18 Hours of Bitin’ Worms.
Yesterday I put Megan in my car and drove from 5AM until 1AM to get to NC for a bachelor party. It was tiring, but I wound up feeling pretty accomplished by the end of the whole deal.
Tennessee never ends. It is forever.
Anyway, I’m catching up on the internet this morning and so I thought I’d share a story that sounds more like a myth than anything else. It is from Megan’s grandfather.
Well, he was working on a ranch in California back in the 60s and there was a 25-30 acre lake there. Koy Sr. (Megan’s grandfather) was always having to run hippies, campers, and fishermen off of the lake. Most of the time it was peaceful, other times, he had to bring a gun or 6-foot pipe wrench to persuade people.
Anyway, there was a little boy out there fishing and doing a great job. Eventually is family found him down there fishing, and when they asked how he was catching all of the fish, he said, “I found me some of those bitin’ worms.”
He then put his scabbed up hand into his pocket and pulled out baby rattlesnakes.
He died before they could get him to the hospital.
July 8th, 2009 at 10:14 am by rl
