Yesterday, resident KSKentuckian flubby directed our attention to this story, and without dipping into too much hyperbole, I can say that it is at once the saddest and funniest thing I’ve read all week.  It’s a terrible family tragedy in which every tired hillbilly stereotype gets paraded around without the slightest hint of irony.

Come, let’s read it together.  Something that involves tractors, highway blockage, trailer smashing, 35-year-old grandmothers, and pie-stealing shouldn’t be experienced alone.

There’s little undisputed in this story, the tale of the tipped trailer.

Frances Barton’s single-wide, the one she had fully paid $5,000 for and was hoping to move to a little piece of land she was buying on a $250-a-month land contract, is now literally in pieces on Jim Gaunce’s front lawn.

Rule of thumb: any news article that includes the term “single-wide” ain’t gonna have much good news.

And, everyone agrees, that leaves some 12 people — four adults and eight children ranging from 3 months to 12 years — facing Thanksgiving with no place to live.

How, exactly, the mobile home came to this odd resting place is where the story gets complicated. On Friday, Barton hired a guy to put her house on a trailer and move it up U.S. 68 in Nicholas County. When the trailer broke down and the house blocked the highway for hours on end, the sheriff got involved…

Barton’s boyfriend, Alan Gaunce, no relation to Jim [Somehow, I doubt that - Ed.], said somebody — he’s not sure who — told him he’d be shot if he didn’t get out of the trailer before it was toppled. Barton, a grandma at 35 with gold streaks in red hair [RAWR!], tearfully contends that Nicholas County Sheriff Dick Garrett “showed no respect for my home” when he ultimately ordered two tractors to ram the thing and set it on its side.

I want you to take a break right now.  Think the sexy young grandma was good?  Just wait.  Try to steel yourself for two paragraphs of pure, unfiltered awesome:

On the other hand, Garrett, a wiry chain-smoker who ran for re-election with the slogan of “More ‘Dick’ in 2006,” maintains that anybody who thinks it’s a fine plan to pay somebody $200 to move their 25-year-old home, all their belongings, and a passel of pets with a farm tractor can’t exactly complain when things go wrong.

“I know I wouldn’t pay somebody $200 to move my house and everything in it,” said Garrett, noting that the group didn’t have a required permit or escort. Basically, he said, he could have arrested the lot of them: Barton, her brood and the hauler. The charge, he said: “being ignorant.”

/kisses fingers

I just checked to see who wrote this article.  Mary Meehan.  I would make love to her right now if I could.

To be fair, the partial closing of U.S. 68 for some nine hours on a Friday night is pretty major in Nicholas County, where Garrett Tuesday was reviewing a Mayberry-like constituent call concerning a thwarted attempt to snatch a fresh cherry pie from a kitchen.

…while someone provided a backdrop of up-tempo banjo music, no doubt.

He said he did all he could think of to salvage the mobile home, but had to get the road clear. “It’s a federal highway,” said Garrett, who stood in the rain from roughly 4:30 p.m. Friday until 2 a.m. directing traffic with the rest of his force, a single deputy.

“I’m sorry it happened,” he said, “I really am.”

But, asked what he would have done differently, Garrett said, “I’d have knocked it over sooner.”

That’s it.  I want to head up his next reelection committee.  “More Dick All the Time.”

Barton spent more than an hour Tuesday standing and crying next to a 10-foot-high pile of wooden walls and pink insulation, sometimes cradling her daughter’s doll, one starting to show signs of black mildew after sitting in the damp remnants of the house. Over and over, she said, “Everything is gone. I’ve lost everything. It’s all I had.”

Whoa.  Who invited Debbie Downer?  Lady, you mind?  We’re trying to laugh about your misfortune.

Barton, who helps manage the mobile park where she lived, paid for her home with a settlement from an automobile accident. It’s the first home she’s owned by herself.

She said she thought the man she hired to move her home knew what he was doing. Chris “Pancake” Meyers told her, she said, that he had more than 13 years’ experience in hauling things and that he had the proper permits and insurance for the move. (She didn’t ask to see proof of insurance or a permit, she said. Meyers could not be reached for comment Tuesday by the Herald-Leader.)

Besides, she trusted Pancake.  Anyone with such a delicious name HAS to be good!

About 1½ miles into the move, the tires popped off. Sheriff Garrett said he’s heard that somebody warned the group the tires would be loose and they should stop the move. He said Barton insisted on going ahead.

