Tie Rod was rather annoyed that the world didn't end on May 21. He will believe any preacher who acts like he knows what he is talking about, and evangelist Harold Camping sure did.
That, and all those hurricanes and earthquakes and the fact that a black man is president all indicated that the end of time is near. Tie Rod has sat in church a lot but gets confused when people tell him what is going to happen when time ends, or even if you die before then. Do you go somewhere and wait?
To be safe, Tie Rod did three things.
First he got more religion than a dog has fleas: speed reading his Bible — cramming for his finals, so to speak — and throwing his hand up in the air at church like those gospel singers do, at least until they get popular and God calls them out of gospel music into country or rock 'n' roll. Tie Rod quit all that May 22.
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Second, he let the weeds grow in his garden. The coming of the end of time is as good an excuse as any not to hoe. Every year, he has to think of reasons not to hoe, and this year was the easiest of all. It turns out that once this spring's floods were over, the drought would have stunted his garden anyway.
Third, and most unwisely, Tie Rod confessed to the Big E some sins that would make a congressman blush. In lieu of a news conference, Tie Rod's confession was hollered down from the barn loft to which he has been banished and where, ever since, he must get whatever sleep he can on hay in smouldering evenings in hellish heat.
When he tries to venture down, there at the bottom of the ladder is the daughter of the Devil, poking at his offending parts with a pitchfork. Why didn't she just run off overseas with Secretary of State Hillary Clinton, as Huma Abedin, the wife of U.S. Rep. Anthony Weiner did after he became a hot dog. Tie Rod could understand why Mrs. Weiner kept her own name when she married the N.Y. Democrat.
When Tie Rod issued his pre-Doomsday confession, it was his hope that Big E would confess back and that they would be even, but he got nary a sin nor error out of her. When he tried to get her to admit she watched porn, she declared that she didn't even have a pornograph to play it on.
To provide sustenance, she throws bags of German bean sprouts to her lofty companion, who is not sure whether E. coli is something from a computer or a Colombian drug cartel. Bean sprouts, like elk and kudzu, are recent additions to the Appalachian culture and are equally a bad idea, eaten by people who don't know poke and who want to live forever and not be sick when they die.
As a matter of general principle, Tie Rod will not go in a restaurant that serves bean sprouts or tofu or hummus, and he was not surprised to learn that bean sprouts are full of that which he has always thought they tasted like.
This is reunion season, and instead of deviling him, Tie Rod wants his wife to devil eggs, something that he thinks of a lot now that he is living among chickens.
He has been banished from several reunions for eating all the deviled eggs, and he worries now that if he has to get another woman, she will put pickles in her deviled eggs or, even worse, her potato salad.
He has resolved that if he exchanges pictures over the Internet in the future, he will first want the woman on the other end to email a photo of her deviled eggs and potato salad, then maybe her body. If he sends out any pictures of his assets before Oct. 21, he durn sure will not be confessing about it. He finds nothing in the Bible against electric sex anyway.