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January, 2008

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Bubba's Dawg Might Be A Redneck (Excerpt)
This Dawg Don't Hunt
By  Gary L. Benton

Order this book from Amazon!
ubba walked into the huge store and looked around. It was the same as usual, filled with lots of people in a hurry. He held a small bag in his left hand and walked up to the refund counter. Bubba was dressed as he normally dressed for a trip into town; blue bib-overalls, white tee shirt, combat boots, and his "Joe's Feedlot" ball cap.

"May I help you sir?" A middle-aged woman in a red vest, wearing a nametag, asked him as soon as he approached the counter.

Bubba could tell right off that he didn't like the woman. Her hair was dyed a blue-purple color and her gold-framed glasses were held down low on her nose. Nope, Bubba thought, this woman hain't a-gonna hep me much, I 'spect.

"Yep, ya can help me, I want to return this." Bubba said as he handed the woman a small plastic bag holding the purchase he'd made the night before.

The woman took the bag, opened it, and looked inside. She didn't even raise her head as she looked over her glasses at Bubba and said, "We cannot take software back. Once it is purchased and opened, it's yours."

"Lady, listen to me, I paid more than a hundred dollars for that software and it donít work. I should have bought hardware instead."

"Sir, I'm not sure I understand your complaint."

"Well, mayhap I ain't exactly explainin' it right. Let me put it this way for ya . . . if you bought a coon dawg and it didnít chase coons, what would you do with it?"

"Well, I don't know sir. I have never bought but one dog in my life and that was my little Charlie. Nonetheless, I suspect I would take it back for a refund, if it did not hunt as advertised."

Bubba reached down, picked up the bag and held it in the woman's face as he said, "Well, woman, this dawg don't hunt."

"Sir, let me get the manager of the refunds department and let him explain our return policy."

"If it makes your frog hop, lady, get the manager, get the assistant manager, or get the owner. I just want my money back."

As Bubba hung around the counter for about ten minutes, he looked at flyers, read the signs, and watched other customers as they received refunds much larger than his. As each person walked away, Bubba felt his blood pressure going up. Then, the department manager arrived.

He was dressed in a plain white shirt and a plain black tie, black pants, and shinny black shoes. He wore close-cropped brown hair, no glasses, and was more than just a little overweight.

"Good afternoon suh, how may I assist y'all?" He asked with a pleasant voice as he extended his hand.

"Well, I brought back some software and I want a refund. I didn't open the package." Bubba explained as he shook the man's offered hand.

"Suh, you mean to tell me the package has never been opened? Did ya tell that to my clerk?" The manager asked as he looked at the refund clerk.

"As for tellin' this woman, well, she never asked, or gave me the time to say anything. And, I can tell ya right now, they ain't got a lick of Southern manners about 'er. She never said good day or nothin'."

In less than five minutes Bubba was walking away counting his money. Funny place this is, Bubba thought as he folded up the money and placed it in his wallet, they donít know nothin' 'bout coon dawgs that donít hunt or rednecks giviní em a hard time over poor manners.

Read Gary L. Benton's INside article on writing redneck humour.

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Writerís Block
The path to inspiration starts
Upon the trails weíve known;
Each writerís block is not a rock,
But just a stepping stone.

Poetry Is Not
Penned to the page
Waiting for us to admire.
It is only a lonely thought
Caught by tears on fire.

Silent Echoes
A quiet rhyme upon a page
Is what a poet gives;
Some gentle words whispered in trust
To see if memory lives.

Bard From Deadlines
What makes a poem finally work
Is not the time it takes;
Itís how the poet used the muse
To prophet from mistakes.

Be Mused
The art and craft of poetry
Are not so far apart;
The craft comes from the cunning,
The rest comes from the heart.

Fine Vintage
Donít plant your poem on the page
As though youíre hanging drapes;
Itís shape and flow should come and grow
Like wild summer grapes.

Getting It Write
Writers write what they know best,
Their passions, fears, and dreams;
Writers rarely write about
What other call their ďthemes.Ē

Double Vision
A writerís life is paradox,
Itís more than what it seems;
We write of our reality,
The one inside our dreams.

The echo of a promise,
The thunder of a sigh,
The music of a memory,
A child asking why.

Letter Perfect
Twenty six symbols arranged on a page
Can send a soul to heaven or torment it with rage,
Can free a fragile world or hold it in its net--
The power and the magic of the mighty alphabet.

The Write of Passage
The jump from writing just for fun
To getting paid for it
Begins when you first realize
You know youíll never quit.

It is not the magic of his wings
That sets us free from our bond.
It is the muse within ourselves
That lets our words lift us beyond.

Photo Poet
Consider your mind the darkroom,
Consider your life the lens,
Consider your eye the camera
On whose focus the poem depends.

Rising Moon
A poem is a rising moon
Shining on the sea,
An afterglow of all we know,
Of all we hope to be.

Star Light
Writing a poem,
Reaching a star,
In making good art
We find who we are.

Spider Web
A poem is a spider web
Spun with words of wonder,
Woven lace held in place
By whispers made of thunder.

The final draft upon the screen,
At last my poemís through;
A verse of only four short lines--
I rewrote twenty-two!

Read All Of Charles Ghigna's Poetry at

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