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W.R. Benton

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Yer Perscription is Filled
By W.R. Benton
Monday, July 09, 2007

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Bubba's cousin, Bobby Dale, is pushing magazines...

Yer Perscription is Filled

© Copyright, 2007 W. R. Benton


Bubba looked around the barnyard, dropped his ax and sat down on a piece of wood.  His eyes fell on the stack of wood and he felt his frustration grow.   It seemed to Bubba like the whole world was against him.  No matter how much money he made with the small garage he owned, he only just got by.  Sure, business was good, but the expense’s of owning a shop was getting way outta hand.   Lately, he had been giving serious thought to quitting and doing somethang else.

            “I got a college dee-gree.  Course, there hain’t much call fer a dee-gre in anthropology here bouts,”  Bubba mumbled to himself as he reach into the top front pocket of his bib-overalls and pulled out his pipe.  As he stuffed the pipe, and then lit it, his thoughts ran wild, “I could sell used cars….how ‘bout bein’ one of them chef’s?  I know how to cook grits as good as the next person.  Better yet, I could start me the first Southern Food fast food shop.   Sorta like a Mickey D’s, but instead of burgers and fries, I will serve pigs feet and collard greens.  By golly, I think that idee has some merit to hit.”

            Bubba made his way to his big, and old, doublewide mobile home and walked up the steps onto the porch.  He looked around the old place once more before he lowered his rear end into a wooden rocking chair.  Either the floor of the porch or the chair creaked as he slowly began to rock.   As he puffed on his pipe, his mind once more turned to the idea of changin’ jobs.

            “I could cut cord wood.  Or, maybe hay haulin’.  But, them is seasonal work and I hate the idee of not bein’ able to work on some days.”  As he thought, he absentmindedly removed his “Franks Feedlot” ball cap and started scratching the top of his head.  Bubba always scratched his head when he was deep in thought.

            It was at that exact moment, he saw Bobby Dale pull up in his old pick’em’up truck and park in the driveway.  
            “That truck is a piece of trash.  Needs a ring job, the clutch is slippin’ and the winders is all cracked.”  Bubba thought to himself as he replaced his cap, his thinking all finished for the moment.

            “Howdy do, Bubba!”  Bobby Dale yelled as soon as he untied his driver’s side door and exited the truck.

            “Hey, Bobby Dale.  What brings you down to Coon Holler?”

            Bobby Dale waited until he was on the porch before he replied, “Bubba, how would you like to make some ser’us money.  I mean big money, son.”

            Bubba gave a loud chuckle, pushed his ball cap back on his head, looked Bobby Dale in the eyes and said, “Son, you hain’t got no money.  Heck far, last week you had to burry ten dollars from me, fer soda’s and chewin’ tobaccer.”

            “Well, that did happen Bubba.  I ‘mit I was a bit low in fi-nancial ass-sests last week, but I am a-doin’ fine right now.”  Bobby Dale reached up, grasped the straps on his bib-overalls with both hands, and stuck his chest out as he spoke.

            “Bobby Dale, dog gone, I am glad to heah that.  That means you got my ten dollars to give me back, right?”  Bubba asked and then knocked the ashes from his pipe bowl out on the porch railing.

            “Not ‘zackly Bubba.  See all my money is all tied up in what they call stock.   I have a lot of ass-sests, but not much ready cash.   I have become one of them entra-manures.  I have my own business now and hit won’t be long afore I’m a-gonna be one of them millionaires you see on the telly-vision.”

            Bubba tired to stifle his laughter, but a slight snigger slipped out.   He stood and then turned toward Bobby Dale as he said, “Bobby, what is this new business of yourn?”

            “Well, now, Bubba Lee, don’t you laugh at me.  But, I done found me a diamond in the rough.  I shorely have son.”

            “Bobby, what have y’all found.”  Bubba felt his frustration level going up.  It happened often when he spoke with Bobby Dale.  The man was never to the point.

            “I am a-gonna sell them magazine prescriptions.  I mean I got a slew fer ya to choose from too.  I got them girly magazines, them diff’ernt life style magazines, them cookin’ magazines, cartoon magazines fer the curtain clingers, and huntin’ and fishin’ magazines fer us real men.”  

