CHILDREN OF THE CORN

CHILDREN OF THE CORN

 

When I wuz a young’un, I done had some troubles wit my readins, ritings and rithmatics. My teacher, “Miss Plowed Fields of 1988”, jest didn’t git it. I’s a genius and don’t need none of dat dere larnin stuff.

 

My paw always said alls I need to no was how to pick corn and shoot dem vermin (paw gived me a shotgun when I wuz six). I shot lotsa possum. Deys good in stew – with corn.

 

Y’all see corn done growed on tall stems. It done comes in many cullers. Yaller is my favorite! I eats it every chance I gets. My maw rassels up some of dat dere corn pone. My paw washes it down with the hootch he cooks out back da barn. Paw always sez: “Whats pone without some good sippin whiskey?” Maw sez that, when pa drinks, he act like a wounded possum.

 

Sos, I done picked corn like I always do almost every day. Look, y’all know that an ear or two a day keeps the crows away. So, y’all pick corn and dem ugly birds won’t steal da grain or peck ya on yer hade, lookin fer them thar fleas.