Ada Sanderling reports that last Sunday, a 101-year-old man who has enjoyed a life of debauchery and carnal pleasure decided to join the church and live righteously. Despite scooting in by the skin of his soul, he will get to abide in the same heaven as life-long Christians, perhaps on the same golden street. Miss Sanderling reports having walked the straight and narrow for almost eight decades. “It’s not fair,” she says.
That’s the Christian spirit, Aunt Ada.
Willie Fimple would like to know when Freese’s Grocery is going to have Mr. Whippo Snack Pies back in stock.
Because Aedre had no children and it’s not 100% certain that the lock of hair in his possession came from her head, Nippy Keene refuses to permit a DNA test.
At the Crawdad Club last evening, Wilson Hahn mentioned the time Ethel Finkleblum discovered a raccoon in her cellar. Though I was still but a teenager, I remember that morning well. Soon after the alarm hit the town, seven men showed up with frog gigs to neutralize the creature. In addition to the armed warriors in the basement, a support staff of five women set up an interim counseling center for Ethel in the living room. It should also be noted that next-door neighbor Tommy Wilcox, aged seven, had received a bugle for his birthday the day before. I was one of the seven men who gathered in the Finkleblum cellar that morning, and while raccoons cannot be allowed to eat preserves with impunity, my sympathies were with the animal. The poor creature, little expecting that the citizenry would mobilize to protect a jar of raspberry jelly, was visibly frightened by the sudden appearance of a mob armed with frog gigs. Faced by such a formidable enemy, it does no discredit to raccoon bravery to report that the frightened animal retreated behind the canned peaches to plan its strategy. Several minutes later, the raccoon jumped out from behind the peaches and charged through the mob. Once it cleared the cellar steps and found itself in the living room, it was assaulted by several high-pitched screams, two throw pillows, a handful of mints from a bowl, and several issues of Christian Decorator magazine launched from atop an end table. Darting into the kitchen, the animal found egress through the screen door, where it met Tommy Wilcox playing revelry on his new bugle. The raccoon was last seen running for the safety of the woods and Mrs. Finkleblum treated each of us to breakfast.
Curly Dowd says it’s a shame people don’t gig frogs like they used to.
Wilma Flair says the frogs may disagree.
Otto Hopp found a chip on the rim of the memorial urinal and cautions patrons of the funeral home to be careful when giving donations. “I don’t think dimes and nickels are a problem,” he tells me, “but quarters could damage the Ramses decal. When you make a wish, please drop the change into the urinal—don’t throw it. The wish works just as well and you won’t ruin the pharaoh.