And soon found herself in front of Jim Gaunce’s house on U.S. 68. Garrett said over the course of the evening, he did everything he could think of to get the house unstuck so it could be salvaged. But, he said, several of the well-intentioned efforts did significant damage to the house. For example, trying to push with one truck from behind while pulling from the front resulted in the hitch coming off and Barton’s blue-walled bedroom being crushed.

“My bad.”

Lee Roberts, owner of Roberts Heavy-Duty Towing in Lexington, said his company was called in to help. “We tried to pull the trailer back on the road but couldn’t without tearing it to pieces.”

When asked to push it off the road to clear the traffic flow, Roberts said he declined to do so.

That’s when, Garrett said, he called on Meyers and another farmer with a tractor to tip the trailer.

He said he gave Barton and her friends and family at least two hours to get out what they needed and asked more than once if they had everything they wanted before he issued the order to push. Garrett said he didn’t know how badly damaged the trailer might be, but thought he had no other choice.

Barton said she collapsed before the final destruction and was taken away by a friend, but Alan Gaunce said Garrett told him the cleanup was “all up to you, baby.”

/fires double gunfingaz

Garret said he has given Barton 10 days to clean up the mess. He’s already talked to the county attorney about charges if the debris hasn’t been removed. Even as looky-loos slowed while driving by the wrecked house and an increasing number of clumps of insulation littered Jim Gaunce’s yard, Garrett said it’s not the responsibility of the county to do the demolition or removal.

Without money, Barton said, she’s relying on friends to dismantle and move the trash. At least two of the men working Tuesday said they took off time from their jobs on horse farms to help and are working with hammers, a sledge hammer and a chain saw. The Red Cross paid for a hotel room for a few days, but now Barton is on her own. The family, a mishmash of real kin and unofficially adopted kids, teens and young adults, are crammed into a smaller trailer while Barton tries to sort through it all.

…Tiffany, Heather, Cody, Dylan, Dermot, Jordan, Taylor, Britney, Wesley, Rumer, Skyler, Cassidy, Zoe, Chloe, Max, Hunter, Kendall, Kaitlyn, Noah, Sasha, Morgan, Kyra, Ian, Lauren, Q-Bert, Phil…

Jim Gaunce, an amiable great-grandfather, watched most of it unfold from his rocker in a sunny living room with windows so spotless birds frequently thud into the glass while trying to fly through.

No shotgun in his lap?

He’s sympathetic to both sides and willing, he said, to be patient as the mess is cleaned up. He worries that the insulation might blow into nearby farms, get eaten by cattle and do some major internal organ damage, putting a dent in someone’s livelihood.

But he knows one thing for sure. “Somebody,” he said, sitting calmly as a chain saw roared, “is going to have to clean that thing up.” ]]> http://kissingsuzykolber.uproxx.com/2008/11/ksk-off-topic-the-song-of-frances-barton.html/feed 78 http://kissingsuzykolber.uproxx.com/2008/01/yyyyaaahhh-welkaaahs-gettin-whiteaaahh.html http://kissingsuzykolber.uproxx.com/2008/01/yyyyaaahhh-welkaaahs-gettin-whiteaaahh.html#comments Thu, 24 Jan 2008 02:13:00 +0000 Christmas Ape http://kissingsuzykolber.uproxx.com/2008/01/yyyyaaahhh-welkaaahs-gettin-whiteaaahh.html
While Tommy Brady’s droppin tha Hulk Hogan big boot on them daaahkies in the Big Apple, auld numbah one receivah Wes Welkaaah is fillin’ up on the fortahfying seed a’ the great Mistah Chaaahlie. He’s that much maah unstappable now! Stepping up his game in time fah tha big show!

Just whaaat he needs to cahve up them big dumb stumblebum daahkies like Aahsi Uoumenyeraah. Quit hoggin all tha vowels, ya greedy scaaatalagical taaaah baby!

Just ya wait, New Yaahk daaahkies. We gonna let ya heeah abaat this all yeaah long! Go Paytreeuts!

Naturally, there’s Welkah finding the endzone, like always. And Tommy Brady overcoming a few minor setbacks, nah thanks to that lazy daaaarkie Moss. What’s with being a non-factah in the playoffs, ya shiftless daaaahkie!

(raises glass of Chianti)

Cheers to you, Billo. You big fat cumguzzler you. No, I fucked YOUR mother! How you like that shit? Real fucking comedian here! You believe the balls on this prick?

