Clem Gummer stood on the porch of his house, gazing with distaste at the brand-new condo’s bordering his land, “Sum bitches!’ he screamed in frustrated rage at what he viewed as an inconceivable eyesore ruining his view. How could they ruin this view? Besides the three rusting cars up on blocks, surrounded by three foot tall unmowed grass, it was priceless.

He had stormed into the realty company selling the five acre subdivided lots, and shouted “Alright, who’s the sum bitch I talk to about y’all selling the Peters place?” A thirty-something man who looked hardly old enough to have stopped suckling like a greedy little bastard at his mamma’s engorged milk machines, approached and said,

Can I help you?” with skepticism and a bit of contempt that he was trying not to let show to the Backwoods Bob standing before him.

You bet yer bottom land you can, I demand that yawl stop trying to sell the Peters place.”

That’s progress, Mr…?’

Mister Boot Up Your Ass if you insist on going ahead with yer plans; I definitely don’t approve, and I’ll show you progress, progressing with my plan to beat your ass like Aunt Trudy’s outhouse rug if yawl perseed!”

Now, there’s no need for threats, Mr. Boot,” he replied, open hostility etched on his face.

I’m beggen to differ, M.,…”

Smythe, Benedict Smythe.”

Well, Mr. Benedict Smythe, I think there’s every reason to threaten you; and it ain’t no threat. I WILL beat your ass and ransack your office if you keep on sellen!”

Boot, you can’t stop progress, and if you try, you’ll get steamrolled, and if you don’t leave right now, I’m calling the police,” shouted an enraged Benedict Smythe.

The last thing Clem needed was for the police to come sniffing around him or his place. Granted, the thirty acres of marijuana he’d planted was purely for medicinal use, but he couldn’t expect the cops to believe that, so he meekly replied, “Alright, no need to get your skivvies tangled with your ass, I’ll go, but remember what I said, y’awl better stop selling, or they’ll be Hell to pay!”

Later that day, after returning home, Clem was still seething at the sight of the new condo’s going up where before there were only trees. “Sum bitches!” he screamed to the sky. He wasn’t going to put up with this. He’d already warned Smythe, but he didn’t expect the realty company to heed his warning. Besides, the fricking monstrosity was already almost finished. Well, he’d show his displeasure come sundown with a light show to end all light shows!

He’d purchased some bottle rockets to fire at the new construction. He knew it wouldn’t do anything, but it would make him feel better to be showing his displeasure. He was on the opposite side of the new clearing so the bottle rockets wouldn’t be coming from his place. He may be angry, but he wasn’t stupid.

He lit off the first rocket, protruding from a beer bottle he’s first finished drinking, and watched with a satisfied grin as it arced towards it’s target. “Take that, sum bitches!” he thought to himself, “Take that, Mr. Benedict fricking Smythe!” It suddenly dawned on Clem that the bottle rocket was arcing well beyond it’s intended target, and was headed for his place. Oh well, one bottle rocket wouldn’t do much. Maybe he hadn’t thought this through as well as he’d thought. He decided to forget it.

As he trudged his way homeward, he noticed a strange glow flickering through the trees in front of his place. “Sum bitch!” he shouted and broke into a run. When he burst through the trees he saw his burning crop of medicinal marijuana lighting up his four-door Plymouth and his mobile home. “Sum bitch, stop burning, you sums a bitches!” he screamed. Just then, he heard wailing sirens in the distance, getting closer by the second. With a frightened glance at the drug-fueled conflagration, he knew he was going to prison!

The End

© 2020, MikeS. All rights reserved.

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MikeS
What can I say other than I know, and I'm currently in therapy
The Return Of A Man Called Clem
5 based on 3 reviews

7 thoughts on “The Return Of A Man Called Clem

  • March 22, 2020 at 5:59 pm
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    Hi there, Mike,

    I love the premise of this story. Your MC is well-defined, and between the cartoon you included, and the portrayal of his accent, it is very easy to see him.

    I think skivies is spelled ‘skivvies.’

    Five acre is better hyphenated, five-acre, along with ‘three foot tall’ three-foot

    In the sentence, ‘As he trudged his way homeward, he (notice) a strange glow … Did you mean notices or noticed?

    Thank you for sharing — I assume there’s more? Are there older stories I should look for about Clem?

    ~MP~

  • March 15, 2020 at 5:49 pm
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    Interesting tale. The cartoon cracks me up! I known some hillbillies that resemble that guy! Rock on!

    BOO 👻 Ghost

  • March 12, 2020 at 2:38 pm
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    Hi Mike

    That is one heck of a powerful story. I love the way you make is accent come through from the page. If he sounds anything like the picture I can hear him now.

    Oops! A bit of a mishap there with his “medical crop” and he should have another beer before they’all come I reckon.

    Not sure if I’m right or not, but, I thought this one line might need changing.

    “He lit off the first rocket, protruding from a beer bottle he’s(he’d) first finished drinking,”

    I’m awaitin’ on y’all for the next chapter.

    PD

    • March 12, 2020 at 10:44 pm
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      Thanks, P. D. Thanks for pointing out the literary boner, This is a character that Fez, or Walu, enjoys quite a bit, he’s fun to write, but I don’t seem to be able to write much more than ‘Clem walked, the end’ anymore!

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