Stories That Make You Laugh

Share a funny summer story with your friends with this tall tale fishing story.


| May/June 1977



Fly Fishing

Read the funniest tall tale fishing story told right from the Plumtree Crossin' General Store.


PHOTO: FOTOLIA/RÉMY MASSEGLIA

Well sir, you can sure tell that winter is over and spring is officially here: The tourists are returnin' to Barren County and, sooner or later, most of 'em stop over at the Plumtree Crossin' General Store for a bottle of Nehi orange and a Moon Pie.

Generally, of course, the fellers whittlin' out in front of the place get along right well with these folks. But every once in a while, one of the pilgrims that's passin' through takes it upon his self to what you might call "engage in a battle of wits" with the gentlemen lined up out there on the liars' bench. And that's always a mistake. I mean, those ole duffers may look quaint and colorful and as innocent as fresh-laid eggs jest a'sittin' there in their bib overalls and straw hats ... but when it comes to serious lyin,' well they jest don't give no quarter, if y'comprehend what I'm gettin' at.

As good an example of this phenomenon of nature as any, I reckon, was the jasper who stopped by last summer on his way from Poughkeepsie to Abilene — Kansas, not Texas — by what he referred to as "the scenic southern route."

Now it ain't no reflection on either one of them fine towns I jest mentioned, but this particular bird-of-passage was somethin' to see. He was all fancied up with one of them there razor-cut hairdos and suede leather leisure suits and he was wearin' $150 boots that had been very carefully sewed together to look like $12.95 brogans and — all in all — it was hard to tell whether he was an anchor man for the evenin' news on some big city TV station or a used car dealer.

Whatever he did for a livin,' though, it was obvious that he was experienced in misplacin' the truth from time to time ... and it was also obvious that, as familiar as he was with this age-old pastime of the human race, he'd never really developed a talent for falsifyin' with any kind of an accomplished flair.

Oh, this feller could stretch the truth, misstate the facts, or outright lie about as good as any city person ... but he had never learned to do it with the downright good humor and affection of the average country prevaricator. In other words, he could tell the mean little lies that'd cheat you out of money ... but when it came to the really heroic, groundpawin', ripsnortin', throw-back-yer-head-and-beller, false witnessin' that was so good and so basically innocent and so entertainin' that folks'd actually rob banks to get the money to pay for ... well, this peckerwood wasn't even in the runnin'.





dairy goat

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