Anyway, like I said, being here in fucking Miami is fucking fantastic for me, and for my lovely wife Donna, and for my lovely children, ALL of whom are honor students. None of that cystic fibrosis retard shit.

You people have a really nice town. With some really fucking hot broads. I swear I was walking down the street the other day and I saw one broad with half her tits sticking right out of her shirt. That’s real fucking nice. Tony like. I could do without some of the fucking assticklers parading around on roller skates here, but that’s just me. I didn’t grow up in a faggot culture. It’s not part of my heritage. Personally, I think it’s all a little fucked, but you take the good with the bad.

Now, I know you’re wondering just what kind of fucking cocksucker you got runnin’ your team. Well, let me tell you somethin’. You ain’t gotta worry about nuthin’ no more. Mr. Huizenga here is the fucking best. You bald old fuck, you. Hope you don’t mind if I never paid my late fees at Blockbuster, you fucking corpse, you. Fucking late fees. I’ll return a movie when I fucking want to, you liver-spotted cock.

You also got Mr. Parcells here, who, again, is the fucking best. And I don’t wanna hear anyone here speak ill of Mr. Parcells. Okay? You speak ill of Mr. Parcells, you gonna have to answer to me. And so help me God, I will fucking bash your goddamn head in with a fucking coffee mug if I hear that shit. You got me, fuckos?

Oh, you wanna know about the offense? You ain’t gotta worry about that, okay? It’s taken care of. How? Eh, you don’t need to know that right now. Come on. Show a little fucking faith, will ya? Jesus. Just know that I’ve got that shit all fucking wrapped up. You and me, Dolphin fans. We’re gonna have EVERYTHING. You watch.

It’ll be way better than that last limpdick who was here. What was that stupid fuck’s name? Cameron? Cam Cameron? C’mon! How can you coach a fucking team with a fucking name like that? That guy probably only studied tape of cocks being sucked, am I right? Huh? Huh? The fuck.

So, long story short, nice to fucking be here. Got some real fucking great shit happening in the pipeline. And I’m ready to fucking go. We’re gonna have it real fucking good. I’m hungry. Let’s go get a fucking sub.

You shouldn’t come here thinking you can win! You should come in fackin’ Fawxburrow and lay down naked on the fifty with a funnel sticking out of your ass, prepared to get facked! You should fackin’ thank Gawd you were able to come into such hallowed ground and get fire-hosed by such a fackin’ hallowed team! You should place your balls on the curb outside my fackin’ Quinzee rowhouse so that Fitzy and I can give them a good fackin’ stompin’ with ou-uh LL Bean duck boots!

Like you stood a chance! We have Welkahhhhh! I always wanted Troy Brown to not be black, and now he isn’t!

So fack you, Jagwuhs. Or Jagwiuhs. Or whatever kinda fackin’ jungle animal you ahhhh! You’re just like that daaakie that tried to marry my sistah! Reachin’ for thuh staaahs when you belong in the fackin’ mud!

(pinches your cheek)

You look-a so good! And your wife! She is a-ravishing! I put-a my Genoa salami in her cioppino, yes? Bellisima!

(licks your wife’s face)

What is this-a you bring me? A Yellow Tail a-wine? Oh, this-a no good. This shit. I pour it down the sink or use it as a-rat poison. I’mma break out a special Chianti just-a for you. Geppetto!

Go-a get a-my friends the-a Ruffino!

(slaps monkey)

No, no, no! The Riserva, you-a stupid monkey!

I’mma glad you could-a come-a to my house and watch-a the playoffs with-a me, Salvatore! My-a grandma, she come-a straight from-a Sicily to meet you. She-a make you a special meatball! MAMA!

That’s-a spicy meat-a-ball!

Who your favorite team? The Chargers? No, no, no. The Chargers, they are a raw sewage. Listen to your friend, Salvatore: they are-a overrated. You must-a like the Giants. They are-a underrated. They will beat the Cowboys like I-a beat my wife. Because she-s no listen. Some-a-times, I just have to…

(makes dramatic hand gestures)

This why I live-a with my mother for forty years, yeah? We make-a bet, eh? You-a take the Cowboys, and I-a take the Giants. I call a one of my 500 cousins, all of whom are-a bookies. Yes?

(You decline.)

I think-a you no understand me. You TAKE bet, yes?

(You nod.)

Very good! Did-a you meet-a my sons?

