Zeke was bent over the shallow grave strainin and puffin ta fold up the body so’s ta make it fit right. Agitated, he said, “Tater! Ya gonna put down dat damn fool jar of shine and give me a hand, or what?”
Tater was lendin gainst a tree takin a slug of Chester’s butt burnin moonshine. “Y’all doin jest fine all by ya self….anyhow, I’m busy mournin fer poor ol’ Chester.”
“Tater, dis is plum foolish,” groaned Zeke. “Diggin dis here little hole fer poor cousin Chester. Iffin we’d jest gone and used dat turkey carver from the kitchen, and din grabbed up his post hole digger from the shed, din all we’d need ta do is poke bout a dozen post holes in his back yard and din spread Chester all round widout all dis fuss. Now, we’s got ta worry bout my cousin’s lazy hound goin and diggin up Chester and nibblin on his parts like dey was chunks of fatback or sweet weenies.”
“Y’all startin ta raddle like a old can of washers,” complained Tater. “It ain’t doin any good ta complain now, cause it’s all done, and done fer.”
“Lawd, I feel like we’s barbarians fer wat we done and wat we be doin now,” whined, Zeke. “Wer’t our fault, no how. Cousin Chester gittin all sloped up on shine and din stickin his pecker in a light socket jest cause ya dared em! Lawd…..when all dat electricity cum a sparkin out his ass, I done knowed we was in trouble. And when he went ta smellin like burnt bacon…..Oh Lawd!”
“Ya best be holdin ya self tagether, hear?” reprimanded Tater. “I went and did me up a good dyin letter and left it on the kitchen table. Ya know how loony he were bout outer space and such. Bout all dem flyin saucers and butt probin aliens and such. I wrote up a letter sayin he was halfin ta go wid some Mars fellas and couldn’t be waitin round ta explain and also dat he was a takin all his fishin gear wid em.”
“Fishin gear?” questioned Zeke.
“Think, frog butt! He ain’t gonna be usin it now, right? So, I figger, inhereidance, ya know wat I mean? We jest pack it all up when we git done and din scat. Din, I says in da letter, dat someone needed ta give his old dawg away real soon cause it might go and git all crazy missin Chester and such.”
“Good ideer bout da dawg,” nodded Zeke.
“Finally, I wrote dat dem aliens were a waitin fer em, and he had ta go, so’s ta git a good seat. Din I signed it non da plum.”
“Non wat?” asked Zeke.
“Non da plum. It’s Latinmex and jest means, ‘I’m plum gone now and non of y’all needs ta worry.”
“Lawd, ya smart as a old preacher,” complimented Zeke.
Once the grave were done filled in, the two cousins pulled the dawg’s house over and set it on top ta cover the mound and make it harder fer the dawg ta go diggin up any Chester snacks. Din the two men stood dar all quiet like wid their John Deere ball caps in hand. “Well,” Zeke started, “we plum sorry as hell, cousin Chester, fer wat done happen when ya tried ta poke ya manhood inta dat electric socket. But, we know ya gonna like livin wit dem aliens.” Tater looked over at Zeke like he had brain mush. “So, we hopein ya have a good trip and dat great Star Ship Capin up in da sky takes ya on board. So, since ya can’t say it, I’ll do it fer ya…..‘beam em up Lawd!’…….amen.” Tater took a drink of shine and started ta cry, whilst Chester’s dawg jest wagged his tail.