Outhouse Diaries

After that bitch session that sounded more like “hell hath no fury like Azalea scorned” she wanted to eat up some shit so she decided to go to the family cookout and bring all her Tupperware so that she could pack that shit full of leftovers for dinner the next 3-5 days.

Horace was excited to go to because they were going to have lawn mower races and a piñata full of beef jerky and cottage cheese and all the PBR one man could ever dream of. Horace had been practicing up on his corn hole skills all winter long and he was hell bent on winning this year. He was gonna beat ol cousin Maynard Wayne Roscoe cuz he’s wun the last few corn hole matches and all the elders like him.

Horace was going to make a big announcement at the Family cookout that he was going to be the head Saniti-zation Engineer and he just knowed they would all be jealous of all the money he was gonna be making but first he had to figger out how they was gonna believe that knowing Azaelea was still riding that bike of hers ever day, so it was then he had an idea that he would ask his brothers cousins wife’s son, Cletus,  if he’d sell him that real nice Scooter that they advertise on the telle that the old folks use. He figured they could spray paint it up and add a side car to it or maybe use some bailin twine & tie one of them plaskit little tikes wagons behind it & let her drag that along behind her like she was something special.

So anyways Horace made his speech about being the top notch run to the shitter Engineer and  then he heard a familiar sound, at first it sounded like the old days when Azalea would blow her kazoo but it was the sweet sound of the ice cream truck ringing it’s bells. Horace lost all train of thought and took off runnin so fast his faded glory jeans fell to his knees making him stumble around like he does when he’s hit his limit on the PBR and he done fell face forward into cousin Maynard Wayne Roscoe’s plate of tater salad, creamed corn and hamhocks.

Next thing you know, Horace was out like the fat kid in a game of dodgeball. Soon as Azalea seen it happen, that metal plate in her head took to acting up and started making her right arm twitch so hard that she’d start slappen the hell out of herself and all the old folk got ta laughing so hard that Dreama which was 89 years old done shat herself good, watchen Azalea slap herself crazy. Azalea got a whiff of Dreama’s shat and swore something had done crawled up in there and died then she let out a string of cuss words that would make a convict blush and followed it up with some doing a few karate moves she learnt off the TV.

On top of selling “farts in a jar” Horace had always dreamed of being an Astryknot. Azalea’s mom allowed he was a dumb ass and that weren’t never happen. So she slapped him down a few notches and made him realize that he will never be nothing of importance so when he was old enough to wipe himself he got a job as a shit gitter (you know where you drive that most awesome big ass truck with a huge snake hose that sucked out peoples septics).

Horace really loved that job because after the shit was got and they would deliver it into the main county shit tank, he would find some treasures. It was amazing the crap people flush or lose in the toilet; he had a whole collection on celica phones. He would clean them up real nice with a alcoholed down q-tip and street sale them bitches. He kept his job down at the meat packin plant on the part time basis, cause he knew that just thinking about all that meat gave Azalea the love sweats and she was so proud and bragged to all her friends about her man.

She told Horace that Friday night her and some of her friends were going to have a slumber party so he would have to stay with his mamma. Horace decided then and there it was time to lay down the law – hell no there wasn’t no grown woman gonna have a slumber party in his trailer and that was that!

Next thing you know, Azalea done got mad and told him that she missed her friends and wanted them to stay the night. She said “heres the deal”, you can go to any bar with your friend Emerson Biggins and have you a night out cause I’m itching to pull out my make up kit and those stick on earrings and feel like I’ve got something besides this here runned down shack you try to call a house!!!!!!! I haint living in this squalor you like to let on and allow is some kinda palace to all your friends and here I am having to go down at mommas just to worsh your long handles ever day, and that brown water that comes out of the bath room is shit water not chocolate, and the windows is not no damn stained glass it’s the dead bugs that you leave all squished and shit on the windows. You hant fooling me no more! I know what’s what and this here is a shanty not a damn palace! I can’t even hear myself think for listening to you clog up the shitter ever time you get nervous and get a bad case of the runs and try to blame it on my mommas cookin’ cause you swaller it down like it is the last supper every time & act like you scaret to death someone’s gonna take it away from you, you would even stop chokin of you would just come up for air every so often, I mean shit far there hant no since in it atll. See-in as how you are a grown ass man n-shit you should not need to wear a bib anymore looking just like Boss Hogg! I seen the Dukes of Hazzard! I know what a REAL MAN is supposed to look like….he’s to be lookin like Bo & Luke Duke….not Boss Hogg! That Bo sure could throw me against the wall anytime or anywhere, yummy. Hell Horace, you cant even lift me up no more cuz your big ass gravy gut gets in the way. And we ain’t usin the car jack anymore that is just ridiculous and I’ve got more bruises on my backside than Carter’s got liver pills from that damned ol jack and I’ve tolt you and tolt you it don’t work!”