I know she ain't much to look at today, but back then she was a catch-if you could catch her. See what I mean? Yessir.
Many a fella tried. Closest thing I can compare it to is wrestling a pregnant brown bear. Not the quickest on her feet, yer ol' gramma, but she had a girth to her ... and a will to fight like she was protecting her young.
Hell no, she never licked me! Your grandpa can be a mean sonofabitch when he wants. I will tell you this though: by the time I got done a courtin' her, wasn't a piece of furniture left standing in your great grand-daddy's house and I'd run through a year supply of chicken wire.
My daddy weren't too happy with me usin' up all that wire. But when he saw the bearish, brick s**t-house of a woman I brought home from the wedding chapel, he weren't complaining.
The rumor mills was abuzz with talk of our union, mostly gossip that she could lick me. But what the rumor mills didn't know was I had an inner fortitude born of faith in the Lord, and an erection you couldn't bend with two hands. And that's not a challenge, that's a fact, mister!
Now she'd already birthed your daddy and two of your aunts 'for your ol' gramma settled into a woman of domestication. And wasn't 'til after our fourth was born that we let 'er out of the basement during daylight.
First thing I did was take her down into town and licked her somethin' awful. I remember ol' Jed Beaumont, the town constable, come up and ask me why I was beatin' on your grandmother.
So I showed that lousy sonofabitch the cantaloupe-sized chunk of flesh she'd torn out of my back. He looked at me just like the yellow-gizzarded sonofabitch he always was, and so I showed him the erection I'd worked up from whuppin' on your ol' gramma and telled him he could go ahead and use both hands, and he couldn't bend it.
Well, he just walked on back into church after that. Probably could tell from the looking at it quivering there that it weren't even worth the trying. Rumor mills clammed up after that, 'cept maybe once or twice when a child would go missing and they'd come 'round asking your ol' gramma for a stool sample. As a wiser man than me once said, can't pin nothin' on a body if you don't bring a wheel-barrow half big enough for the job."
What?! Well hell, I see it too. I reckon your gramma's funeral ain't the proper time. Musta been all the reminiscin' got my Benjamin Harrison thinkin' he's doin' the biddin' of a younger man.
But there's nothing I can do about it, now. Hell, nothing anyone could do without a yard of chain and a well built tractor. I just wanted to say a few words 'bout yer dearly departed gramma and once and for all squash any rumors still persistin' that she ever licked me. Mostly, I wanted to say once and for all what a goddamn waste I think it is, burryin' her in the Earth like this. Yer ol' gramma could send a steamboat up the Miss'ippi and back. Twice probably-if you burnt her slow enough.
Being at the top of your game can really drag you down.
Sometimes our big, dumb brains are just flat-out wrong.
Every critic is wrong from time to time.
Your favorite isn't necessarily your best -- sometimes it's your worst.