Granny had some leftover spuds from her chipmunk casserole so she gave 'em to Gussy to play with.
We can't afford store-bought toys. We're like them Waltons on Christmas, where Elizabeth gets the doll with the smashed-in face and it scars her for life. Only we don't live near no mountain – we live next to the kind of river you saw in Deliverance, that movie where Burt Reynolds was a real stud-muffin and the pudgy guy in dirty underwear had to squeal like a pig. When our friends from the city come to visit they hum Duelin' Banjos under their breath. They think it don't hurt our feelings and they're right, it don't. It's like the national anthem around our house.
Anyway, toys are scarce but every once in a while Gussy gets some rotten potatoes for his spud chucker.
That there is cause for big excitement. Gussy puts on his hand-me-down coat that's five sizes too big for him and Dave and him mosey on down to the river with a can of ether. You wouldn't believe how far those potatoes go! Whatever you do, don't stand in front of the chucker cause if you do, it'll be more than the potato that loses an eye
We're real proud of our son. He built his spud chucker all by himself from instructions on the world wide web. He only lost half an eyeball and his right toe in the process, which is pretty good. Dave's a little cranky about the loss of his left nut, but Dave is a little over-protective of his tools. Don't tell him I said that.
Tomorrow is Dave's birthday. If he's lucky, he'll get some spuds for a present so him and Gussy can go out and play some more. Dave likes the chucker as much as our son. He's shot potatoes and little squash and all kinds of fruit and vegetables. Who knows, maybe I'll even get him a cantaloupe for his big day. He's been going around mumbling something about never getting to play with melons anymore, now's we're married.