The Loyal Order of “The Sons Of Rest” convened on the wooden bench under the shelter of the Filling Station for their weekly meeting.Â Hardy Hastings, the Grand Marshal, called the meeting to order by banging his walker on the concrete and saying, “All Rise.”Â When no one moved, he said, “Be seated.”
The first order of business was for “Bigun” Sanders to recite the by-laws.Â Bigun stood, removed his NASCAR ball cap and began; “We, The Sons of Rest , do hereby vow to protect our sovereign county from the hoards of Yankees, politicians, and other varmints that impede our way of life.Â We are empowered to use all means at our disposal to discourage intrusion of these varmints, short of wasting shotgun shells on them.Â So says article 324.1-A of the Sons of Rest code.”
Minutes for the last meeting were read and approved and Hardy then asked, “What is the feeling of this body on the recent election?”Â “Bubba” Watkins was the newest member of the club and immediately raised his hand.Â Hardy said, “The chair recognizes Bubba.”
Bubba rose, pulled a cud of chewing tobacco from his mouth, walked over and deposited it in the oil barrel that served for a trash bin before he spoke.Â “Whaal, the way I sees it, that there Womern is gittin’ ‘xactly whot she wanted.Â She figures she is goin’ to be CO-President up ’til she screws everthing up; an’ then that Obana feller is goin’ to take the blame.Â Her an’ her Old Man has et at the givernment trough for so long that they ain’t no way they’s goin’ be put out to pasture.Â Neither one uv them could hold out to do a day’s work an’ yet we’s gotta scrimp an’ save to pay’em they pension whot’s more’n I can make in a lifetime.”Â “I yield the floor back to Hardy.”
Other pertinent business was discussed; the major ones being, taking a vote to ask Ot to lower the price of his gas and whether or not to rebuke that gal of Albert Jenkins for running off with that lightning rod salesman.
When all of the week’s business had been taken care of Hardy banged his walker again and the meeting was adjourned.Â Several of the members formed a group under the wash bay of the station that was well away from the bench.Â Archie Tadlock was the first to speak in hushed tones;Â “I don’t know about y’all but as fer as i’m consarned, That Bubba aught to be our nex’ Grand Marshall.Â That thare feller is some more smart.”
“I hyeard his daddy were a lawyer up in ‘Napilous, said Bud Parker; we jus’ may need him iffen things gits wurse round here than they already are.Â Never know when we’ll have th’ need to sic th’ law on somebody.Â Be good to have him backin’ us.”
Writ by Demijon
A conclusion is the place where you got tired of thinking.