Category Archives: general news

Power pulpit packs pews, gives new meaning to ‘power in the blood’

By Eula Harkle

Story Teller

Since the installation of a revolutionary tool designed to bring long-absent church members back into the sanctuary and keep them interested and awake while they worship, the attendance of the Hogswallop Trinity Beautification of the Baptist Church has nearly doubled in the past month of Sundays.

HTBBC pastor Rev. K.K. Culvert designed and patented the device himself and, no pun intended, has seen it work miracles in his church.  The power pulpit comes equipped with a remote control zapper for all the back pews in order to make sure everyone sits towards the front of the church as well as several hidden mirrors so that Culvert can see all angles and make sure no one is napping.  Culvert got the idea to design the pulpit when a visiting couple slept through his famous Christmas sermon and managed to go for a sleep walk through the Christmas pageant during its most crucial moments.

“It was there, after that terribly embarrassing event, that I decided I’d better be doin’ something to keep my dignity and the dignity of the church intact,” he commented. “I built the new pulpit for the purpose of keeping everyone thoroughly alert throughout the course of an average marathon sermon.”

Allowing the PG to see a quick run-through of how the pulpit works, Culvert pointed out how each pew is wired with a microphone that detects snoring and the pulpit reacts automatically to any sort of sleepy-sounding noise coming from the church members whether it’s a snore, a yawn or even an ADHD-induced sigh. And tithing is a must.  A refusal to tithe when the offering plate is passed results in a quick slap on the wrist.  Culvert refused to comment on a recent attempt to sue the church made by a visitor who was stabbed by the tithe-maker-taker.  Overall, he’s very happy with the results and finds he can now preach longer and with more enthusiasm than before.

So, what’s next for this preacher who refuses to give up on his congregation and will use whatever means necessary to keep them “up and at em”?   Plans are now in the works to turn the baptistry into a hot tub complete with bubble bath for comfort and to ensure that all sins are completely washed away.


But, wait a minute…

I plumb forgot the resippie, didn’t I?  Hold yer horses. The resippie……..

will remain a secret fur now. Until I’ve perfected it, that is. You see, I made it directly as soon as we arrived home from Floridy and it sent RP and Grizelda to they sick beds for quite a while, so I really must do some major tweakin’ on it.

Also, the good pastor has agreed to write a column this afternoon after church on the efficiency of his power pulpit and how it improves the overall atmosphere of the church.

Maybe a little later on this week, I’ll have some serious additions to the paper as Scout will be writin’ about her experience in her friend’s wedding and the cascade of emotions she felt in bein’ a part of it. And mebbe, just mebbe, she might get brave and share some quite excitin’ information that should make all the readers happy.

Like I said, though, jest hold on about the resippie. Gotta work out the bugs. Those danged Japanese beetles….

What I done on my summer vacation

Now that my personal computer which doubles as my printing press for this here publication is back up and running proper again I can inform all you wonderful mass of readers of my trials and tribulations in the great state of Florida. Or I can scream like a mindless banshee into an empty room and tell my story. Either way, it’ll get told.

As I said before, my faithful assistant Rendered Posterior was gettin’ feedback from subscribers who said they’d like to see me leave the great area of Bell Bottom Creek and take on the wilds of somewhere else and if I lived to tell the tale, well then so be it. I gladly accepted the offer and waggoned myself, RP and Grizelda Jane out to the Sunshine State in search of the elusive and insidious rabid wrasslin’ croc. After much speculatin’ and arguin’ over where to set up camp, we picked a spot close to Disneyworld, a place Grizelda got all teary about seein’, and planned to go there to find our crocs.

Though it managed to rain everyday, we trudged through it and kept our eyes on the prize. The first day, we took the bus over to a Epcot. We found no crocs there, but managed to sink our teeth into some good eatin’ and visited many different places in the world within the walls of that one little park. Rendered Posterior gobbled up so many lime margaritas in Mexico, though, that he climbed all the palm trees and flung his extry large self down on poor, unsuspectin’ visitors, so we was throwed out with no success.

The second day, we headed over to the Magic Kingdom and Lord, did we ever hit paydirt with all those rides. For jest a moment, those rides took our minds off our main goal, but only for jest a moment. We saw many animals in the wilds of Africa, but still no crocs.

The next day brought us our biggest chance yet to spot the crocs — Animal Kingdom! We found a map and quickly pointed our areas that seemed like they’d give us the best chance to spot one of them fightin’ large lizards, so we split up and promised to meet back and share info if we found anything. Rendered Posterior quickly forgot his goal and beelined straight for the info desk to inquire about whiskey and goat cheese vendors, but Grizelda proved to be a little more helpful. She got sidetracked by several rides, but quickly hurried to my side when she spotted some evil lookin’ creatures confined up in little incubators. At first, she scared half the park when she claimed she’d spotted belly-crawlin’ dinos over at the north gate, but when I came over to investigate, I found the actual culprit to be not crocs, but gators. That figgers. Only in Floridy.