            As Bobby Dale spoke, explaining his wares, Bubba was amazed by the dumb look in his cousin’s eyes.  The fool actually thought, he, Bubba, would buy a magazine? 

Well, just to be polite, Bubba said, “Shore Bobby Dale.  Go get yer stuff and let me take a look at ‘em.  I can read, ya know.  Now, Maude, she hain’t much of a reader, but she shorely likes purty picshures.”

In a flash, Bobby Dale was off the porch and at his truck.  Bubba suppressed a laugh watching his unload his stuff and struggle back to the porch with it.  When Bobby Dale arrived, he was sweating in the early morning coolness.

“Bubba, you could have hepped me some.” 

“Why?  You were a-doin’ fine Bobby Dale.”  Bubba grinned, sat back down in his rocker and continued speaking,  “Now, show me yer stuff there son.” 

Bobby Dale spent the next two hours showing Bubba all the different kinds of magazines he had to offer.  One thing Bubba realized, there must be a magazine for darn neart ev’thang on this earth.  He saw magazines with puzzles, some with games, computer magazines, outdoors magazines, and one he liked…a hunting magazine.  Bobby Dale did a pretty good job of explaining the various types of magazines, what the publications contents were, and the pricing.

“Well, now, how many of these heah thangs do ya want Bubba Lee?”  Bobby Dale asked with a smile on his face, similar to that of an egg suckin’ dawg comin’ outta the henhouse with yoke on his lips.

“Hummm, let me see heah a minute, Bobby Dale.”  Bubba looked down at the magazines as if he were in deep thought.  

“Bubba, I got the best prices in town.  Look how much you save just on the “Cow Breeders Tricks and Facts.”

“I don’t know Bobby Dale.” 

“Look, Bubba, take the “New Farmers Almanac” fer only nineteen and ninety-nine cents a year.  Great publication.  Tells ya when to move yer outhouse, when to cut the wheat, when to do yer sping plantin’, and even when to go fishin’.  Ya jess cain’t beat no deal that that’un.  Nosirree Bob.”  Bobby Dale looked so serious that Bubba almost laughed once more, but he didn’t.

“Son, I hain’t got no outhouse, I hain’t got no field of wheat, I don’t do no plantin’, and I know when to go fishin’.  I go fishin’ when I want to and not a-fore.  I don’t need a book to tell me them thangs.”   Bubba shook his head in amazement that Bobby Dale would sell such useless stuff.

“Come on, Bubba, hep out a cousin in need.  I need yer sell, so I get mot’ee’vated to do more.  It’s only a few bucks.”

Bubba suddenly had an idea.  He gave a big grin, reached out and took the magazine from Bobby Dale’s hands.  Turning the pages slowly, Bubba seemed to be looking at the magazine’s contents closely.  Finally, after ten long minutes, Bubba looked up at Bobby Dale and said, “OK, Bobby Dale, you sold me on this heah one.  I’ll take the New Farmers Almanac.”

Bubba and Bobby Dale shook hands to seal the deal.  Bobby, more animated than usual, and that scared Bubba, said, “ Now, sir, how do you wish to pay fer yer order.  We have the means to take checks, cash, or any major credit card.”

“I want to pay fer it using my BD account.”  Bubba said as he attempted to keep a serious expression on his face.

“BD account?  I neveh heerd of that card.  Can I see hit?”

“Oh, it’s real and I will tell ya somethang, you done seen hit this morning when you shaved?”

“Bubba, you been in the shine or taking some drugs doctor Myers gave ya?  You hain’t a-makin’ a lick of sense a-tall.”

“Well, “ Bubba started speaking, then without notice gave a loud laugh, “you saw yer face when you shaved this morning, you owe me ten dollars, so….you Bobby Dale, or as I call you, my BD account, will pay fer my prescription to the New Farmers Almanac.”

Without a word, Bobby Dale picked up his wares, loaded them back into the large cardboard box he stored them in and returned to his truck.  Bubba watched him as he got in, tied the door to the truck closed, started, and then drove off.

Bubba rocked in his chair a few minutes before the thought hit him, “I think I will stay right where I am.  There hain’t much profit in the business, but at least I haint’ peddlein’ magazines door to door.”

With that thought finished, Bubba stood, scratched where it itched and walked into the house, thinking of how nice a cold ice tea would be about right now.






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