“Yer jess jealous. Do ya want me to do yourn?” At that point, Willy gave a big lopsided grin.
Shocked that Willy would suggest doing his face up, Bubba said, “Naw, I thank I’ll pass on the como-flu-gie. Let’s go.”
Nearing the farmhouse, the two men stopped by a big cedar tree and looked at the windows. No lights were on, so they took that as a green light to continue with the prank. Bubba’s momma always said old man Cisco didn’t have no dawgs ‘cause he was to tight to feed ‘em. She had also said he didn’t even have ‘lectricity or runnin’ water, ‘cause they weren’t free.
“Let’s do ‘er Willy,” Bubba spoke in a hushed whisper as he moved toward the rear of the house.
Things were going great until Willy stepped on a discarded 1957 Chevy hubcap and fell against six empty fifty-five gallon oil drums, which knocked over a discarded freezer.
“Willy, why didn’t you jess walk up and knock on the old coots door and tell ‘em were a-gonna move his outhouse!” Bubba whispered.
“Sorry, I was tryin’ to ‘void the electric fence.”
“Well, keep the noise down son,” Bubba shot back quickly, he was still angry. Then he thought, ‘lectric fence. I didn’t see no ‘lectric fence.
For the next ten minutes, neither one moved or spoke. The only noise was an occasional phoot followed by a twang as Willy discharged his tobacco juice against a nearby empty oil drum.
“Ok, let’s go,” Bubba said.
The two men moved silently to the back yard of the main house. Stopping to let his eyes adjust to the increased darkness, Bubba saw their objective. It was exactly where it had been thirty years ago. There, in all it’s rundown glory, was the famous structure . . . old man Cisco’s outhouse!
“Let’s go move ‘er Bubba!” Willy’s voice was edged with excitement.
“Somethang don’t look right to me Willy. Stay heah fer a spell and let me thank on it.”
“Ya thank all ya want, us Marines is men of action.” And, with that said, Willy ran toward the structure.
