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Hogspore News
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2008 First Place Humor Column
                                                                Hogspore News
                                                     By Clet Litter from the Ozarks
                                                   Stock up an hour each morning
                                                  to avoid sleep lag at time change

   We lose one hour on Sunday, March 14, when we spring forward. I’m taking a hint
from the old timers, no pun intended, (unless you find it funny, then I meant it), that
are still laying in more firewood for this late winter just to be safe. So, I’ve been laying
in another hour every morning, so I won’t suffer from sleep lag when the time changes.

   You heard it here first a while back that the guvernment takes that time from every
citizen, specially tired parents of newborns. Those hours go to the petrified senators in
Congress to add to their daily nap times.

   A county farmer dug up evidence of an ancient culture. Nobody knows what
happened cause there ain’t no more culture roaming around here, less you’re into
yogurt or sourdough bread. I’m not giving out the man’s identity, since he don’t want
any Indiana Jones wannabes digging through his fields looking for fossils.

   Mumford Pickens drove out there with one of his show-off-know-it-all attitudes,
and told the farmer that this was proof of the indigenous people. I’ve heard of the
Comanches, Cherokee, and the Nanny Nanny Boo Boos, but it sounds like he storified
the Indigenous tribal term.   

   Mumford said, “Turns out these folks from the past were giants. They were

   Me and Punkin were coming back from Mena, Arkansas after our annual year trip to
the BigMart. Punkin likes to buy her mason jars there. I go along mainly for the Hefty
Hamburger special at their Get It Yourself Grill, inside the BigMart. It includes onions,
cheese, tomaters, and Frenched-fried taters. You can grace a plop of coleslaw on your
burger for 50 cents more. The price is so cheap that the hardest part of dispatching it is
trying not to think about what’s in it.

   We left before dark but hit an ice storm on the way home. We stopped in Eyesore,
Arkansas at a roadside inn. It was a motel, but for a dollar more a night, they give you
a receipt that says “Inn.” I couldn’t find out how the town got its name, but the four
factories and two paper mills might have something to do with it.

   In the morning, we had a big breakfast, heavy on the lard, and then took in a local
nature area. Slapping Rock Park was ten acres of forests that come to a river. Right there
by the shore, was Slapping Rock himself. The natives used to wash their buckskins and
smelly moccasins in the water and slapped the dirt out of them on Ol Slappy. These
folks weren’t Neandertalls. They were probably the beef-eating Cro-Migons.

   Here’s a poser for you: “How does a doorbell buzz?”

   You can contact Clet Litter at


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