The Hillibification of America: A VERY WEIRD SHOW AND TELL!

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Little did I realize during show and tell that I could have predicted the future of Televisions obsession with the south and weird traditions.

Submitted: August 22, 2014

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Submitted: August 22, 2014

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The Hillbillification of America:


by: Kilgore Trosky Trout

I am a damn Yankee. I grew up in the Midwest a burb of Chicago, but today I realize that the South is still trying to rise
and overthrow the results of the Civil War. Currently, the Southern or Hillbillies are making a solid comeback even on
TV.
TV is a quaint media that used to be free until politicians sold us out to something called the  CABLE COMPANY.
Those companies lobbied your senator with money or what Al Capone, a Yankee, would call a bribe.
Now both northern idiots and southern idiots are having to spend over $100 a month to watch reruns or Hillbillies being
filmed in their natural environment of making booze, fishing,shooting everything that walks,swims and crawls and making
babies; they later name HONEY BOO, BOO! Talk about your childhood nightmares. Going around with Honey BOO, BOO is going to haunt that kid until, she is forced to use that name as exotic dancer.


For over a year now, I noticed that these Hillbillies are featured on such esteemed networks as the History Channel,Discovery and anything on Cspan featuring the Republicans,who love stopping any Northern government from enacting anything to help anybody. It all started with a show called SWAMP PEOPLE, in the bayou of Louisiana these southerns hunt and shoot gators for a living. This is a job that takes balls and hopefully Obamacare if that ancient reptile chomps down and removes your hand.
THEN it HIT ME! The first southern I met had an affinity for those weird creatures that instill fear in me to this day.Most normal people or Yankees would think twice about getting in a rickety boat and hook into a nineteen-foot gator.

The current southern economy of Rand Paul, Mitch McConnell is based on creating poor people with bad teethand voting against Unions and healthcare. A Hillbilly has the career choice of Dante's coal inferno or killing large lizards,
or moonshine maker or better yet maybe own a confederate flag company for a day's pay. For Yankees, all those choices
seem dangerous and not a job leading to a career. The only upside to being a gator hunter is that you get to the chance to
eat meat and not beans for protein.
The only Yankees that eat lizards are the professional foodies like Zimmerman, or schnozzled Tony Bourdain or should I say Boredisdain.Tony, wherever, he goes sucks up to the Natives and will say that the food was marvelous, but he is also drunk, so his taste buds may be tainted. I tasted a southern favorite, catfish, and it reminded me of trying to eat a rubber band that had been dunked in mud. Ironically, the Hillbillies on those shows said that gator's tastes like chicken Personally, a chicken normally couldn't bite your head off and when fried is a very tasty dish without
all that hard work and danger.
WHY KILL GATORS? IS THE SOUTHERNS JUST BLOOD THIRSTY CRAZYS.
NO!
It is affluent people who demand such weird things as gator skins. Rich people for some strange reason want
belts, purses and shoes made from that beast of course without having to do the hard work of killing the beast.


I am now recalling my weird childhood where I met a southern transplant that introduced me into southern traditions
than to me seemed uniquely crazy. Now step into the time machine and let us go to 1964 and my  first-grade class with Mrs. Steigerwaltz, a woman's way past her prime for teaching. She seemed ancient like the wicked witch of  the Wizard of OZ, and she looked like her too. Mrs.Stiegerwaltz was bent over and skeleton like. For some reason, she didn't like me, nor was I fond of her. Her class was normally very boring with Dick and Jane's stories that would induce a nap by their mundane goodie two shoes lives. Then it happened something different. The Wicked Witch announced in her condescending teacher's voice.
“TOMORROW CHILDREN WE WILL HAVE SHOW AND TELL, SO BRING IN SOMETHING THAT YOU LIKE OR LOVE
INTO CLASS AND TELL YOUR FELLOW STUDENTS
WHAT IT IS.”
Wow.  Something different for a change then the drone of Mrs. Steigerwaltz, kids bringing in a part of their lives might be enlightening. Sort of an anthropoid kid study of the 1960s kids centric culture and their flotsam.
Okay, I was excited but flummoxed on what to bring in?
My toys were cheap and not exciting, Lincoln Logs, blah.
Maybe something from Pops, like his Marine stuff hidden in the attic? Nope, I got in big trouble last time I took his stuff. It came to a baseball card collection. I chewed enough gum to get a lot of cards and being near Chicago; it had to be the CUBS.


