Highway to Hell

Highway to Hell by Gary Benton
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Bubba moved from the living room to the rocking chair he had on the patio next to his mobile home. As he placed his ice-cold beer on the fifty-fire gallon drum, cut in half at his garage, so he had two, and looked around the barnyard. Nothing was moving. But, that did not surprise Bubba, because it was cold. It was so cold that Bubba suspected even the deer were wearing long underwear. As Bubba surveyed his small dirt patch farm, a big red pick-em-up truck pulled into this driveway. Getting up, he slowly made his way to the truck.

“Uhmmm,” He thought, “They got ‘em some outta state plates on that thang and no gun rake. Not from ‘round heah ‘bouts fer shore.”

As he neared the truck the driver’s window went down and a head poked out. No sooner had the head appeared than Bubba’s pack of dogs started barking loudly. They ran out from the barn and circled the truck as individuals, not as a pack.

It was then he heard a loud Yankee voice yell, “Can ya call those dogs off sir. I need to ask ya a question.”

“Afternoon, y’all. Sure, I can call ‘em off fer ya. But, they won’t listen to nobody. Nope, they are just like a big city lawyer. Once they get yer scent, they stay on ya ferever. Now, what can I do fer y’all?” Bubba responded as he moved up beside the open truck window. He could feel the warm air from the truck’s heater on his face. Bubba noticed the man was dressed in an expensive tan suit, his hair was long and styled, and his gold plated eyeglasses probably cost more than Bubba’s truck.

“Can ya tell me how to get to highway 63 from here?” The man asked as he looked down at a couple of the dogs.

“Why of course I can. See, I’ve lived heah all my life, so I know every road fer miles.” Bubba said as he reached in his right rear pocket and pulled out his Deadman chewing tobacco. Being civilized, he opened the pouch and handed it toward the man as he said, “Want a chaw?”

“Uh, why, no, no thank ya. And, you know where the highway is?” As the man asked his question once more, Bubba decided the man must be hard of hearing. So, as soon as he had filled his left cheek with tobacco he decided he had to speak louder.

“YES, I SAID YES. I KNOW WHERE THE ROAD IS.” Bubba yelled as he leaned forward into the man’s face.

“Well, where is it?”

“Why, you didn’t ask me to tell ya how to get there. You asked me if I knew where it was. Now, which is it suh ya want?” I do not like rude people, Bubba thought as he answered the man’s question, with a question of course.

“Mister, are ya drunk or something?”

“Not yet, but I might be in a couple hours, because it’s too cold to do much else. Figured I would take the dawgs and meander down to the pond and do some catfishin’ later today. Of course, fishing means I need to take some beer.”

“Are you for real?”

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