American Humor and the Red Railroad

The last laugh column shares MOTHER EARTH NEWS Plumtree boys and reader submitted regional American humor with other MOTHER readers.


| March/April 1988



110-160-01

After sharing a few rounds of liquid glasnost, though, the Plumtree gang was feeling downright comradely. Ol' Ivan loosened up, too.


ILLUSTRATION: PETER KUPER

Last Laugh shares MOTHER EARTH NEWS reader submitted American humor with other readers. 

When ideas fail, words come in very handy.
—Goethe
 

American Humor and the Red Railroad

Well sir, the Ramblin' Rail Riders of the Plumtree Crossing General Assembly had seen enough of New Jersey (last issue, remember?), so they jumped on a southbound train. It was a dank, bonechilling March night. No one was in the fellas' railcar except one heavyset man in an old burly overcoat, so Purvis Jacobs pulled out a jug of homemade pertnin' juice and passed it around. After Ott Bartlett took his swallow, he offered some to the stranger beside him.

"Spasibo," the man said, and took a long swig. The boys smiled slyly when that fella filled his throat with Jacobs' 150-proof tonsillectomizer. But the man just smacked his lips and passed the jug on. "Horoshiey," he said, then produced his own bottle from his overcoat and offered it to Ott. Bartlett was a tad surprised, but then tilted 'er back.

"Vodka," the man said in a thick voice. "My name is Ivan Redneckovich. I emigrate from Russia. Happy to meet you."

You could have knocked our boys over with a sparrow's breakfast when they heard that. After sharing a few rounds of liquid glasnost, though, the Plumtree gang was feeling downright comradely. Ol' Ivan loosened up, too.





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