Partly Cloudy, 64°
In a recent report out of Dumsbile, Arkansas, Mr. Scrout’s boys really had the nerve to look you dead in the eyes and tell you they have no idea what happened to your prize hog.
“Good Heavens, Mr. Triggle, Bo and I haven’t got a clue what happened to that beautiful swine’a yours,” said Tugg Scrout when confronted about the matter, despite his reputation in town for stirring up nonsense and making mischief with his kid brother Bo. “I just hope to Betsy that your prize porker makes it on home with her tail as curled as ever.”
“Bo and I always knew that piglet of yours was special ever since we seen that heart shaped birthmark on her underside,” continued Scrout, demonstrating an intimate knowledge of the hog that you could only develop by surreptitiously lifting the beast out of its pen in the dead of night with your baby brother Bo who everyone knows is the most no-good ruffian in all of Cumber county. “We sure do hope she’s safe and sound wherever she may be.”
“I hate to say it, Mr. Triggle, but we simply haven’t the faintest idea where or wheren’t that sow of yours could possibly be, we figure it ain’t easy to carry off an 800 pound pig,” added Scrout, correctly estimating the animal’s weight within ten pounds of the exact figure, making it almost impossible to believe that he and his younger brother Bo didn’t haul the varmint all the way from Mr. Triggle’s farm to Little Rock, subsequently painting it like a dog and charging the local boys a nickel to see the biggest hound in the South. “Best of luck to ya, though.”
At press time, Miss Sally Gurtish gonna stare you straight in the face and pretend she isn’t the most beautiful belle this side of the Appalachians.
