I have went to one family reunion in my life on my Dad’s side. It was in such a small town in West Virginia that it is not even on the map. We actually had to drive through a creek to get to the site, an old schoolhouse with no power. The food was good, but I had one problem. I hate flies. Flies love two things – dog shit and food. I saw so many flies, I think I literally ate some chips and drank seven cans of pop (yes, I say pop – don’t act like you don’t know what pop is, you snooty “soda” jerks). Or was it beer? Whatever. I saw about 90 people I didn’t know and we left later.
My favorite part, though, even more than horseshoes, was the Coen entertainment device known as the pole. Some slack-jawed offshoot of our tree put a phone pole up years ago. They nail a $20 to the top and grease the pole down, then watch the multitude of young hill children scurry up the pole in vain, only to fall down, defeated. I like to call this device the human bug zapper. It is great for its simplicity and yet horribly an eye opening reminder of my Appalachian roots. Imagine the “Wild and Wonderful Whites of West Virginia” minus the multitude of federal firearms violations and jail sentences. OK, keep those in, but a lot less felonies.
Sounds like that pole is the roots of why “Poop Dollar” might be your favorite trick.