Friday Fictioneers: Rustic Rage
There’s always some kinda virus going around the Friday Fictioneers and I’m afraid I caught it this time. Thanks for all the inspiration! My 100-word story is below.
Didja hear? Billy Pete found a torn cap in ‘is fresh stack. Now ‘is baler’s broke an’ god knows what’s stuck in there. Some thief musta got in th’ wrong haystack, th’ dunderheaded cretin. Now lookit me, I don’t need no guns like Old Jonesy at th’ border (bless ‘im), ‘ain’t no guarantee when y’can’t see ’em through th’ hay, an’ don’t need no wild hogs like Sane Wayne neither (them hogs deserve better, don’t y’know). When I get pissed, all I gots to do is light a torch, throw it in th’ hay, an’ them thieves come a-dancin’ outta there, burnin’ like th’ sun, mouths hangin’ open like disco-fevered dolts.