Clem Gummer

How NOT to start your own business!

The tractor gave a lurch, once, twice, then quit altogether.

 

     "Sum b***h!  Sum of a b***h sum b***h!" yelled Clem Gummer.  Now I have to put down this here beer, get ALL the way down, and fix the sum b***h!  he thought and angrily slammed down his beer on the hood of the tractor, where it foamed over the top onto the metal, poured off it into the dirt covering the ground, and almost immediately disappeared into the thirsty dirt.

 

       "Sum b***h; what a waste!" he screamed in a rage.  So far, his day had been total s**t.  He had wanted to get this five acres planted, but it hadn't worked out so good so far.  He'd told any neighbor within spitting distance that what he was planting was green beans, but in reality he was planting another, more lucrative kind of green.  Yeah, he knew that pot was legal in a few states, but Kentucky wasn't one of them, at least so far.  He joked that his was a medical need; he needed it so he wouldn't tee off on some innocent guy's face.  He looked out over his 40 acres, planted mostly with potatoes and green beans; all but this last five acre plot, which was a clearing in the middle of the forest on his property which was hidden from prying eyes, especially the prying eyes of his neighbor Slim Chester.  That sum b***h! Clem thought.  He wiped the sweat from his brow and squinted his eyes up at the burning sun beating down mercilessly.    

 

     Speaking of beer, a frosty sum b***h sure sounds good right now! he thought, and looked at the roughly two acres he'd managed to plant so far.  He decided to take a break.  He glanced with disgust at the motionless tractor.  He thought about the long, hot hike to the 3 bedroom farmhouse he had inherited from his pappy, who had inherited it from his pappy, and so on backwards in time.  He was not a happy camper; sum b***h!  Well, he'd best start a-walkin!

 

 

******

 

 

     Slim Chester watched as that inbred idiot Clem Gummer slowly made his way back to his house.  That b*****d's up to something!  he thought to himself, so he watched until Gummer came back from his house, and followed.

 

 

     Sum b***h, is it ever hot! Clem thought as he trudged back to his broken-down tractor.  Overhead the sun beat down relentlessly and if it wasn't for the 'Chew your A*s Off! Chewing Tobacco' baseball cap he wore, his head would look like a bald lobster, like his face, only without the 2-day growth of stubble.  His hair had, like a cruel magician's trick, disappeared a long ago.  He used to make fun of bald people, until it had happened to him; now it wasn't so funny.  

 

     Sum b***h hair! he thought, as he arrived at the tractor.  Before he started making repairs he took off his hat and wiped the sweat from his brow. 

 

     "Okay, you sum b***h!" he swore viciously out loud and started in with the wrench he kept under the seat.

 

 

     Three hours, after swearing a blue streak and one set of severely skinned and painful knuckles, he had finally succeeded in getting the damn thing running again.  He climbed wearily into the driver's seat and put it into gear.  He was a dirt-encrusted ball of sweat but at least the fricking thing was running again.  He finished the row he'd been doing, turned the tractor to start a new row and felt a 'thunk!'  The tractor stopped dead, and he heard a hissing sound.

 

     "Sum b***h, sum b***h!" he shouted.  Not only had he hit something, the damn tractor had died and wouldn't start, again!   he angrily climbed down and lifted the seat.  The wrench was nowhere to be found.  "You b*****d sum b***h!," he screamed at the motionless tractor, like it was to blame.  He must have left the thing on the ground back at the other end of the field.  S**t!  He reluctantly turned and started walking back towards the other end of the field; what the hell could he have hit!

 

 

     Finally, he'd reached the spot where the tractor had broken down before.  He found the wrench just where he had dropped it and turned to start trudging back to the tractor when, as he watched, a huge explosion shook the ground and a gigantic ball of flame shot high into the air, and out of it came his tractor.  It pin wheeled out and fell to the ground, where it instantly became just a useless hunk of metal.

 

    " Sum b***h!" he yelled, and threw the wrench as far out into the field as he could. 

 

 

******

 

 

Three years earlier:

 

 

     Dave Simpleson looked at the field he was supposed to bury the natural gas line in and groaned.  So far from the road to the house, and he was looking forward to the party tonight; Sheila was going to be there, and he'd been trying for months to get into her pants, and tonight, with booze and a little luck, tonight just might be the night.  He knew he was supposed to dig a trench at least 6 feet down, but damn it, his was an emergency.  So he dug a trench just deep enough to cover the gas line with dirt.  He laid the line to the house, and in no time he was done.  It was just getting dark; he'd still have time for a quick shower before heading for the party.

 

 

******

 

 

     Slim Chester watched with undisguised mirth as Clem's tractor did a fabulous impression of Evil Knievel wiping out at Caesar's Palace and plunged back from high in the air to impale itself in the dirt.  He wasn't exactly sure what had just happened, but something Clem did had caused a major explosion.  Serves the b*****d right.  I knew he'd f**k up eventually! he thought, and turned back for his house.  The big pay-per-view demolition derby would be starting in 15 minutes, and he still had time to grab a couple of cold ones and watch it.  Sure, it would cost him $39.95, but what the hell?  "The Clem Dipshit Show" was over, at least for today!

 

 

******

 

 

     Meanwhile, back at his field, Clem was staring at the smoking crater that had been his marijuana crop and trying to figure out what had happened, when flashing blue lights came up behind him, followed by the flashing red lights of a fire truck. 

 

     Sum b***h! he scowled to himself.  Pretty soon, he was joined by a cop wearing the greenish-brown uniform of a county sheriff.

 

     "What the hell happened here?" the sheriff asked, his gut hanging over his belt buckle and sweat pouring down his face and dripping to the ground.  "Sure is hot out here!"

 

     Sum b***h; a real brainiac!  Clem thought to himself.  "Well, something blew up!" he answered, his voice dripping with sarcasm. 

 

     "I see that; everyone okay?"

 

     Not hardly; my dope crop just went up in a ball of fire! he thought, "Yeah", everyone but my tractor, you dip-s**t!

 

    "Well, at least you can be thankful for...."

 

     His comment was interrupted by a deputy wearing what looked like wool pants and a sweater underneath his uniform. 

 

     "Planning on going skiing after your shift?" said Big-Gut Cop Guy. 

 

     The deputy looked puzzled and answered "No, why?"

 

     'Tweedle Dumb and Tweedle dee! Clem chuckled to himself.

 

     "Never mind," replied Sheriff Idiot, "What do you want?"

 

     "Oh, just to say we found what appears to be marijuana seeds all around the ruined tractor."

 

     Oh, oh!

 

The End

 

      

Reviews

[Marie]

You've created one of your memorale, winnin characters here. Stupie d and unlucky. Although the final fiasco was really Dave Simpleson's fault, who was not only stupid but lazy.

[Michael Stevens]

Thank Marie; they say you should write about what you know! Lol!