So I prepared with my Ernie Banks card, my Billy Williams and even some dreaded Yankee cards and their star players
Micky Mantle(sadly a drunk whose career was cut short.) along with his sober sidekick Roger Maris. With these at
least, I thought I would win the boys over in the class. My first show and tell, it was my introduction to show
business along with being able to see into the future of American entertainment industry. Being a dummy and not
knowing that I was seeing the future, I blew my chances of becoming a Media Mogul, like that southern gentleman Ted Turner.Okay, so I walked to school happier than on most days. I entered Busse school named after the richest families in town.
If you have money, you can have your name plastered on streets, businesses and my school, which looked like a factory
not a school. It was an old brick, flat building without air conditioning
or windows that hadn't been painted shut.
 The place also smelled of forgotten kid sack lunches; kids fear and throw-up and old lady's

perfume.
The only person in this place of edification more depressed than me going to school seemed to be Stosch,
the Janitor, who had to sweep up the kids' throw-up.

We did the normal things first more Jane and Dick stories and boredom. The excitement started building when Mrs. Steigerwaltz announced that Show and Tell would begin in a five minutes. Now go and get your items and wait to be called. Our items had been put in the lockers that held normally our winter outfits. All the kids scattered to get their items or bragging rights. This was reality TV without the TV.
Mrs. Steigerwaltz then called on her Pet Students first, all females to display our treasures.

Normally, the girls always got her special kindness as they also served as her FBI agents for Mrs. Steigerwaltz.
Let me tell you, I suffered from her dreaded narcs, as I pulled off on of those notes, she pinned
on my chest and threw away on the walk home. Miss Suzy Narc, a fellow student, in my class return that said note to
Mrs. Steigerwaltz. Of course, like the FBI the informant was given special privileges and rewarded most certainly with A
for the class and splendid write up on her report card. Seeing the stool pigeons get in the front the class didn't
impress. One they were girls whose interests were to me boring. How many dolls can one girl have?
We were informed on the Chatty Kathy doll that was annoying as the doll said the same thing over and over again

The next girl's mother dropped off her easy bake oven which, she started up and made an uncooked Brownie. That was a
big hit, since kids will eat anything even glue and paste, buggers. I got to admit; I cheered for that one. You see our
food choices in our school was sour milk, and stale Salerno butter cookie was always the lame snack of the day.
One girl brought in a board game titled career girls which today one would call political incorrect. The job was
stewardess, secretary, nurse and teacher all very Madmen.  Finally, we got to the boys and the good stuff. Okay my competition was stiff. Frank Herbert actually got up and played the piano and did an amazing version of the Tiger Rag.

This was true talent, and he should win; however, all the boys knew that Mrs. Steigerwaltz had a  girl in mind to win.
The other boys mainly brought in military items like helmets or medals from their father. Us kids had fathers who served in
world war II, and we were truly proud of them. Ernie Schack brought in super ball which was his prized
possession and then lost control of the ball and broke Mrs. Steigerwaltz vase. I and Ernie always seemed to end
up on Mrs. Steigerwaltz's shit list. I stared in wonder as some kid's toys were what I had written down for Christmas. Boy, did I feel chipped. There was the Rock'em SOC-em robots, a miniature pool table. There were all the great toys that I wished I had. Then the richest boy, Bobby Dimucci, in the class got up and carried his show and tell item in a leather brief case.

