Years Eve in Pigpen Holler|
By Ken (Deac) Hill
Hit wus New Years Eve in Pigpen Holler and the whole family wuz gettin reddy fur th watch nite service at the PPHRNUCOTG. Fur them thet dn no whut this stands fur, hit means, the Pigpen Holler Redneck Universal Church of the Goodtimes. Hit wuz too lon a name to git on a sign,so we shorted hit to jus th nitials.
Now iffen you thinks that hits easy ter have a watch nite service on new years eve in Pigpen Holler, then you don no much about Pigpen Holler. Let me splain sunthin to you. Th road into th Holler is right thru th crick. Hit haint so bad in th summer, but in th winter theys water in th crick, an suntines th water runs high, specially iffen theys bin a big snow melt. An this year theys bin a big big snow melt. Hit uz so bad this year thet we all had to wade the mile and a haf up th crik to th church house
Well, we all waded in bout seven thurty on new years eve. You shudda seen al o us tryin to keep our instermints outen th water. ever body dun ok til Uncle Alvin Shimmfissle slipped on a wet rock an poked is head thru Lonnie Ray Spurlocks base drum. Lonnie Ray lost his religion right then and there. He got so mad thet he grabed Willie Ledbetter's dobro an bustid hit over Uncle Alvin Shimfissle's back and nocked im down in th water. When th preacher, Norvel Moses tried ta git tween em, he ended up gittin batized all over agin. But sumhow we got order restored an praid bout hit an got ever one ter hug tother un an say thays sorry.
By th time we got to th church house, we wuz jest bout froze solid. Thank th Lord thet my cousin, Orlo Winkle had come ahed an had a fire bilt in th pot bellie stove thet wuz in th middle o th sancuary. Boy, Hit shore felt good. After we all got dried out, we cided to git th servus goin. Brother Norvel got up an got us goin with prayer. Then Aunt Sissie Toadvine got up an begin tta sing, "taint no grave gonna hold my body doun," bout this time sister Hanner livley tuk a shoutin spell. Brother Limuel Warnok tuk a runnin spell an wound up rappin his arms roun thet red-hot pot belly stove. He burt th buckles offen his new bibs an you cud smell bernin flesh. But he said hit didn't hut atall.
Atter bout an hour o this th preacher sed he uz reddy ter preach. He lik to ascared us all to def. He stomped an snorted and wheezed an nearly passed out, an jest as midnite come he jumped over th altar and fel right doun on his nees and prayed fer alla us to do better nex yar. I thot I uz gonna starve to deth fore he finly got down ter th amen.
Jest as soon as e got thet amen out we bout busted th door down gettin to th fellowship hall, where th wemen folk had prepared pickled pigs feat, blackeyed peas, ham hocks, sour kraut, cornbred, great northen soupbeans, an several desserts We finished up bout two A.M.
I figgered I,d sleep mos of NewYars day, but I woke up bout six thirty A.M. I had ter grab th sears ro buk catterlog an run like th dikkins fur th liddle hous out bak. I made seventeen trips afore dark. I dunno whut caused hit. I yeckon hit musta bin sumpin I et.
Copyright 2004 Ken Hill
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Ken Hill is a free-lance humor writer from Kentucky. He says, "I'm over-age, over-weight and good looking. I am really married to Bennie Hill (wife's nickname). I have been interested in writing most of my life. I pretty much consider myself a redneck. My dad was a Methodist Preacher, that's why my nickname is Deac, short for Deacon Jr. That's what I had to live with all through my school years, so it kinda stuck.