I got me a new cane the other day, solid hickory and nice and gnarled and knotted like I wanted. The son of a bitch is hard as nails too, the heft in my hand feels real good. I could really bust a fella’s head with this thing. Now I’m armed everywhere I go, which is important in the crazy times we live in. Let me tell you about an example from just this week, right after I got Ol’ Hickory.

You see, I was walking down the street, minding my own business and watching folks go about their day, when a couple of them Mormons comes a walkin’ along and wants to talk to me. They was just kids, maybe 19 years old and not real streetwise because of their sheltered upbringing.

Well of course I felt threatened by them (I have to say that for legal reasons) right away. They was young and walking right up to me and I was scared (yeah right). They were hassling me and I was afraid for my safety(uh huh).  Anyway, they come walking up on me and start to ask me about my religious beliefs.

“My belief on religion is that I’m against it. Religion just makes folks kill each other and behave like damned idiots tryin’ to get in to other folks business.  So mark me down for “Against it” in your little poll there and go piss up a rope.”

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Willie’s nephew Chris here, and I just wanted to relay a conversation I overheard between uncle Willie and a police officer recently. Willie wasn’t really doing anything wrong, he was just having a few drinks at a picnic table and playing me in a game of checkers, but the park police don’t like him having a bottle of wine with him in the park and they stopped and asked him to put it away. The following conversation is word for word as I remember it.

“Willie, you know you can’t be drinking out here, we’ve talked about this enough times.”

Uncle Willie got a big smile on his face and replied with, “You’ve talked to me about it but it ain’t happened yet. I’ve talked to you about bangin’ your wife but that ain’t happened either, so I figure we’re even.”

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My nephew Steven came for a visit yesterday. I figured this was the only place I can talk about it because the son of a bitch is 8 years old and he still can’t read. His momma says he’s a “special needs” child…

I’ll tell you about his god damned special needs! That little bastard has a special need for me to go upside his head with a sock full of rocks is what he needs. Seems to me like “special needs” is the new-fangled term for idiot. If so then I live in a whole world of “special needs” folks. And I’m talking about you too, don’t think I ain’t. Sometimes I think my old mutt Scooter has more sense than most of the dumb ass folks that live in my building or those damned idiot kids hanging out across the street with their hats turned all funny askin’ me what I’m drinking today.

I got this crazy Puerto-Rican woman lives next door to me see? She comes out into the hallway when me and Steven are on our way to go get us some lunch and starts whoopin’ and hollerin’ and makin’ a fuss about how the son of a bitch is so damned cute. I hate when women folk get like that.

“Oh yeah, he’s a heckuva kid,” I says, figuring she’ll get close enough to him to get herself in trouble. Sure enough she walks right up to him and she gets what I call the “Steven Special” in short order.

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