Tim Timmons | Crawfordsville, IN

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December 11, 2017

Bubba on writing gooder

As you may know, we've moved the world-wide HQ from the Elston building to the historic structure that used to house Crawfordsville High School. As with most moves, some things went well and some . . . not so well. One was the phones. Normally reliable, the service has been a mess the past week.
I was just wondering if we were ever going to get them fixed when the darn thing rang and nearly gave me a heart attack.
"The Paper, Timmons," I managed. Hey, us professional newspaper types know how to recover quickly.
"This here's the International Newspaper Federation calling to let you know you have won that Pullzer thingy?"
The voice had a distinctive twang to it. It also said "this here's" and obviously didn't know it's actually called a Pulitzer Prize. That could only mean . . .
"Hello, Bubba."
In case anyone outside the regular eight or nine are reading this week's dribblings, Bubba Castiron is the guy who makes village idiots look good. He has the wit of a paperclip. He used to live near Noblesville but seems now to be spending more time in our little corner of heaven.
"Dang, Timmons! How'd you know it was me?"
"Lucky guess. What can I do for you, Bubba?"
"Well sir, me and Bubba T were - "
"Bubba T?" I asked. He named his son Bubba?
"That's my truck," he said proudly. "I'm Bubba C and he's Bubba T. Get it? T for truck. I got a motorsickle, too. I named him Bubba B. Get it, Timmons? B is for bike."
I sighed.
"Hey Timmons, I got a Jeep, too. Know his name?"
"I'm guessing Bubba J?"
"Nah. It's Bubba G."
"G?" I asked. "What does the G stand for?"
"Jeep," Bubba proclaimed proudly.
"But Jeep starts with a . . . oh never mind. Bubba, how can I help you?"
"Well I was noticing the other day that you messed up your writing and I wanted to help you out."
Great. My writing has deteriorated so much that even Bubba wants to help.
"I done noticed that you ended a sentence with a preposition, Timmons. Shoot-fire, everyone knows you can't do that."
I started to explain but he cut me off.
"Let me tell you something that'll get the point across, Timmons. This here lesson will help you remember. You see, after I turned 50, me and the missus were having a few, um, let's say issues in the sack, if you know what I mean."
Oh Lord, why did the phones have to start working now?
"So I goes to an old-timer I know from the hills and he gave me this magic powder and told me it would fix everything."
Bubba stressed the word 'everything.' You could almost hear him wink when he said it.
"So he tells me to use the powder and say 'one, two three.' And when I do things will work just fine for as long as me and the missus want. Then, and this here's the important part, Timmons, when everything is all, let's say, um, over, you say, 'one, two, three, four.' And then, and remember, this is important, it will be over for one year. A whole year!"
A magic powder that acts like a little blue pill? I wasn't seeing the connection to my writing.
"Well, I get home that night kinda late and want to, well, you know. So I sneak real quiet into the bedroom where the missus is sleeping and I snuggle up next to her and I say 'one, two, three' and wham! It works like a charm! I mean it really works!"
"Look Bubba, this is fascinating and all, but I don't really need to hear - "
"And she rolled over and looked at me and said, 'what did you say one, two, three for?'
"A year, Timmons. A whole year. That is why you never end a sentence with a preposition."
"Bubba, I will try to do better."






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