By Slim Randles
I can ‘memorate ‘thout too much trouble about the time this little girl come to visit on the ranch. Oh, Alphonse Wilson here, don’t you see…
Yessir, she was just a tad, mebbe three years old. Couldn’t say for sure. Didn’t check her teeth. Lived up in the city and was seeing what it was like to be around horses and cows and barns and stuff made out of cowhide.
Wellsir, she asked to use the bathroom and we pointed her toward the local outhouse. Her mom had to take her over and explain how it was used, and that little thing couldn’t get over it! Nossir! For the whole rest of the day she kept saying, “You don’t have to flush it!”
She thought it was the best intervention since Edison designed the airplane.
Well … maybe it is. Oh, most people have the plumbing inside the house these days, and I ‘spose that’s as it should be … but don’t sell the outhouse short.
Even politicians recognize the importance of the little house out back. Just the other day they had one a-them bureaucraticals up in front of a table full of politicians who accused him of being contemporary with them and besides that tried to hang stealin’ sheep on him. Sure enough, one of them asked him a question, and he spectaclated it this way “Senator, I’m not privy to that information.”
You see that? Even in Washington District of Columbus they recognize the importance of the privy.
Well, I tell you what … let’s all bunch up and swear we’ll do ever’thing necessary to keep on lovin’ the old outhouse. We could start a club, even. Call it the Birch John Society or somethin’. I’ll be the emperor or castigator or somethin’ and we’ll all have effluviations of fun.
‘Minds me though of the time up in the mountains at that camp. Boss man thought he’d do somethin’ chic or elegant … you know … noo-vo? Wellsir, since it flats gets cold up there, he lined the outhouse hole with fur. Had to take it out, though, after that tourist lady got fleas. Hey, if I’m lyin’ you can dip my flag in baking powder and make it rise by its ownself.
But them fleabites don’t stop outhouses from being a good idear. Nossir. And regulate this to your memorizer … you still don’t have to flush!
Brought to you by the panel of geniuses sipping coffee down at the Mule Barn, because they didn’t have anything better to do.
