Seriously, don't let my grandkids that can read...

...read this!



His name was Bus...



...Bus West.



...and with that my mother told me a story I've heard multiple times, but today it was particularly funny, because of how my mother got the giggles (I think her cocktail of Haldol and Morphine got to her).


...so my dad and his good friend Bus, Bus West, bought an old jalopy(my mother's term for an old good for nothing, except fishing) fishing car.  Mother said the cats in town went wild just from the smell when Bus, Bus West, and Carl drove through town.


(the reason I have to say Bus, Bus West, is because my parents apparently thought the name "Bus" was so common that when you talked about him, you had to be specific that you were talking about not just any old "Bus", but "Bus West" and I never heard this story told any other way)


...so the two of them took off one Sunday afternoon to head over to the Cripple Creek just north of Fowler to do a little crappie fishing.  (for all the Coil's who are blue-nosed fly fishermen, a crappie fish is pretty close to a bottom feeder, but they fry up real nice with a little corn meal and flour)


...the problem was, they forgot the bait, so they headed back into Fowler.  Along the way they stopped at a good friend's house and picked up a little hooch.   (I'm not telling you what that is...if you don't know, you shouldn't be reading this)


...and then they hit the "ol' fishin" hole with their cane fishing poles and a bucket of worms (probably in a Folger's coffee can).


...now I'm sure they did a little fishin' that day, but the way I heard it, there was a lot more drinkin' than fishin' goin' on thar at the ol' fishin' hole.



...yet my dad was able to drive Bus, Bus West, and drop him off at the Wears' place, since he and Katie had a thing going, and then my dad drove on home.  My mother had locked the door, so he headed back out to the car to sleep there for the night(which was probably a good idea).  My mother, hearing all the commotion out back, half carried half drug my dad into the house, sat him down on the bed and started helping him undress.  He stood up, kind of, and headed into the bathroom, but ended up in the closet.  Eventually, after a serious case of the giggles on both their parts, my dad went to bed.  However, when he woke up the next morning, he wished he'd died the night before in a road ditch.



...now that may sound like the end of the story, but not so...


...you see, my Uncle Sethie, my dad's brother, had chopped the end of his finger off in the fly-wheel of a combine just a few days before all this and had developed a serious infection.  Now with Sethie and my dad being out of commission, so to speak, and the chores still needing to be done, my blessed mother took the pitchfork in hand and started feeding the cattle.



...all the time my dad's mother stood there wringing her hands saying, "Poor Carl, he has the worst case of flu I've ever seen." (my dear sweet grandmother was the epitome of innocence)



...now that may sound like the end of the story, but not so...



...because you see my dad's other friend, Rich, had an impacted tooth and none of the dentists in the area would touch him, so my mother drove Rich and my dad to Wichita to a dentist.  The whole time the only thing my dad could eat was oranges.



...and to this day, my mother still thinks of vomit every time she smells an orange.



...and now that's the end of the story.