A Stump County Christmas

My name is Half Whitt-the local reporter 

for the Stump County newspaper and all its disorder. 

In all of Stump County not one person is real, 

but we live our imaginary lives with much zeal. 

Stump County’s not real, it’s not real at all 

but the difference between us is still very small. 

We’re a century behind the place where you live

 but we have advice that we’re happy to give. 

‘Cause the problems we have are exactly the same

as the ones you are having- it’s almost a game. 

We worry about money, and our jobs at the mill 

and paying our taxes as well as our bills.

This morning our editor named Carlotta Gutz 

said, “Good morning, folks, now get off of your butts.”

She assigned an assignment with almost no reason:

“In only three days it’s the blessed Christmas season,

so write me a column on Christmas today –

a column the readers will all say that it pleased um.” 

Well, I was bumfuzzled-didn’t know what to do 

‘cause all Christmas is about is God’s gift to you.

But when the Editor says write, well then, write’s what you do

 and you write and write until you are through. 

So I’m assigned now to write Stump’s Christmas letter 

like the one from a relative with everything better-

with kids who are genius- their lives have no clatter

and nothing ever goes wrong for that matter.

With nothing but raises, and bonus assignments-

They live in great houses with all the refinements.

But here it’s not like that; we live hand to mouth

We’re here in Stump County, near the very Deep South.

We’re here in Stump County, we’re not real at all

but the difference between us is still very small.

You may see yourself or someone you know

‘cause people are people wherever you go.

We have a few loafers, a drinker or two,

We have some hard workers whatever they do.

We have a few folks who do nothing at all

but think they’re Important and stand very tall.

They have no successes but they talk a good game

And then when they fail they know just who to blame.

We have our own crook and a racist or two;

If you look really closely you might even see you.

But Stump County’s not real, it is not real at all.

It’s not real in the summer or winter or fall.

So don’t get excited- get your drawers in a knot

When you see your own daddy or uncle or aunt.

‘Cause Stump County’s not real- it really is not.