Let me start by backing up the truck here to the beginning of this story ...... which is before I landed in BumPhuck Egypt with a guy named Glenn Phuckit. No shit. I want that name.

It all started about a month ago when I got an unfavorite thing due to another unfavorite thing - a traffic ticket for an expired tag. I was almost home and on the outskirts of the neighboring county. This particular county we shall call Mohican county just for the sake of brotherhood and to put a name with the place. Mohican county has an abundance of cops. I think it just might be the only profession available there. A place where you never have to ask, "so what do you do for a living," because everybody's a cop and most of 'em are circling the QT like sharks on spring break.

Unfortunately for me that night I had to pass by the QT and just a soon as I did, here come Smokey out the side street. Shit! He musta been able to smell poverty, or maybe it was that loud mouth German Shepherd in his back seat, but he zeroed in on me - in the frigging dark....... and it was raining! He followed me all the way to the county line and just when I thought we were gonna make it to the other side, he hit the blue lights.

Luckily I had 2 of my kids with me. He took pity on me and did not impound my car, as his pain in the ass county requires, for any tag violation, and he wrote the ticket for registration compliance instead.

When I went online to pay my fine, I discovered that I actually had to appear in court! Gee whiz! What the hell for? So I got up early and hit the road to make it to the dead center of no where by 8:30 AM.

It's a long drive to their courthouse. First, I had to stop for gas and a money order but because I wasn't thinking straight yet, I just got the money order. "Fuckit, I'll get gas on my way home," I said to myself. Me, myself and I often have long and meaningful conversations as a result of being the Pumpkin Eater's wife ©, so talking to myself frequently is not uncommon.

Once off the highway, there were some pretty confusing street signs and I quickly got turned around. I stopped at a roadside farmer's market to ask directions. Zeek, the apparent farmer of said market, came over to me...... close......real close. I asked how to get to the courthouse and he took another step in - if he got any damned closer he'd be in back of me!

He said, "Well you go down this road here till you come to Bubba's tire shop. Then you make a right. Then turn back to your left at Ol' Billy Bob's place, the one that married Clara Bell back in 78, then you go on straight to town an' the courthouse'll be on ye right."

WAIT! Whenever someone says "turn back to" in the process of giving directions - unless it is an obvious backtracking move - I know we are going nowhere with that conversation. This confuses the hell outta me. But even stranger is, who in the hell is Billy Bob who married Clara Bell back in '78??? I had some time to kill so I asked him, "How am I supposed to know where Billy Bob's place is? Is there a sign out front or something?"

"Law! Why everybody knowed Billy Bob and Clara Bell, less'n you ain't from around here."

"That'd be me. I am a bonefide stranger in these parts, I reckon," I was getting into the lingo."

"Well then, you'll know the place by the big stack o' tires he's got near his mailbox. The man's got a wild hair for yard decor, I tell ya what, man, like I ain't never seen," he laughed heartily and I could see the wide tobacco stains on what was left of his teeth.

"Do you know the name of the road I would turn on?"

"Why heck no! I lived here 40 year and I ain't never knowed the name of that road," he said proudly.

"I don't believe I woulda told that, Zeek," I said with a shit eatin' grin.

Zeek threw his head back with laughter and clapped me on the shoulder, "That's a good'n little lady. You'll have to come back when they letcha outta the hoosegow, ya hear?"

"I'll do that, Zeek, I surely will," I lied as I got back in my car.

Sure enough there was the big stack o' tires Zeek had told me about and that YARD. SHEESH! Zeek wasn't kiddin' about the crazy decor - statues made of car parts, fake dear grazing on the lawn among other fake animals and flamingos and windmills jabbed in the ground all harem-scarem.

I made it to the courthouse just in time to hear the judge telling all us no-accounts the definition of the 3 possible pleas. She was oldish and crabby and so skinny she could rest in the shade of a clothes-line. They got the ball rolling by calling to the stand two offenders who were promptly cuffed without another word and marched out the side door. Well, THAT certainly was a great way to start out the day! YEESH!

Some dude who was well dressed but looked and sounded bored as hell called the roll, to which we were to answer with our plea.

Towards the end he called out, "Glenn, [pause] Glenn.... Phuckit?" I guffawed a little, then the man next to me raised his hand and announced, "guilty as sin, sir."

"I'll bet you are," said the bored man.

I couldn't help but laugh at this little exchange but no one seemed to think it was funny, 'cept me and Mr. Phuckit.

