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No Trespassing: Carolers Will Be Shot
Caroling is not Southern. In fact, it may get you killed down here.
Don't misunderstand. We love our neighbors, but it never dawns on most folks around here to just show up at someone's front door unannounced and start crooning about lowing cattle or Old King Whathisface.
Showing up in the dark in packs without an invitation is a good way to get lead poisoning. Because it is known in Arkansas that a sawed off shotgun usually stands perpendicular to every welcome mat.
Some friends and I took a notion to try it once in high school. Dressed in Carhartt coats and furry hunting caps, we loaded up in the rusted out bed of Deon Darbonne's 1982 Chevy Silverado. With those old pipes booming like the Hindenburg, it's a mystery that we surprised anyone.
We decided to start at the home of one an old deacon from the church. Surely he would appreciate young fellas out heralding the birth of our Lord in song. But he thought we were coming to roll his yard in toilet paper, so he set his hog dogs on us before we could even dismount.
Next door to the deacon was Miss Ada, a fiery widow woman who ran the lady's quilting circle. When we piled onto her porch and lit into "Silent Night" she just peered at us through the mini-blinds. So overcome with the spirit of Christmas was she that she threatened to call the law.
I believe we tried 5 or 6 more houses that night without a single warm reception. Nobody shot at us, but Jeb Guthrie did get a bad case of the lockjaw from the tetanus when he cut his rear end on Deon's rusty tailgate.
You'd think that given our legendary southern hospitality we would have at least found one blue-haired Baptist lady with a soft spot for carolers. But no, not around here. Then again, it was nearly midnight. In June.
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