Ronnie Ray's Mama Just Ain't the Forgivin' Kind

“HEY LURLEEN, disspondent’s a word , right, like to say what Ronnie Ray’s goin’ through since his hog’s been stole and now this, right?”

(Sorry bout that but I couldn’t imagine the right word cuz it just don’t ever get no better for my 2nd cousin who's just hard luck in a steel case. )

He’s never smoked inside his Mama’s new double-wide which is a big step up from the two of ’em sharing that 1950s, 12x60 that looked about like twenty yards of crinkled beer can, and if the double coulda ever looked worse, now's it. .

Accordin’ to his Mama, she and him was cat-scrappin' over the remote when he heard the rain and he hollers, “Oh SHIT,” rememberin' his smokes and Bic lighter is on the table whilst a chilly drizzle is hittin' that pink slab patio like piss pourin' from a boot an' all over his smokin materials, an' all?.

Well, they was only 2 smokes left in the pack and he had a fresh pack inside, but you know no lighter's gonna work when the flint’s wet, and his dander bein’ raised has him wantin' a cigarette mighty bad right about then (his temper had 'im shakin' like a dog shittin' razor blades) and enough to wanna grab an umbrella, the fresh pack, and dry the lighter for a Pall Mall in the weather.

Thank Jesus he side-stepped the microwave to get a brew just as he hit the “START” button to dry the lighter because that smithereened glass door what blowed off the microwave with a ball o’ fire behind it lit-up the double-wide like a 4th of July sky and they was lucky to escape with their lives even though that double-wide’s a soggy smolderin heap of charred nothing and his Mama is pissed about her burnt house, now, I tell ya.