Here’s one for you. A good old Carolina fight at a funeral. My family got in a fight in front of the casket. It started because one of my aunts rented a limousine for certain members of the family to ride in. Others thought she was being uppity. She probably was, but…whatever. No shit. It was awful. Painful. But funny when I think about it now. When all the hell was over, they ate fried chicken. They’d disown me if they knew I was telling this on the internet. Luckily, they don’t have the internet.

Thanks for the awesome site. I can’t wait to read it all.

I’ve lived all over, and carry snippits of regional accent with me (hawaiian pidgen, german clip, georgia and texas drawl) and call upon them at will.

It’s like a splendid costume wardrobe I pack that cloaks me appropriately, no matter the occasion.

Yours does, too.

Of course, my Great Grandfather Percy pulled him down off the casket and swore a most awful blood-oath that he’d be dead before sunset from the beating he’d catch if he didn’t depart immediately. I always liked Great Grandpa Percy. He was a saucy old coot.

And that ain’t fiction, sister.