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Show Chatter Box Dear Suzy, Habit is a peculiar thing and makes one do things at times that he doesn't want to. Take the case of Dewey Sanford, local hog man and livestock dealer, in which habit compells him to go ahead and do a thing even when he knows he is whipped before he starts. Besides shipping hogs occasionally, occasion-ally, Dewey also runs the local live stock auction in these parts. Each year it has been the, custom to hold a spring sale of livestock to which buyers and sellers come from far and near. This year they are also going to have one but the catch is there is no livestock in this area, other than a piebald pinto and a barefaced calf. So in order to live up to the old custom and habit Dewey is still going ahead ah-ead with the spring sale when he knows that only three people will be there, Dewey, Bill Bassett, Sr., and Tom McCormick. Dewey has quite a joint over there, but this year they could hold the sale in a phone booth and still have room left to grease a' car or demonstrate a washing machine and equipment. The sale is se-t to start at 10 a. m. and will close at 10:01 a. m. after prolonged bidding on the various and sundry animals, if any. So the annual spring sale will go down in history as the poorest attended event in west Millard, which is exacty opposite of what is usually the case. Generally, even ev-en though only 40 people show up to an event around here, it is spok en of as being the social highlight of the season; or the biggest and most colossal gathering to date. Now Dewey comes along and sets us back 25 years in our progress, and will probaby cause someone to tell the truth about such gather ings in the future. Dewey says with all the bull thrown around here you would think there would be some to sell, but he says that times have changed chan-ged and soon we will be Importing Import-ing our hamburger and link sausage. saus-age. Also our condensced milk and bologna. Dick Morrison, that fugitive from a fugue, has gone again and groundlooped his typewriter saying say-ing nasty things about me. He forgets "Wingovers" and goes into in-to a tail spin over the "Music Lover's Guide" part of the column. How music gets into a column about ab-out airplanes and their doings is beyond my comprehension but Dick mixes all those things up like alphabet al-phabet soup, and I personally believe be-lieve that that is how he writes his column - - - just throws a package of alphabet soup makings mak-ings on the counter and pastes them to a piece of paper, come as they may, and in which ever order they choose. Dick is all wrong about my favorite fav-orite song being "Mule Train", while all the time my favorite has been, "Oh, Fireman Save My Child." He accuses me of not know ing Beethoven, well, I do. He was deaf and Dick is - - as he says, skip it. He also intimates that I am unfamiliar with Bach. Little does he reckon that the first song I learned was "Carry Me Bach to Old Virginia." And too, he speaks of trying to lift the cultural level of this paper. pap-er. Now isn't that a laugh? What does he think I have been doing all this time? Practicing on my zither? I think Dick is just sore because when he went out to catch a rabbit rab-bit and get on the team, his brother bro-ther ..Ralph, in his usual fashion, had a corner on the market. So, Dick, in the future stick more to torque and less to tubas, or else call your column by its correct name. Toots. |