Really didn't know where to post this, but BS seems to fit.
A Mule and a fool.
While read a book, Mike loaned to me. “ A Treasury of Southern Folklore.” I ran across this about the mule, if you’ve never plowed you might not understand.
I also read a reference to the Whiskey speech that I posted .
here Seems like he not only was guilty of setting on the fence, but also Plagiarism .
Now for the Mule story. BTW I stole this and it’s not verbatim.
Over a hill trailed a man behind a mule drawing a plow. Unexpectedly the plow hit a root, the mule stopped, and the man began to grumble as he fixed the hames. “Bill,” Your just a mule, the son of a jackass, and I am made in the image of God. Yet here we work hitched up together year after year. I often wonder if you work for me or I work for you..
I think it’s a partnership between a mule and a fool, of surely I work as hard as you, if not harder. Plowing or cultivating we cover the same distance, but you do it on four legs and I on two, therefore I do twice as much as you.
Soon we’ll be preparing for a corn crop. When the corn is harvested I give 1/3 to the landlord for being so kind as to let me use a small speck of Gods earth. 1/3 goes to you, the rest is mine. You consume all your portion, while I divide mine among 7 children, 6 hens, 2 ducks and a store keeper. If we both need shoes, you get’em. Your getting the best of me and I ask you, is it fair for a mule, the son of a jackass to swindle a man, the lord of creation, out of his substance?
Why, you only help to plow and cultivate the ground, and I alone must cut, shock, and husk the corn, while you look over he pasture fence and heehaw at me. All fall and most of winter the whole family from baby up picks cotton to help raise enough money to pay taxes and buy a new set of harness and pay the mortgage on you. Not a thing, you ornery cuss, do you have to do. I even have to do the worrying about the mortgage on your tough, ungrateful hide.
About the only time I am your better is on election day, for I can vote and you can’t. After election I realize that I was fully as big a jackass as your papa. I’m prone to wonder if politics were made for a man or a jackass, or to make jackasses out of men. And that ain’t all Bill, when your dead that’s suppose to be the end of you. But me? The preacher tells me that when I die I may go to hell forever. That is, Bill if I don’t do as they say. And most of what they say keeps me from getting any fun out of life.
Tell me, William, considering these things, how you can keep a straight face and look so dumb and solemm?