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While the Beevises and the Buttheads of MSM are chortling about the end of the world by Friday of this week everywhere, I figured I'd give y'all some further insight 'bout the South. Everybody knows the basis of certain foods for luck down here, but not everybody understands there's an order in which you eat them based on having an outhouse. First, you eat 'bout half a stick of cornbread, followed by black-eyed peas, then ham, then collard greens. You top it off with the other half stick of cornbread and possibly a whole one after that. Prevents heartburn. Follow that with about two hooples on Uncle Jessie's stoneware jug, and you're loaded. You kin set your watch now, mines EXACTLY 5 hours, 19 minutes, and 57 seconds until mother nature CALLS/DEMANDS. If you did it correctly, from the time of the call to sitting on the couch with a grin like a traveling salesman who just took a cash deposit on a nonexistent lightening rod, max of five minutes INCLUDING haulin' up your drawers and hitchin' up your overalls. Why? It's COLD in the outhouse! Too cold to READ ! WHEN that "shell" is fired, you're DONE. No need to tarry. For the next one, have somebody hide your tractor keys. EVERBODY down here HAS to trade squeezin's for the Holidays. Last year, my friend in Florida sent me a pint of apple pie moonshine that had me walkin' in circles on a daily basis until it was gone. Mind you, I ain't no Saint, I ferment my own applejack for personal consumption 'cause it's only around $10.00/5gallon batch and runs nearly 13%. THIS year, I had a closer friend send me a flask of homemade pure cane likker that he called "stump water". This stuff is 130 proof, I found out LATER. My wife was the first to take a decent swig off'n it, and swore it was fantastic. I monitored that woman for an hour, no apparent reactions. She slept like a baby, too. The next night, I decided it was time to swallow that frog. I took a mouthful and swallered. Ever hear that song by Roger Miller " Chug a lug"? Now, I had to use all of my wits and wiles to control myself and still be able to say "Son, this is the tastiest and smoothest I've ever had". You know why. A teaching moment. It worked. He went over there and took a HUGE swig. Needless to say he still curls his lip when he looks at me. Oh, the tractor keys? In the South, we're replete with tractor stories. Tractors that have been "found" the next day parked at the gin joint in town. Barns being attacked without cause. Carports assaulted. Pets missing. Chicken coops flattened by "sudden winds". AND, the horrific destruction of an outhouse or two. Catastrophic as THAT sounds, I've sadly heard about many a death, too. THAT'S precisely why you have somebody hide the tractor keys if/when you start consuming beverages in the South from a stoneware jug. Or Mason jar. Or a Ball jar. Or anything. First rule of survival is to realize that tractors have a purpose. Usually, they're towing something behind them that are not conducive to your well being should you fall off/pass out from the " witches brew". Their operation also causes you to have a hand on one fender, kinda sittin' sideways, so's you can keep an eye on what's going on behind you as well as where you're going. NOT TO MENTION THE BRAKES ARE ON TWO DIFFERENT PEDALS, NOT JUST ONE. BUT, that's a story for a different time. Like eatin' week-old leftover collards. Hope you were distracted for a little while from the "doom and gloomsters" for awhile. Enjoy your new found knowledge !