Get Your Stink On, Home-Stooled  

I thought the sky was falling on our trailer, but only lava dripped from granny's séance lamp. Last night she had a conversation with her parole officer who passed away about a fortnight ago. She had been rousted again for running a brothel without a trailer hitched on the Trailway bus.            
           
Granny was sweeping chaff from the kitchen floor as a cloud of gnats gathered on my grits. She was making room to play strip euchre and a place for tobacco spit in a Folger's can that had been recycled from the flea market.          
           
Grandpa had blue ticks in his hair. They came down from Atlanta this time of year. The septic tank had backed up, crossing several county lines to Savannah, and the blue gill had a hard time finding a place to roost.  Our pet possum was laying in a corner giving birth to a litter of, "Ain't they cute!"            
           
The piss-yellow moon was fucking a solstice in the summer sky, causing my sister to get her period. While speaking in tongue to a picture of Kid Rock. She suffers from anxiety and thought the sky was falling. It was just the weather vane that ricocheted off her Harley and cold-cocked her. But it did put a dent in her wooden leg. The one she uses to skip a rope.            
         
"I'm gonna tell you a little story so's you'll understand what I'm talkin' about." The common ordinary household zombie stinks. Trailer trash mother fuckers. Yes, we live in a single wide so I ain't giving away any secrets.  
          
 Zombies rarely have names like Gomer or Bubba and you will never see one Gucci'd up. They are just plain onery and come with a famish on. Most self-respecting zombies, when out in public will get a nappie on, if among strangers. Even Cock Eyed Joe, who is easy to spot. Never been circumcised, carrying a lot of baggage beneath his Fortune 500 foreskin. That is the first place to look if one is missing a chihuahua.                  
            
 Most self-respecting zombies, when out in public will get a nappie on, if among strangers. Even Cock Eyed Joe, who is easy to spot. Never been circumcised, carrying a lot of baggage beneath his Fortune 500 foreskin. That is the first place to look if one is missing a chihuahua. They ain't civilized and will fornicate, so lock the door and call the mod squad. Fucking isn't what it's cracked up to be if Wille Nelson is in town, flying low to the ground with a high on.          
              
They like to flail their arms and drag a foot causing a small dust funnel. Occasionally making a pit stop at a Cracker Barrel for buttermilk biscuits and gravy. They do drool a lot and wear a bib when dining but that's a giveaway that they are sloppy eaters.          
           
They can usually be seen hanging out, and love to dance but, "won't go to hear'em play a tango." They have put a dent in the cabbage patch and poke salle          
          
They ain't civilized and will fornicate, so lock the door and call the mod squad. Fucking isn't what it's cracked up to be if Wille Nelson is in town, flying low to the ground with a high on.      
      
 They like to flail their arms and drag a foot causing a small dust funnel. Occasionally making a pit stop at a Cracker Barrel for buttermilk biscuits and gravy. They do drool a lot and wear a bib when dining but that's a giveaway that they are sloppy eaters.      
     
They can usually be seen hanging out, and love to dance but, "won't go to hear'em play a tango." They have put a dent in the cabbage patch and poke sallat.      
     
Unless you can Ooh Eeh Ooh Ah Aah, I would simply ignore them and pass the blackeye peas. It's not worth getting upset about. There are more things to worry about, such as our septic tank which has backed up to Savannah. Uncle Grandpa is one and home-stooled in the outhouse.