Good mornin’, good afternoon’, good evenin’ or good night, dear readers, dependin’ of course upon what time of the day you happen to be a’gazin’ at this column. Fer all of those dedicated and reglar perscribers to the Possum Gazette, thanky for takin’ the time to come over and check out our new online paper and fer all you new ‘ens, hope you like what you see and hope I’m able to deliver at least a fair to meddlin’ account of what goes on here daily in our little corner of the world.
In mah short time here a’foolin’ around with this interweb thingy I’ve already discovered somethin’ of rather large importance. There’s no way possible I can print up an entar isshoo of this paper on the web, but I can cut out porshuns of the paper and put them here as I see fit to do. And today just so happens to be the day that all you lucky ‘ens gets to read one of my loud and rambly editorials. Our beloved society columner, Jane Jones Juniper, is out all week heppin’ her grandson compete in the Mr. Sweet Potato Casserole pageant so all you hard copy perscribers will be a’missin’ out on yer daily shot of Up the Creek with the Triple J, but I’m gonna do mah best to fill in for her and tell ya a bit about what’s been happenin’.
First of all, thanky for yer pashence. Yer dear and faythful editor had herself a little ticker episode yestiddy mornin’ and our electrisitie has just now come back on. If that waren’t enough, yestiddy afternoon, we farred our copy editor, well, no, ackshully she up and killt herself. Right in front of the coffee pot too. No denyin’ she was a bit fidgety and nervous-like for our tastes, but we felt so plumb awful about it that we’s now attemptin’ to name somethin’ after her. Our sports editor suggested the copy machine because it reminds us of her, but we turned that down right quick. Then I suggested maybe we oughta just name her after the place where the doin’ was done, so if you happen to stop by our headquarters, don’t ferget to visit Betty the Editor of Copy’s Sacred Coffee. Grab a cup or two if you so desire.
Now most of you who’ve read the front page of our paper copy will know what I’m talkin’ about here. Big doin’s in our little Creek. While plowin’ in his cabbage fields, Farmer Harve Hewens’ prized John Deere, Green Girl, done up and struck what most of us Creekians know as oil. Lots of it. And the dangdest thing is, it happened to other farmers around the area too. Jest mindin’ their own busness, they up and struck black gold. We brought in the expert and he studied our little area up and down and said somethin’ to the effect of “You people’s just a brimmin’ with this black stuff, but hold on to yer britches just a bit ’cause hit ain’t oil.” While that heavily darkened the spirits of all our good folks, we invite all of you to come out today to see our new sign bein’ put up. Come join Mayor Downin’ Dumplin’ and the rest of us as we raise “Bell Bottom Creek: A Great Place to Live and the Tar Nation of the South” up to the skies.
Whew. I’m plumb tarred. I’d like to thank my faythful assistant, Rendered Posterior, for heppin’ me with this new-fangled technology whatchacallit. Stay tuned fer more and write in to us as you see fit. And remember, we’re here to serve you, “Spoonfeedin’ the gist of what’s good to the great citizens of Bell Bottom Creek for 203.7 years!”