"Is that your real name?" I asked him.

"Yes Ma'am, it sure is. Ain't it a beauty tho?"

"It sure is. I think I might be tempted to marry you just so I could inherit that name," I kidded with him.
Mr. Phuckit was a good ol' boy and roughly the same age as me, maybe a little younger. He's the very same dude who, when you were in your late teens/ early 20's, would show up at a party with a case of Hams beer and shout,

"TONITE, WE GON GET FUUUUUUCKED UP!"

I liked Mr. Phuckit. He had a lot of personality. I think with a name like that, you just have to, by default.

Satan was there, too. A scrawny little man about 5 foot nothin with jet black, greased hair - like Arthur Fonzerelli. He had a skinny, Satan style beard/goatee which was also jet black. He was a mild mannered fellow and approached people much the way an abused dog might approach you in search of love and acceptance. Of course once he had you in his firey lair, it'd be a whole other story entirely.

Then came Madame Prosecutor, a mean looking woman, who was short, round and seemed to have an excess amount of skin on her face. She looked like a bulldog chewin' on a wasp. But she was real nice. I talked to her about my Nolo plea and managed to talk my way out of the fine, but I still had to hang around and go before Judge Skinny so she could legally charge me a $75 court fee for reading my ticket aloud for me. Man was this a racket or what? Three hours of MY time wasted and I had to pay them $75. Justice. mmmhmmm.

When I left the courthouse I tried not to get lost but considering my way there was through lostness, it was inevitable. Pretty soon I found myself in the shanty part of town. I pulled into The Brother's Grocery's dirt parking lot where several men were lounging around in the shade in yard chairs. When I got out of the car they all got to their feet and slowly started making their way over to me, looking me up and down with hellish grins, pirate style, breaking out on faces all around. This was not the friendly Zeek reception I'd received 3 hours earlier on the other side of town. All I could think was, "Drive faster! I hear banjos!"

Well this IS where they filmed "Deliverance," you know? And it seemed I just wandered into backwoods ally. I took a step backward and jumped back in the car, locked the doors and took off so fast there was a dust cloud of Georgia red clay (dirt) 14 feet high by the time my wheels finally hit pavement, tires screeching as I went.

Whew! That was close!

I finally found the highway signs but then I remembered my near empty gas tank.

NOW we have arrived at the title. You know you're in Bumphuck Egypt when there is no gas station within a 3 mile radius of the town's highway on ramp and the highway exits, out this far, are at least 6 miles apart. But with the cast of deliverance on my tail, the need to get on the road toward home was pretty urgent!

Still a little wound up in my flight, I inadvertently put the pedal to the metal to try and put as much distance between me and 'Deliverance' as possible. There was no one else on the road 'cept me. Then all a sudden here come 3 of the abundant cops of Mohican county out of a dang BUSH along the side of the road.

I was thinking, "Oh hell, not again. Not this place, not here!" Then, "Myeah see, you'll never take me alive coppers, see, cuz I'm makin' a break for it see myeah, leavin' this town see and I'm never lookin back see, myeah." Blue lights. Damn! Don't they have a fucking QT to go to???

The officer walked up to the car window and asked for the usual stuff. I noticed his name on his badge. "Officer Phuckit!"

I could not believe the coincidence of this moment, "Say, do you happen to have a brother by the name of Glenn?"

Officer Phuckit looked up from his clipboard curiously and said, "Yes, I gotta baby brother by that name. Well he ain't no baby no more but he's still younger'n me. Why? Do you know him?"

"Oh yeah, we dated back in high school. Broke my heart he, did. Crushed it to pieces. He was, for sure, the best looking guy in our whole school. I thought you were him at first. You look so much like him, I thought you just had to be his brother."

Officer Phuckit was smiling ear to ear now listening to my swooning words. I noticed the ring on his left ring finger.
"Why if you weren't already uh... spoken for, I'd ask you to take me out on the town some nite. Seems some girls have all the luck," I sighed propping my elbow in the car window and my chin in my hand making eyes at Officer Phuckit, who was fallin' for this shit hook, line and sinker.

Officer Phuckit handed my driver's license back to me and says, "Ma'am, my baby brother is so stupid he can't pour water out of a boot with the instructions on the heel.  You're free to go. Just be careful, slow down. I wouldn't want to see you get hurt out here on these country roads."

I drove off, put the window up and laughed mad, maniacal laughter all the way home.