Bobby Dimucci also known as the cute one, already a teen idol for the girls strode up to the front of the class. Girls
even that young swooned when he entered the room. He had it all the clothes, the style. The kid wore cashmere sweaters
and dress pants from Marshall's fields. Bobby spent hours combing his hair. He had jet-black hair-like Elvis that was held in perfect place with Dibbidy Dew. I swear his hair once covered in Dibbidy Dew would not move out of place in a full fledged hurricane.
Hair and money are the key to success, and that was the best lesson that day, that didn't go unnoticed to my little brain.
Bobby was the richest person in class. He was dropped off by his Mother to school in a Fleetwood Caddie.
We all walked to school, and we lived six blocks away. Rumor had it that Dimuci's were richer than the Busses, but they were Italians who were considered dangerous in our town. My little town, Mt. Prospect was created by German Lutherans who had some bigots running the show, even against Italian Catholics. Black people and Mexicans were of course never to be seen in our town, which my parents didn't know, as the town had dirty little secrets that made the town somewhat southern in their beliefs. It was called red lining, meaning nobody could sell to a non-white person. Bob was a quiet kid, but with a cockiness that comes from good looks and money. He knew that the girls loved him like he was a combination of Elvis, Fabian and the Beatles rolled into a tiny well dressed package.I witnessed this during our gym class when my Northern town decided to embrace square dancing. The girls flocked to him as partner and for me and Ernie, it was the soul crushing sound of “Ick, Not you!” Now Bobby unlocked the briefcase and pulled out a toy, but not just any toy.
IT WAS THE HOLY GRAIL OF MY CHILDHOOD.
THE PRESENT I WROTE FOR TO SANTA WITH DUE DILIGENCE.
IT WAS THE JAMES BOND CAR!!!! HOLY CRAP!


Bobby now listed the awesome aspects of this fine toy. Push Button Ejection Seat, Bullet-Proof Shield Crash
Bumpers, Retractable Machine Guns (Fire Automatically)
ALL THE BOYS, JUST WENT IN UNISON: “AH...
AH... I WANT THAT..."
The damn car worked beautiful, and I cursed both Santa and my parents for this sort of toy neglect. It was the first
volley for me in the class-warfare story of my life. Every shit job I got later in life reminded me that I never got
that James Bond car, nor did my parents come up with any sort college savings fund. Don't let Fox news lie to you, there is class-warfare and whatever state you reside in you should fight for right to unionize to get a raise and tax the rich at a just level so that they don't waste their money on seven homes, high-priced hookers and cocaine.
Now Mrs. Steigerwalt got to my name in her demented style of mispronouncing my last name. “MR. TOUT, PLEASE PROCEED with your show and TELL.”
“Thank you, Mrs. SteigerPUTZ. I mean SteigerWALTZ.”

My joke got some tithers from the rebels in the class.
“Well, hello Ladies and Germs.” This Milton Berle classic fell felt.
“I have here my Baseball collection featuring some star Cub players: Ernie Banks, Billy Williams and
Lou Brock.” Some of the boys now paid slight attention, with the Cubs it was always the promise of the next year. 1964 was
not a good year for the Cubs finishing in eight place. Ironically, I was the only one in my family a baseball fan; my
Father avoided the game like it was going to church on hot summer day.

I gave up on Baseball in 1969 when the Cubs lost it all to the Mets. Yawn and boredom showed even with boys who I knew
played the American classic. My last attempt at attention was my infamous Mickey Mantle along with Roger Maris. “If you are a fan of the Yankees, I have the great home-run hitters Mickey Mantle and Roger Maris.” My response for my show was just dead silence. I felt the flop sweat of failure that would plaque my ego for years. Before the boos came, I slunk back to my desk.

Showbiz what a tough business, I grumbled to myself.
“WELL, THANK YOU BOYS AND GIRLS THAT WRAPS UP SHOW AND TELL.”
Then it happened. One of Mrs. Steigwaltz pets, Doris Twitweller, noticed with her great math skills of an accountant combined with the future skills of the NSA of keeping track of everybody that one person did not do their show and tell. Doris piped up with the missing  student in our SHOW AND TELL game, then raising her hand madly and announcing in her annoying high voice.
“MRS. STEIGERWALTZ. YOU FORGOT CLETUS  DILBERT.”


Cletus was a new student who had just moved into our burb from Florida. He was a quiet and shy boy who could easily go
missing. If he did speak his accent was so different from our Midwestern speech, we didn't understand him.
Cletus beamed and smiled that big missing tooth grin. He was carrying a shoe box that normally housed Converse
high tops. By his dress, we thought it couldn't be an outrageous expensive toy.
“HOWDY, Ize brought in my Pets that came with me all the way from Florida.”

