On Holly Bobo, Me Wanting Another Heavy Bag, and How All Us Girls Need To Learn To Fight Like A Man.

Did you see where that singer from The Voice was killed by a cyber stalker? That’s what I mean. People are crazy, y’all. Ever since Holly Bobo, I’ve been on the highest of alert. Because I realize that somebody can kill you after snatching you from your own driveway and the only clue was an abnormal fixation they landed on her about a week before. Hell, even Nash the dog about got drop-kicked in the face while I was walking up and down my Memaw’s hill.

I had my knee drawn up, squatted down, hands in front of my face,  straight Muhammad Ali style about to drop kick him in the jaw (because I can actually reach a dog’s jaw) before I realized he was a dog coming for me out of the woods. I don’t know if I thought he was a deer, the bobcats I’ve been hearing, or the crazies. I just know it was dark and he came at me full speed from the cemetery, and about got his sweet little head rearranged.

Everybody always says these days, “Get a gun, get a gun!” 

Get a gun? I want to get another heavy weight bag! I don’t want no damn gun, I want to learn how to fight like a dude. You try finding your bullets — because surely you people with kids aren’t stupid enough to leave a loaded gun laying around — or
your gun in your pocket book when some man comes up and blindsides you — I’ll try laying a punch to the nuts that will make him sterile and running like hell. The point is, be careful people! 

If your hinky meter goes off, and mine has been going off for a while now, pay attention! Whacked people are out there.

My mom bought me my first heavy bag.  I’m the only little girl I know that got a heavyweight bag and some handwraps from “Santa Claus” before she went to college because she was taking a boxing class.

Mom, that’s what I want for my birthday this year — because I think I gave the other to your son when I got fat for a few years. (Thank you, Dr Huffnagle for the help with that Freshman-none-of-your-business weight gain.) Hee hee.

That’s what we need in Dickson, ladies! A boxing class!! Or do we have one? I don’t mean no Tae-bo. I’m talking where they teach you to throw the same damn punch 7,655 times until you get it right. That’s where I got my upper cut from (which is beyond rusty). That’s what we need! All these women are learning how to shoot, I say we all learn how to knock a grown man the fudge out.

The world is crazy, y’all.

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