That One Day, Maybe It Was A Tuesday

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Small towns are awesome and charming until you have a craving for samosas.

The people of Rural Rock still talk about that one summer day when Jamworth “Bucktooth” Johnson rolled into town on a keg of beer. It was a sight to behold, here he come down the street kicking up all kinds of dust and what not wearing nothing but a smile and his big dick flopping around and to and fro like some elephant who ain’t give a shit.


Like most small towns, and when I say like most, I mean all, we were plain sick and tired of each other. It should be duly noted that because of our very weak boundaries, all us town folk are related kin one way or another.

Jamworth’s arrival was more than timely, because before him, we were on the verge of a mini civil war, bitching about the weather, politics, and Eddie Newburn-Newburn Jr.’s haircut. We needed a distraction.

There was something magical about him, an aura. He was a candle that never went out, an entertainer who had to entertain to exist. He even smelled like freedom and probably tasted like it too. To him, each breath was a gift that kept on giving. It was exactly the doldrum breaker Rural Rock had to have.

For the next three hours, Jamworth entertained the folks who needed it most, the bedridden and the deafest. He juggled, threw his voice, made intricate hand shadows, did card tricks, sang, whistled and danced a lot. It turns out, he wasn’t dancing so much as he was coughing efficiently. He would clear his throat thoroughly, snorting and swallowing and hacking. He would throw his head back while thrusting his hips forward, then throw his head forward while expectorating simultaneously, letting gravity do a lot of the work for him.

Maybe it was because of our simple ways, but we all heartily agreed with uproarious laughter when the black globs of grossness flew out of his mouth. The surprised look on his face was pretty funny too.

As the sun went down, all the children who had way too many deformities were plain tuckered out, and it seemed like the perfect time for Jamworth to take his leave. Here is where that day became memorable.

As he rolled out of town, he fell off the keg, and shook violently after falling to the ground. We could not help ourselves and giggled, expecting more of that hilarious black phlegm, knowing full well that he probably died.

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