Ever have one of those mornings? First, I overslept. Then, when I finally got ready to walk out the door I spilled coffee on my shirt. So I ran back upstairs and while I was changing, the cat decided to give my shoes a gift in the form of a hairball.
Why did I even get out of bed?
By the time I got to work, the only thing darker than the raincloud overhead was my mood. I decided to sit at my desk, not bother anyone and just bury my head in some work.
Of course the phone had other ideas.
“This here Tim Timmons?” a familiar twang started out. “Well, this is the Publisher’s Clearing Beef House in Covington, Indiana and we are here to tell you that you have won our mega grand prize super duper big deal jackpot.”
Why today?
“Hello, Bubba.”
“Damn, Timmons! How’d you know it was me? I didn’t even get to tell you what you won yet.”
“Well, I hate to spoil it for you, Bubba. What’d I win?”
“A TV dinner for two and all the microwave popcorn you can eat!”
“Bubba, listen,” I started. “I know it’s been a while since we talked. And you know you are my favorite redneck, but I really am not having a good day and I need to-”
“Relax, Timmons! You’re too uptight all the time. Besides, I got something that’s right up your alley since you’re such a political junkie and all. Hey! Speaking of politics, you know what that good-looking Melania sees in her husband?”
Why can’t I ever get him to hang up when I need him to?
“A billionaire with high blood pressure!”
Bubba howled at his own joke and I could almost hear him doubling up.
“Hey Timmons, I got another one. Did you hear that they’re going to add one letter to Air Force One, but it will change everything? Did you hear about that, Timmons? Did you?
“No Bubba,” I sighed. “I have not heard that.”
“Yup, the letter H. It’s now going to be Hair Force One.”
Before I could even groan, he kept going.
“And if people don’t like it, Trump will get them toupee! Get it, Timmons? To Pay?”
More howling.
“Ha! I kill myself sometimes.”
“Listen, Bubba. I really do appreciate the jokes but I’ve got a paper to put out and-”
“OK, I hear you big man,” he says. “And I’m gonna let you go right quick. But I do have one serious question that I want to ask about this whole PO-litical mess and I know that you will be able to set me in the right direction. I been following this whistleblower thing and it’s surely important. I mean you got to take that serious because it can change everything. And you know how I know that?”
I wasn’t sure if this was another punchline getting ready to explode or a serious question.
“No, Bubba. I don’t know how you know that.”
“My grandpappy was a whistleblower,” Bubba said with more than a touch of pride to his voice. “He lived down in the hills of southern Indiana and I can tell you that he took it real serious like and it purt near broke his heart when the mule reared back and kicked ol’ grandpappy right in the chin. I mean he lost most of his teeth – well, at least the important ones – and he just couldn’t whistle no more. But I tell you what, Timmons. He made up for it by learning to blow real hard into a empty moonshine jug and it made the sweetest sound. So do you reckon I ought to call that Pee-losi lady and let her know?”

Two cents, which is about how much Timmons said his columns are worth, appears periodically in The Paper. Timmons is the publisher of The Paper and can be contacted at ttimmons@thepaper24-7.com.