Now most kids like animals so that Cletus had our attention.
Mrs. Steigerwaltz had seen her share of hamsters or gold  fish, so she was basically sitting at her desk as bored as a
postal worker. In fact, Mrs. Steigerwaltz was napping while Cletus was doing his presentation.
This was normal since Mrs. Steigerwaltz age which I calculated at one hundred caused her to take many naps.
Cletus now lifted the cover off the box and announced:
“ MY PET GATORS.”

The class gasped. Some non-watchers of Mutal Omaha Wild  Kingdom didn't even know what a gator was. “HOLY CRAP!
GATORS. I, being a dedicated watcher of the first reality show of course knew the beast for what it was an
evolutionary eating machine that lived back along with the dinosaurs.
Cletus set his box of Gators on Mrs. Steigerwaltz's desk while she slept the blessed sleep of the elderly.
Cletus gingerly picked up one of his pets and pointed in the direction of the class. The girls screamed:
“YUCK!” “ GET THAT THING AWAY FROM ME.”
This noise woke up Mrs. Steigerwaltz from her nap. Cletus now egged on by the girls screams moved his pet
closer to This noise woke up Mrs. Steigerwaltz from her nap. Cletus now egged on by the girls screams moved his pet  closer to their faces. Mrs. Steigerwaltz looked on trying to comprehend what was going on. She was not the sharpest tool in the shed, especially after one of her naps.
“WHAT ARE DOING CLITUS?”

As Cletus turned around to face the music. Mrs. Steigerwaltz hands were right next to the box of

gators.
“I am just showing um my pet Gators.” “HUH? PET WHAT?” Just as Mrs. Steigerwaltz asked her
question one of the Gators literally popped out of the box on her desk and tried to take a bite out of her.
Mrs. Steigerwaltz ran screaming from the room. The class cheered, and Cletus had to collect his gators as Mrs.
Steigerwaltz in her mad dash knocked the box over. Cletus had six gators all small but snappish.
. “Don't you worry you little pea-pickers; “Don't you worry you little pea-pickers; they don't bite
hard.” Cletus said this, but the class did become very skittish as those little creatures can move rather quickly.
As a Yankee, I preferred a dog, as the gators didn't seem to answer to commands or want to cuddle.

The bell rang for the end of the day, and Cletus had all his gators back in his shoe box. I assumed that Mrs. Steigerwaltz
was having a nervous breakdown in the teachers' lounge. It was the most exciting day; I ever had in school. That
Southern surely shock up the class. We both left at the same time and walked down the block.

Cletus lived in one of the smaller starter homes, and I lived a couple blocks down in a bigger cape-cod house. Cletus seemed nice and he said carrying his prized pets, “Dya wanna see them again.”
I gulped a little and said, “Sure. As he lifted the cover, I noticed that Cletus's hands were covered in bites.”
“You can pet them if you're careful not to put a finger next to their mouths.”
With trepidation, I found the least active one and stroked him on his back. Cletus said something that I hoped would
never come in handy. “You can get them to go to sleep  if you rub their belly.” “I will show you.” Cletus grasped a
gator he called Bruce Lee and but him on his back.”
Holy Jesus,it did work the Gator just went to sleep like Mrs. Steigerwaltz. “Cletus you had the best show, ever.”
Sadly, I never saw Cletus again. I think Mrs. Steigwaltz made a stink about him and he transferred to Bible school.
Whenever I watch Swamp People on the History channel, I smile and think of Cletus.
I also hope that his Gators remained friendly. Not sure if he would like a show about shooting his friends the Gators?

EPILOGUE:  I did meet a kid with a box gators, some of this is fact and fiction but the kid did bring them to school.
This satire and I have nothing against Southerners. I was actually hoping for a new position of an American Ambassador to work with the average citizens of the South to make America
the United States of America. The Southern stratagem of politicians is to divide us and has been
used when the Dixiecrats held power down south. The Republicans held power now and stuck in the same stragem. They both used the scare techniques of the others, the blacks, the browns. Nixon used this effectively pointing on the need of law and order, minus the fact that his own Vice-President was taking bribes in the cheesy manner of receiving
envelopes of cash in the White-house. Ronald Reagan began his campaign in Mississippi not far
from where Civil rights workers were murdered for trying to something as simple as register to allow non-beige people to vote.


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