|The Funniest Newspaper Column
in the Country
National Society of Newspaper Columnists
2008 First Place Humor Column
Hogspore News from the Ozarks
By Clet Litter
If you’re a member of Preacher’s congregation and sick ailing in your bed, Preacher will visit your home to pray with you
and chat for a while. I recommend that you don’t invite him unless you’re really ill, cause Preacher charges a 50.00 co-pay.
He does offer a 20% discount if he enjoys a nice supper with you, 30% off if there’s mashed taters and biscuits.
Early, on Tuesday mornings where Mayor Ringer lives, the whole block sounds like an air force base. There’s five
landscaping companies with trucks and trailers lined along the curb.
The lawn mowers are spewing dust and grass clippings. Gasoline-oil fumes hover gracefully across the real estate. Even the
neighborhood dogs and cats are wearing masks. Weed whonkers are buzzing. Edgers are chipping and sparking sidewalks and
driveways. Leaf blowers are pushing leaves into the yard next door.
Seriously under-graduated horticulturists work on each lot. One of them carries a machine that doesn’t do anything cept
make loud noises. He stations himself under a bedroom window and revs the engine for thirty minutes.
April 18th was National Lineman Appreciation Day. This month, we received a pamphlet with our electric bill asking,
“Have you hugged a lineman lately?” At first, I thought it was only a question for NFL cheerleaders. Turns out, it’s to remind
us of how linemen are important because of the dangerous job they do for us.
Morton Trubletoof told me that he got in trouble after he opened his electric statement and read the brochure. He said,
“The power company was gonna call out the sheriff on me. I tried to give a lineman a hug. I was halfway up the pole, when the
supervisor yelled at me to climb down. Then I cuddled the crew chief instead, but he pulled up madder.”
When Mumford Pickens puts too much time into quality control tasting his moonshine, he suffers from it. But, he don’t
get a hangover or throw up. He writes limericks that we have to tolerate. The only benefit that comes from his enthusiasm for
sipping the hooch is that his customers receive a smooth jolt of enjoyable lightning. Here’s his latest poem:
There once was a musically gifted baboon
Who knew his way around a bassoon.
A fool snatched his reed
And made his lip bleed,
So the primate had to eat with a spoon.
You can contact Clet Litter at firstname.lastname@example.org.
Just click on my e-mail address below and ask for the weekly column to be delivered to you each week.
No one will ever know that you read this kind of stuff.