The World of Hampton Plunkett

Tonight I’m poling

up the creek

for bullfrog gigging.

Here’s my gear–

gig with trident prongs,


bucket with aerator.

You may wonder

what I do with ‘em.

I eat ‘em!

The small ones I keep

for bait for lunker bass.


A coupla weeks ago, a fella

came on my night tour.

He was a real Indian,

not one of ours.

Works for NASA in Huntsville.

He even wore his rag–

headdress I mean–

it was about 90 that night.

You know he didn’t want

any frogs to take back home

for dinner?

He eats no meat. I said, “Frogs ain’t meat.”

He said, “If it’s alive and moving,

it’s meat.”


Said “I need to let my wife…”

“Wife!” I said.

Sally lets me stay out all night

as long as I’m back by sun up.

She’s a real fine gal.

A real looker too!


What are you writing down there?

You a song-writer?

Can you put me in?

Me, I like the oldies–

Lynyrd Skynyrd, ZZ Top.

Yeah, I feel safe here.

Luther knows all the creeks

and steers me away from the meth lab.

He’s a real fine hunter,

a good gig-man, perfect at night

since he’s black like the ace of spades.

You may think I’m agin’

the Nigras. I’m not.

I just don’t want any as my mayor.

Thank God, Barack Hussein Obama

is out. He kicked out

the Mexicans so he could let in

his Muslim friends.

They’re even in Congress!

At least my Indian, Mr. Singh,

ain’t one of them.

He told me so himself.


Me, I’m Christian,

Bible-reading and firm-believing.

I read it every day,

but I don’t like some parts.

“Vengeance is mine says the Lord.”

Since the Lord is way up in Heaven,

why can’t I do the job for him?

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