The Corn Belt

Diary entry; Hi, it’s Paulie, writing to you from the Corn Belt, yeah, I’m in a little town out here in corn country, Farmington, Farmington is easily found, we are at the end of the gravel road, you can’t miss us, Saturday nights are our big nights, I take the wife dancing every Saturday night down to the Corn Belt Bar and Grill, it’s always poppin’ down at the Corn Belt, you get in free if you wear a corn belt, you know, a beaded belt like the Indians made except we use corn, we bead our belts with corn kernels and show off our handiwork on weekends and special occasions, wearing a corn belt can sometimes cause trouble though down at the Bar and Grill during the Hootenanny Hopscotch segment of the night’s entertainment, if a guy wears a corn belt, things can happen, when a guy gets a wild chipmunk in his pants and a lady screams, well, there’s always a fight and the Corn Belt closes up, we never know when closing time is gonna be anymore, maybe there is some truth to what the out of towners say, that corn liquor, corn belts, and corn pone people don’t mix, well, Paulie’s pickup truck tires are throwing a bit of parking lot gravel as he pulls out onto the road, this is Paulie, rolling his window down and shouting out loud into the night, if you can’t say something positive, then can it, oh, and prepare, shalom…


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