All right. Come Monday, I’m going to the plastic surgery shop to git me the face of an old old country singer. Then I’ll be eloping with mah true love Hazel Dickens. Don’t she just beat all?
What? My wife just told she’s been done dead for a year or three. Or five. She shouldn’ be snickerin’ like that. Joke’s on her ain’t? Now she’ll have to fix on some other ways of gittin’ me gone. Dayumm.