The sure cure

They say a feller spends the first half of his life cuttin' up and the second half cuttin' down. I can believe that.

I just had a birthday and I ain't about to tell how old I am, but I'll slip you a little hint -- me and the Interstate 55 have an awful lot in common.

Anyhow, I'm at that age when you start cuttin' down. Of all the sins I've been guilty of in my life, there is only one that I can honestly say I'm sorry of, and I wouldn't be sorry of it if it wasn't killin' me -- that's my smokin'. I loooooooves to smoke!

Now I want you to know I've tried everything from voodoo to the Ten Commandments to quit this lovable filthy habit.

I even went to a hypnotist. I couldn't wait to get out of that trance so I could light one up.

I've been taught all my life to pray for help and forgiveness. I tried that a few hundred times, and either my transmitter is shortin' out or I'm on the wrong frequency.

I even asked for help in the communication department from some of them bona fide born again Sunday-go-to-meetin' Christians who swear their prayers are answered.

My aunt Letty set me on a new track of an old treatment, acupuncture. That's the ancient Chinese treatment where they poke little needles, pins and staples in the right spot on the tender bod, and they're supposed to be able to cure everything from leprosy to the hiccups.

I ain't long makin' tracks to this feller who's practicin' Dr. Lung Fung Do's acupuncture clinic. He tells me it ain't no sure cure, but he's racked up about 80% cures.

I thinks I've fought worse odds than that, so I tells him to lay it on me. He did -- right in the right ear with a staple gun. Sounds crazy, but do you know that for the next few days I only went partially crazy for a cigarette?

Well, you know that us foot-washin' Baptists believe in back-slidin' and practice it quite often, and I did pull a couple drags off the weed in order to stop the shakes long enough to keep makin' a livin'.

I went back to said clinic and confessed my sins. You've seen a dog who's just been caught suckin' eggs -- well, that's the way I felt.

Doc was real nice and he took me back to his little butcher block, and this time he pokes a needle in both wrists and one right smack in the top of my bald head. He said, "That'll stop you from suckin' eggs," and so far, it's doin' pretty good.

Every time one of my advisors asks, "What's that staple doin' in your ear?" I always tell 'em it's to keep my head from fallin' off. I ain't tellin' 'em the straight of it until I kick the habit for good.

COURTESY of Tom Runnels Publications. Copyrighted and registered by Tom Runnels and Saundra Runnels Revocable Trust. Printed in The Banner Press: April 7, 1988.