Canary Row

In my early years between Puberty and Imbred Arkansas I was gitten my edumacation like any utter humin being. I even had a stencil pitcher of Jethro Bodine on my nappies.
 
"Th' sto'y yer about t'hear is true. Herky Swink: This hyar is th' city. Tidbit, Arkansas. Ah wawk hyar, ah's a security gard."  
 
I came of age at 56. Between a fried bologna sandwich and being mooned by a Rhode Island Red chicken. Having just finished my fifth year of culinary school at the Waffle House. I gradumarated summa cum laude and thought that summa didn't begin until June. Then I took a home correspondence course on law enforcement. What I lacked in brains I made up for by walking and playing dumb.  
 
I applied for and got the job of a security guard at Green Okra Acres trailer park and land field. Now full of single wide trailers for retired  roller derby queens and human cannon balls. My ma and pa live there also. One and a half mile off a paved road. I sleep in their carport with ma's Harley Davidson.  Ma had recently been paroled from prison, after stealing someone's roller skate key.      
 
Ma and pa were having problems with their ducts in the trailer. She said they were stopped up, and  I knew there wasn't a vet in town. I bought them a stool softener from a local Walgreens  
 
The trailer park furnished me with the cutest little itsy-bitsy taser. A modified 1848 Colt Dragoon, turned into a taser revolver. I wore it like my idol Gene Artery. I was prowt as a nest of Junebugs. I set it to the "stun"  position and placed it against my thigh. It set my bridges on fire and knocked me catawampus to the wall of the trailer and gave my ma's cat a conclusion.  I lost all muscle control and crapped in ma's potato salad. I was drooling and my lips were swollen, weighing 75 pounds. Plus my tentacles fell to my ankles.    
 
Ma was pissed because I ruined her Romaine Meat Loaf. Pa said that she had never be to Italy.  My first day on the job was an embarrassment. From afar, the noise sounded as if a tent revival. The pastor was talking in tongue, or so it seemed. “l dollar bid, now 2, now 2, will ya give me 2? 2 dollar bid, now 3, now 3, will ya give me 3...?"  
 
I raise my arm and hallelujah all over the place. It seems I just purchased a toilet once owned by Buck Owens who then sold it to Ronnie Milsap.  
 
Twilight found me patrolling the outside perimeter of the park. Near the A&W. I spotted someone dressed in black wearing a hoodie and pushing a shopping cart. Jaywalking on Wayne Newton Avenue. He must have been intoxicated because he was hopping and wobbling.    
 
"Stop! in thuh name uh thuh Laud. Ah mean law. Yer unner duress fer personatin' Johnny Cash.  Put your hands in the air and recite.  I’m a li'l teapot sho't an' stout. Hyar is mah han'le, hyar is mah spout. When th' water’s boilin', hear me shout, “Tip me on over, pour me out!"    
 
"Yew've thuh right tuh remain silent an' refuse tuh answer questions. Anythin' yew say may be used against yew in a court uh law. Yew've thuh right tuh consult an attorney afore speakin' tuh thuh sher'ff an' tuh have an attorney present durang questionin' now or in thuh future."        
 
"I'm a “sister,” a religious woman delivering these hymnals to the cannery over there, and my prosthesis leg fell off."  
 
"Ah don't care if'n yer Brenda Lee. Why would a canary need a songbook?"