After three long days of adventure plus two more of drivin’, the weary travelers headed back to the Creek, bearin’ no real stories of croc wrasslin’, but plenty of other things to tell and memories that’ll last for a lifetime. Of course, fur yer delicate ears, I only included all the good parts and left out the many evils of three cantankerous old crazies travelin together in the small space of a wagon and needin’ to go the bathrooms at jest about every rest stop on the path.

On an unrelated note, I was so ahopin’ that Pastor Red J. Plumwood could be entertainin’ all of you with his sermons on his new revolutionary power pulpit he purchased so recently, but as our press has been down for so long, that didn’t happen.

I’ll open the opportunity back up to him real soon.

In the meantime, keep your eyes out for wrasslin’ crocs and if you ever need to reach me, jest drop a line.

Just a teaser for the issues to come


Town council milked for entire worth

By Eugene Tiddly, Paper Writ

The latest big news to take a bite out of city hall has everyone’s stomachs a’churnin’. And that ain’t no yolk.

It began when long-time revered and admired Creek citizen and town council member Lester Dodum perished from his wife’s cookin’, or as good ol’ Lester would say his wife’s burnin’, and begat ever last ounce of his belongin’s to his prized Guernsey Gertrude. As Lester’s been a member of the town council for over 40 years, he also proudly beqeathed his spot on the board to his half-ton heifer.  

In the beginnin’, everthang was goin’ well. Gertrude showed up to all the meetin’s, even givin’ up valuable time in the pasture and in the dairy to come out and hep in the decision-making process of this town. She good-naturedly supplied all the eats and drinks, pints of milk, slices of cheese, gallons of ice cream and all was well. But pretty soon, as all new council members tend to do, bovine, human or otherwise, she tried to shove around a little bit of her weight. Trouble is, she carries a might bit more weight than the average council member.

She come in to one meetin’ one fateful night with a long list clenched in one hoof and a look of pure determynation in her eye. She mooed out her business and the more she demanded, the wider folks’ eyes got.

For the privilege of the Gazette, her list has been provided for all to read. And remember, the public hearin’s set for next month on these items:

1. There shall be no more grillin’ out hamburgers of any sort as a fund raising event, includin’ the fire station’s annual bbq, as it’s no less than an abomynashun to me and my kind. All places of eatin’ that serve beef shall be closed down by the board of health.

2. The town’s water line will no longer run water, but will be tapped with milk as it’s the nectar of the gods.

3. Town meetin’s will be moved to the Co-op where fresh hay and decent bathroom and sleeping quarters are never far away.

4. The town’s song will be changed from “Bell Bottom, My Beatiful Bell Bottom” to “Hey Diddle Diddle.”

5. At least fer our neck of the woods, the food guide pyramid shall be shimmied up to have milk and dairy at the base and beef and all other meat that don’t matter so much placed at the very top.


6. Every good citizen will learn to chew his or her own cud. Um, crud? Um, s.p.?

People has already been speculatin’ how to git old Gertrude out of office, but hate to do any harm to Lester’s memory. However, as far as research can tell, commitin’ first degree cowslaughter carries no sort of jail sentence, but whets many folks appetites. 

Until then, Gertrude’s stuck in office, our little town’s been put on the map for something else and all our folks will be continuin’ to put up with meetin’s that last until the cow comes home.

Goin’ back to the ‘Net

Well, hello there.  Again.  Yes, I know I didn’t bother to officially bid farewell, but nonetheless here I am again and in a much different capacity.  I can see that you’re shaking your head.  Completely dumbfounded as to who I am.  I used to go by the name of Scout.  Scout About?  Ring a bell?  And I left rather abruptly without turning in a two-week notice when I suddenly became anti-blog and decided that my little corner of cyberspace had ceased to have a purpose anymore.

Now, I’m back.  I’m back because I just can’t cut out something I’ve done since the age of five.  You don’t just quit something you’ve done for years and years and not look back with some regret and an accompanying knot in your throat.  Something that brings you joy.  Something that, at its best, brings a smile and at its most painful, brings catharsis.  Unless, of course, you’ve been smoking since the age of five or eating cheese in which case I’d strongly urge you to stop as soon as possible.  For your own good of course. 

So, why the name change? And, specifically, why the extremely off-the-wall name change? What is a hogenswallow and who in the world invented a Possum Gazette?  The answer to these very valid questions hearkens back to my college days.  While staying at a church camp/retreat one summer with my best friend, we were sitting out on the porch of one of the dorms in rocking chairs and the dialogue of two old Southern ladies suddenly popped into our heads and we just went with it  for two hours completely ignoring strange looks and questioning glances.  Before we knew it, we’d invented names for ourselves (mine being Sarah Hogenswallow and hers being Eulalie Plumhuffinpuff), a fictitious town (Bell Bottom Creek), an imaginary church (Hogswallop Trinity Beautification of the Baptist Church) and several family members.  And the conversation didn’t stop there.  It lasted for the duration of the semester and beyond.  After inventing a fictitious newspaper, The Possum Gazette, I, Editor Hogenswallow, put together a few issues and spread them around the campus.  New sections were added, new characters were invented and guest columnists were welcomed. 

So, that’s how this all came about.  It’s been a long time coming and hopefully, it’ll be a long time lasting.  Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to get started on my next issue.