Screw Arthur's Fat Ass: The Story of Two Crazy Country Chicks

Country Bumpkin Punkins

The damn tractor was acting up again. It was the fifth time that week, and Peggy, Ma, and me all thought (and Ill be damned if we dont still think it) we needed to get a new one, but Pa refused. He said we gotta make do with what we had.

What the hell was I supposed to do with a tractor that keeps bursting into flames? I had already lost three of my best shirts and all our damn pumpkin fields had already burnt down three times at that point.

I was tired, bamboozled, all I wanted was to go to Randys and drink until we were both three sheets to the wind, and I had half a mind to throw the wrench into the well and go do as I pleased, but I knew Pad tan my hide despite me havin the vote and payin my own bills and such. The sun was hot as sin and my back was plumb aching, but I was more scared of Pas wrath then goin too long without Motrin, so I stayed bent over fixing the damn demon tractor.

My old teacher, Mrs. Hargrove, used to tell us that the definition thing of crazy is doing somethin over again the same way and expectin different results. If thats truth than my Pa is crazy as the day is long and the night is full of pissed off muskrats. Damn tractor been broke since Peggy was born, and that was a whole nineteen years ago, and I been fixin it since Is knee high to a grasshopper, which was about twelve years ago, since I was four when Peggy was popped out.

That day was damn near the billionth time Id fixed the hulking piece o shit and we were no closer to having a brand spankin new John Deer or somethin thatll actually mow grass instead of somehow makin it longer n such. Even such, that day was different than all the others, but I didnt know. Dont go blaming me for that; Ive got the brains of a beaver makin a dam outta colanders.

Peggys dumber though.

As I stood there, pissed off and aching, I heard a big ass bang and a few cuss words being used real liberally, and then what sounded like someone kicking in the tire of their trusty automobile. I should now; Ive been there more times then I can count, but I cant count very high.

I was on the side of the road, still on Pas property, and in the distance, I could see a fella walking around a broken-down car, shouting his head clear off at someone on the other end of his phone, while another fella leant against the passenger door and another yet another fella with his head stuck under the hood.

Uh, howre yalls days goin? I called out, wiping my hands on my pocket rag. Yall need some help?

The one that was leaning against the car turned, smiling at me, making me really wonder how many cigarettes short of a pack he was to be smilin right next to his broke down car. I looked down at his pants waist for reasons, dont you go judgin me, and Ill be damned straight to the dickens if there werent a gun holstered in his waistband.

What the hells up with this fella?

Well, for starters, our car has obviously broken down! The man with the phone put his phone down to bitch at me. Secondly, this asshole obviously has no idea what hes doing. He gestured at his friend, who was half-way under the car. We have a meeting in an hour and no way to get there! Were screwed

Aight, calm yalls tiddies. I said, Lemme go get my tool box, and well see whatd we can do here. Lord willing and the creek dont rise well have this thing up and runnin in a jiffy.

I started to turn ta go back to Pas tractor, but Mister Phone Man had more pond water to spout outta his pie hole.

What are you going to be able to do? Youre just a little country girl.

You ever heard bout Southern temper? I bet ya have. We get pissed as a wet cat the moment ya call us by our mamas name, so why that sorry ass though hed be allowed ta rough me up was lost on me.