Pete's News

ALL THE NEWS THAT'S FIT TO PRINT 
AND SOME THAT AIN'T


Howdy folks! This here's ol' Pete and Rosebud comin' at you again!

I'm glad last week is over. My mama used to tell me not to wish my life away, but last week was a humdinger. I got so caught up in everthing else I forgot that last Saturday was tax day. You know what tax day is—April the fifteenth, the last day you've got to send Uncle Sam what you owe him for your income tax. That is, if you owe him anything. It's been years since I've made enough to pay taxes. I ain't paid the first penny's tax since I got my mule Rosebud. I reckon that's one thing she's good for. She makes a right nice tax deduction.

Now I know what you're thinkin', but you're wrong. Right now, you're goin', "Oh, no! That pore ole dummy has done gone and turned in his mule as one of them de-pendents on his income taxes. Them IRS agents is gonna come down there to Gump Holler, 'rest him and haul him off to jail for income tax invasion." Relax friends, I got more sense than that. Well, maybe that's not exactly right. I don't know nothin' atall about that income tax paperwork, but I've got gumption enough to know it when I don't know nothin'. I get my taxes done up by somebody that does know what they're doin'. On toward the end of January, I gather up all my paperwork and take it all down there to Miss Beulene Snodgrass at her place and let her sort it all out.

Miss Beulene has been doin' taxes up here in the holler forever. Well, it seems like forever. She's been doin' it as long as I can remember, that and runnin' the dance studio she's got. I reckon she's learned about everbody up here in these parts how to dance, boys and girls both. She starts 'em off while they're still purty young, in third or fourth grade, and learns 'em how to square dance, round dance and whatnot. She even learnt me how to dance. Or, tried to. I never was no good at it. She always told me I had two left feet and after awhile I reckon she just give up tryin' to learn me how. I'm think I must be the only one to ever flunk out of the Beulene Snodgrass Income Tax Service and Dance Studio. It kinda hurt my feelin's there for awhile, gettin' booted like that, but after I got grown I could see the wisdom in it. I wasn't never gonna learn how to dance no matter how long I tried. How's that ole sayin' go? Ain't no use in beatin' a dead hawg? Somethin' like that. I don't know. It might be a dead cow.

I don't know what a dead hawg or cow either one has got to do with anything. Prob'ly nothin'. But I always wanted to see if I could work that ole sayin' in to somethin' I was talkin' about and this looked like my chance. Sorry 'bout that.

Some might think it's a little unusual to have an income tax service and dance studio all together like that, but Miss Beulene always seems to make it run smooth. It don't run quite as smooth now as it used to, but like I said before, Miss Beulene is gettin' a little age on her. And that wheelchair ain't slowed her down near as much as people thought it would. She got her this. . . uh. . . well, it's a carriage whip is what it is. It's a longish, stiff-braided whip with a little leather flipper on the end and it helps her a bunch. If anything, she's doin' better now than she did before she got to where she had to get the wheelchair. Before that, she had this walker and was tryin' to shuffle around and dance and it just wasn't workin' out. Now she gets out there rollin' around in her wheelchair and takes that whip and snaps it a few times and gets all them young'uns lined up and doin' what she tells 'em.

One thing she don't have to worry about is them young'uns not payin' attention. It don't take long for 'em to figger out that when she's sayin' somethin', they need to be listenin'. Somebody gets to horsin' around, lookin' out the winder, not payin' no attention or somethin' like that, she'll just take and give 'em a little flick on the ear with that whip. She's good with that thing. It shore cuts down on all the talkin' and tellin' she used to have to do. One time sayin' somethin' generally does it. I might've even learned how to dance myself if she'd had that whip back when I was a young'un. It does wonders for keepin' everbody squared away and centered up on what they're s'posed to be doin'.

Here the last few years, she's been knowed to use it in the tax part of her bizness too. If she tells you to be there at such and such a time on a certain date, you'd best be there or have a good reason why you wasn't. That whip is always close at hand. I don't think she's ever actual hit anybody with it, but I know that one time she snapped a cigarette out of some pore ole Joe's mouth that dared to come in her place a smokin'. That there's a no-no. If they's one thing Miss Beulene Snodgrass can't abide, it's smokin' in her place of bizness. You don't come around her a smokin'. This feller, I forget his name, got to tellin' about what happened down at the store. First thing he knowed, he said, he heard this crackin' sound, kinda like a twenty-two goin' off. Then, sparks and stuff from his cigarette come rainin' down on top of his head. Said he thought it was gonna set his hair on fire. Said it no doubt would have if he hadn't been bald headed. And he laughed right there. Everbody did.

That's the way people are about Miss Beulene and her all-mixed-up-together dance studio and tax service. She might be a little on the odd side, but she's one of us. We like her. As long as she wants to do my taxes, she can. She's the best.

You can contact Pete and Rosebud by email at
bstover43@yahoo.com