Redneck Review

Saturday, September 03, 2005

My New Phone Line















Take a look at my new phone line. He's right purty, ain't he?
But doesn't he at least belong in a shallow grave? As you can
see, he runs right beside #1 son's $300-car-cruising-route.

Here's the scoop. Hillbilly Husband stayed home from work
due to his pneumonia and pre-MRI knee. (Please, please, please,
let him tell me he put on pants by 2:30 pm for the telephone man).
So he found out that there was indeed a problem with the outside
phone line. Everything was not just fine, as the SBC reps kept
telling me after "running a check."

First cat out of the bag (as HH likes to say), Phone Man found
out that there was a break in the line. HH immediately confessed,
"You should know that my son cut through the line when putting in
an electric line for me, and I spliced it with regular wire, not phone
wire." Everybody make a Note to Self: If I ever commit a crime,
do
not ask HH to give me an alibi. This was HH's 24 year old son,
not our 10 year old. And it happened 2 years ago, with no phone
problems until now.

The line was cut through completely in a spot under some gravel,
which is where #1 son parks his $300 car between rides.
Apparently, the constant driving over the gravel caused the rocks
to sever the telephone line, even though HH had enclosed it in metal
conduit. It is really the fault of SBC, who originally ran the phone line
there, and buried it about 2 inches at the deepest, and left it on the top
of the ground in other spots. When HH decided to pour 3 loads of
gravel there, he enclosed it in metal conduit.

So HH tells the Phone Man that he has been wanting to disc his
field in front of the barn, but was afraid to because of that phone
wire. Phone Man said that he might as well run new wire instead
of splicing the old one to get cut again. So instead of running the
shortest way as the crow flies, he ran it across our front field by
the gravel road, and down the sinkhole line. Picture the old phone
line as the hypotenuse of a right triangle, and the new one as the
two sides. Or not. I know Mabel will get it, even if nobody else
does.

Shh....HH was not really planning to disc the field. He wanted
the phone line to run straight down from the road, not meander
across the property. Phone Man said that within a week, they
should be back with a trencher to bury Mr.Phone Line in a
shallow grave. Then I will be able to rest in peace that my
internet service will remain intact, and #1 son can go back to
driving his car.

9 Comments:

  • At 6:14 PM, Blogger Rebecca said…

    HI Hillbilly Mom,
    A squared plus B squared equals C squared. I know about triangles, but don't worry, I wont be bothering any of your school kids with sucn nonsense.
    HooRoo
    Bec

     
  • At 8:16 AM, Blogger Redneck Diva said…

    All this talk of shallow graves makes me wonder if you're just Fitty in disguise . . .


    Hearing your tale of phoneline woes, makes me wonder if maybe we have a break in our line somewhere. I just figured it was old lines, but now I'm thinking I should check with Mr. Diva to makes sure he hasn't been splicing things with the wrong kind of wire.

    Aren't redneck men awesome?

     
  • At 9:50 AM, Blogger coffee and cigarettes said…

    I don't know why exactly, but that story reminds me of the time my father decided to clean up the kitchen (always a big mistake) and to save space in the cupboards he poured half of a $60 bottle of olive oil (a gift from a Greek friend) into a $4 bottle of savings brand vegetable oil. His rationale? Why waste so much space in the cupboard when both of the oils could fit in the one bottle? The look on my mother's face was classic.

    btw., it is Rachel here from legless, this is a sign in name for a different blog I have just started putting the occasional post on

     
  • At 10:32 AM, Blogger Hillbilly Mom said…

    Bec,
    Yes, my school kids have more important knowledge to file into their brains, such as whether I carry my desk with me to the other building.

    Diva,
    I am not really "Fitty," but I do appreciate a good shallow grave.

    The redneck motto: "Why call someone that knows what they're doing when you can rig it up yourself with some duct tape, wire ties, and spray paint?"

     
  • At 10:37 AM, Blogger Hillbilly Mom said…

    Rachy,
    I know exactly what you're talking about.

    HH stored some moonshine from a South Carolina business trip in a Mountain Dew bottle in the fridge. Let's not forget (like he did) that we have young hillbilly children in the house. Mountain Dew to young hillbilly children is like crack for ferrets.

    Oh, and he brought it back in his carry-on luggage on the plane. Guess terrorists haven't picked up on this idea yet. I bet that moonshine would flame pretty good if you stuck a rag in the top of the bottle.

     
  • At 3:06 PM, Blogger coffee and cigarettes said…

    my father went to the States on a business trip last year and brought some moonshine back home with him in his carry on luggage, in a clear glass jar, which I'm pretty sure you're not allowed to do. He got stopped at customs in Australia and asked what it was, so he told them it was ointment for his skin problem on his legs, and even PUT SOME ON to prove it to the customs guys... I guess it was their dumb fault for believing him right? Anyhow, Dad got to bring his moonshine home (we won't speak about the Davy Crockett hat) and all we had to pay for it was a sore leg for a week!

    Hopefully the kids picked up on that evil smell after opening the bottle?

     
  • At 3:55 PM, Blogger Hillbilly Mom said…

    Rachy,
    Lucky for me that my kids do listen to me about SOME things. They are not allowed to have Mountain Dew because it makes them hyper. So that means they grab the bottle and say, "Hey, where did this come from? Can I have some?" And then HH confessed that it was his moonshine, and got a good scolding from #1 son about how "...we're just kids, and what if we DRANK that stuff?"

    Ha! I like that he even rubbed it on his leg. Once we saw a raccoon roadkill, and HH said, "I need to stop and cut off the tail and make me a coonskin hat." But I talked him out of it.

     
  • At 1:27 AM, Blogger Rachy said…

    Unfortunately I was around when my father made the purchase of his hat, and I swear to God he probably also would have stopped to get the tale from the dead possum to make it. Thank God he bought it from a shop then! (Holy crap, the first time I appreciated something about my father's Davy Crockett hat)

    And I'm loving the fact that #1 son gave HH a lecture about the moonshine. I would have loved to be a fly on the wall

     
  • At 1:31 AM, Blogger Rachy said…

    I meant raccoon, not possum! Although my father would probably stop to get the tail from both

     

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