They are strong, masculine-a children. One day they learn to make-a leather shoes, like-a me! Now, come and eat! We have a little proshoot. A little gabbagool. A little mootzarell. You-a never taste anything like-a it in your life! ANTONIA! MAKE-A WITH-A THE FOOD, OR I-A PUNCH-A YOU IN THE FACE!

This-a good time for us to talk business. I have 300 brand new Armani suits in my garage right now. I give-a you 4% off-a retail price.

What-a you mean, no thanks? I-a make you a nice offer! Maybe you-a no appreciate your friend, Salvatore! Maybe you-a think we Italians are criminals. Oooooh, I hate-a those cheap stereotypes! Vito! Mossimo!

TAKE-A HIM IN THE BACK AND BEAT HIM WITH-A MY SUSPENDERS.

When we through beating you, we watch-a Goodfellas and read Machivelli a-together, yes? Maybe share-a some scungilli?

MOLTO BELLO!!!!

Gunn: Go with the little black dress and don’t look back, dear.

No pirate costume?

Gunn: Always be wary of the costume look. This is FASHION, my dear. MAKE IT WORK!

I will, Fairy fairy godmother! I will!

You know what really fackin’ pisses me off? The gawddamn Paytree-uts go 16-0, and those fackin’ shitbawxes in the media still don’t give them any fackin’ respect! It’s a fackin’ joke. Like these Wild Caaaaad teams. Why are they paying attention to these Wild Caaaaaaaad teams? None of them stand a chance AGAINST THE FACKIN’ PATS JUGGUHNUT! Fack that. The Paytree-uts would facking kick the shit out of them like I kick the shit out of my dog, Beasley. He’s a good dog. But when he barks, I gawtta give him a taste of my Lugz, you know what I’m sayin’?

And you, Miami Dolphins! You too can hang on my ballsack. Fackin’ Dawn Shoola. You old piece of shit. Why don’t you go play some fackin’ backgammon and drink some fackin’ Sunsweet prune juice, you fackin’ pantshittuh! You too, Mercury Morris. Why don’t you go snort some cocaine and drive your car into a telephone pole, you stupid daaaaaa-kie! Ha! Black people are so dumb.

(drinks lighter fluid)

Oh my God! Is that G-Love and Special Sauce? Fitz, turn that shit up! This shit fackin’ rawks!

My baby’s got sawce!

This whole hatred of the Pats comes from simple jealousy. You fackin’ Pats hatuhs out there are just jealous of our incredible success. You’re jealous of Tommy Brady’s good looks, and Bill Belichick’s superior intellectualness. But you are also jealous of Boston as a whole. You are jealous of our fine schools, like Hahvuhd, and M-eye-tee, and South Quinzee Gun Repair And Event Planning Correspondence Institute, which I attend. You’re jealous of the Red Sox. And the Celts. And the fact that we legalized gay marriages specifically so that we could jump faggots coming out of da church and give them the fishhook.

And you’re jealous of the guns. Admit it. They look fackin’ great. My girl Tina likes it when I do the military press with my shirt off, and I can’t blame her. Right, honey?

Nice, huh? I just got her to go from smoking 5 packs of Pahluhmint a day to 4 and a half. It only took five weeks of slappin’ her around and calling her a fat, smelly piece of dogshit to get it done. You fackin’ fatass Pittsburgh fans have that kind of discipline? I think not.

So keep on hatin’ us, you piece of shit fans of other piece of shit NFL teams. Me and all my buddies from Quinzee feed off of that shit. It only makes us stronger. And, as you can see, I am quite strong already. My boss says I have a real few-chuh in moving armoires. Suck on that. 19-0 is inevitable, you pansies. There’s nothing you can do about it. Just sit back and enjoy ow-uh dawminunce. TAKE YOUR BEATING LIKE A MAN, LIKE BEASLEY DOES!

And, in case you still feel like whining, I’ll be here all postseason long, aftuh every fackin’ Pats blow-oot, to remind you of how fackin’ superiuh the fackin’ Pats are. Because we fackin’ DESERVE this success. Okay? I personally had to struggle through all those early years of the Pats, when they never went to the Super Bowl. Except in ‘85. And ‘96. I had to live through the indignity of purposely avoiding Pats games because they were loosuhs, and I did not care about them. That hurt. So if you think I’m not gonna revel in Pats’ awesomeness. YOU AAAA OUTTA YOUR FACKIN’ TREE, SHITBAWX!