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The COF: Peace In The Valley

Commentary from the COF, Knifley, KY 'Where we're thankful for what we have . . . And even more thankful for what we don't have.' - COF
Click on headline for complete humor essay

By the *COF

On what should have been a quiet Saturday afternoon down at the store the usual suspects had convened to do what has been down since the beginnin' of local time.

All was peaceful until a boisterous tourister banged thru the front door an took an empty booth.

Remarkin' on the weather he soon loped off inta Global Warming, allowing as how out here in the sticks we'uns probably didn't have enny idee what he was talking 'bout. He then transitioned inta politiks in general and wunst agin opined thet the big issues of the times probably escaped us all.

After several minutes of such flummery, our local poet laureate, W.S. Avonbard pulled hisself upright and leaning on his walkin' stick made his way to the dizzard's booth, put his stick under his arm, leant both hands on the table en leaned over till his mouth was right alongside the strangers ear and in a low voice just loud enough for all to hear said: "Away, you scullion! you rampallion! You fustilarian! I'll tickle your catastrophe".

Well, the tourist's eyes popped so wide we thought his baby blues were 'bout to fall out en roll round the table. His face went white as Goobers prized layin' hen and the beads of sweat started breakin' out cross his forehead.

After his mouth popped open en closed a few times, he slowly backed out the far side of the booth. Never takin' his eyes offen W.S he slowly backed toward the front his hands floppin rapidly at his side.

Followin' a few moments of panicked confusion 'bout which way the door opened, he finally made it outside and sprinted toward his Big City car and tore off up the road.

Behind the counter, Buster allowed as ta how he'd never be back and was probably a cash customer to boot.

Maybelle reminded him that they'd been just fine up ta now without his largess and would continue to be jest fine without it.

With that, the dogs out front recongreagated in the shade of the front porch and did what dogs do on a hot Saturday afternoon.

Inside, the ole mouser stretched, yawned and reclaimed her spot in the window sill while the old men's chins began a slow dance to their chests.

The God of all that's peaceful smiled and wunst agin placed his benediction on our sleepy little hamlet.

COF at Dun Roman
High o'er Beautiful Downtown Knifley
Where we're thankful for what we have
And even more thankful for what we don't have.

* -For those who may have forgotten, the COF is short for "Crusty Ole Fool"

This story was posted on 2016-06-12 16:57:13
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