote to the Johnson and Johnson company to informed them that one of their q-tips didn't do as promised. So, the company said fly up here to somewhere in New York and help us solve this problem. Since his wife had to work I volunteered to go with him. He said that sounded like a good plan since I was the keeper of the bail and bell money. Just in case we come across an opportunity to add to the cowbell collection. We thought about being Boy Scouts back in the day but they wouldn't take us. Something about Class D felonies under the age of 15. Just a whole lot of youthful happiness but whatever.

So me and Bubba flew out of Tupelo International Airport on our way north. I told him to be prepared for some surly acting folks in New York. He said that they're that way because the figured out that they're south of Canada. That's what makes them irate all the time. I said at least Canada is good for something. After a 10 hour flight with a few layovers in big towns like Sinsinnati, Newark, and Russellville, Kentucky we landed at the airport named for a mayor or numbers runner or somebody really important to the locals. We told the cab driver to take us to the q-tip factory, but first to the nearest watering hole cause flying makes one need a drink. Trust me on this it's science. While wetting the whistle Bubba Earl struck up a conversation with a sweet young thing about how he owns a chalet on a mountain top. She didn't seem impressed so he asked her what was wrong. She looked at me and asked what language Bubba Earl was speaking. I said he learned american but last year in Mexico we learned a few words of Mexican. This didn't seem to impress her much either. I told Bubba our particular line of bs might not be appreciated above the Mason Dixon line. He said damnit Cdawg, didn't you learn nothing at that fancy ass trade school you went to? If at first you don't succeed, throw some money around. And that's exactly what we did. The rest of the night went much better, especially when the blonde bartender got on the bar and danced to some yankee country song. I didn't care for the song but I liked the strip, uh, I mean the nice dance she performed. I hollered over to Bubba and told him if it ain't Merle Haggard then they could keep it.

Bubba and I walked around looking for a the cab driver would have a minute to sober up. I swear some folks just can't hold their liquor. We couldn't find a Wafflehouse anywhere. Shoot fire, we couldn't even find a Huddlehouse which is an abomination to all things good and holy. So I called Flash to see if his new girlfriend's daddy owned a Wafflehouse up here. All I got was his answering machine. The message? I'll see you Saturday at 2, be there or be square. I said come on Bubba let's get the driver and go take care of business.

The Johnson and Johnson people really appreciated Bubba Earl's summation of everything wrong with their ear stick. They promised to a

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