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Hogspore News
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2008 First Place Humor Column
                                                                  Hogspore News
                                                     By Clet Litter from the Ozarks
                                           Learning contractions with help of ruler     
   Punkin says that she attended a strict religious school, Our Lady of Mightysorry
Elementary. The motto was Guilt is a Virtue. In the fourth grade she learned about
contractions in grammar hour, like “can’t, don’t, and weren’t. If a student blurted out,
“Ain’t,” the Wooden Ruler of Smite redeemed the sinner.   

   I mostly showed up at Hogspore Elementary for 9 years of my education. They learned
me in the fifth grade … twice. We studied contractions, like gonna, mighta, and wanna.
There were more, but that would be showing off. Miss Post was so proud of me. She
said, “Clethra, ain’t you the smartest little feller today.” I was the only one who didn’t
skip school that day.  

   The next contractions class was later in life in an ambulance with Punkin when the
attendant in the back gave us a crass course in Lamaze. Before that, I always thought
Lamaze was a European sports car race through some kinda labyrinth. I can’t recollect
how I ever got to know what a labyrinth was.

   Jimmy Suspender was complaining a few weeks ago in Tony’s Barbershop about
his heartburn. “Whenever I eat smoked meat I end up taking medicine to chew on.”

   I sez, “What brand are them pills?”

   He said, “No idea. They’re just some gummy bears for upset stomachs.”

   I sez, “Jimmy, those are for little children. Do you need burping?”

   “Probably not, but I do have an idea I’m working on that might help.”

   We didn’t hear more about it till Friday when he come in Tony’s with his miracle cure.
“I worked out something in the garage. Remember every time I eat smoked meat I get
the heartburn. I made a dipping sauce by mixing my family’s barbeque recipe with a
bottle of crushed Gaviscon mints. Instant relief, and the sauce is a lot sweeter.”

   The community college out on Highway 71 has a beginning class that teaches students
to read basic Egyptian writing, Lowerglyphics.

   Here’s a reminder: This Saturday in the Town Rectangle there’s an Olympic style dash
for men ninety years or older. It starts inside the Big Boy restaurant. The waitresses,
(My politically correct spell checker suggested that I say servers stead of waitresses).
So, the Lady Servers are gonna serve a full mason jar of sweet tea to each athlete.
When the pickup bell rings in the kitchen window, the contestants gulp all the country
goodness tea and head out the front. Fifty yards away waits a bank of Portable Potties.
The first anxious gentleman to make it into a portable potty and seal the door shut,

   I seen the dry run last Thursday. Well, it weren’t exactly a dry run. You’d be surprised
at the speed that them codgers can move when their dry pants reputation is on the line.
Before the start of the race, the runners will get a pat-down search for Depends. The pat-
down requirement is probably the reason that 150 ninety-something fellers entered the

   You can contact Clet Litter at


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