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Ramblin' Roses and Flyin' Bricks
What with the Presidential campaign going on and everybody trying to figure out the election, I got to thinking last night how glad I am I'm not one of the nominees. I might get elected. You can't tell what the voters are going to do nowadays. Being President wouldn't be so bad if it were possible for him to take off some place without a whole swarm of secretaries, reporters and secret-service men tagging along. Having to put up with something like that would sure put me in a powerfully bad predicament. Say, for instance, I went down to Hal's Lake on a bream-fishing trip. Three secret-service men would be paddling along in front of me poking around in the water looking for hidden mines and a dozen or so would be creeping along the banks, armed with high-powered rifles, looking for Communists. On one side of my boat would be a bunch of government experts and high-priced secretaries and on the other side would be a flock or reporters asking me about the Suez Crisis and the Polish uprising. Now wouldn't that be something, a whole passel of people paddling down Hal's Lake! Every self-respecting fish in the lake would light out, hell-to-get-it, for Mobile Bay and points south. Next to fishing, I like squirrel hunting. It's fun to tiptoe through the woods, looking for limbs to move and listening for the sound of falling acorns and hickory nuts dropping from the tall trees. Now I wouldn't have a chance of getting within a mile of a squirrel with a host of government employees jabbering and stomping through the swamp, cracking fallen limbs and rustling through dry leaves. It sure would be nice, though, to have a deer stand about a mile ahead of a bunch like that. The Cooking Then I got to thinking about the cooking we do down at our camp. It's not what you might call first-class cooking and indigestion generally sets in after about three days of eating it, but we like it and it tastes delicious. A hunting companion named Pete does most of the cooking with verbal aid from everybody else in the party. Now you take some of Pete's hushpuppies a la mud. That's a la swamp mud and there is a difference. Now most everything a President eats has to be tested and some of those government experts would certainly swear those hushpuppies had been poisoned which they certainly would not be at all. What it is, is filth, water bugs, spider-webs, candle-flies and stuff like that, all mixed up with musty meal and chopped-up onions and then burned black in an unwashed skillet over a pine-knot fire. Brother, that is eating! Headlines Tell Story Some of the stories sent out by the covey of reporters covering the trip would make mighty interesting headlines, such as: "ELT (that's me) On Feet After Being Bit By Wasp in Bed." "President Accidentally Shoots 23 Secret-Service Men. Misses 40 More." "ELT Practices Marksmanship." "Sixteen Reporters Feared Bear-Et." "No Word From President's Hunting Camp." "Deranged Press Secretary Found Near Mobile River." "President Returns Alone From Hunting Trip. Reports Wonderful Time."
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