Picking piggies, and what have you...

["JACK P. SHAW" <jsh -at- SOFTWARE-AG -dot- DE>]

...though my heritage aligns that phrase more with
something one did after bathing--good, so be it...

My tenure in NC was seven years and, though not making
me eligible for cultural citizenship, did avail me the
dubious opportunity of encountering a concoction similar
to that being referred to by colleagues here as "Q".

While travelling a sideroad through downtown Asheville
(pronounced, I believe, as "ashfull" in local genre),
I found myself unable to avoid a bovinous being of
unbelievable breadth that was proceeding in the same
direction as I. Praise Jesse, the meeting rendered neither
of us unable to continue our comman way to separate
purposes; however, it took me to days to get the "Q"
off the windsheild and out of my radiator...

This was no doubt due to my admittedly blissful
unawareness of NC folkways, however. I, being what was
derisively termed a "flatlander" of uncorrectable genetically-
predisposed inadequacy for mountain living (both my legs
are of approximately the same length, leaving me wholly
unsuited for ridgerunning...), was relegated to being a
denizen of Charlotte--a ranging ground described by some
as a high-rise truckstop with an overactive thyroid.

But I paid my dues, ate my grits with gravy (and liked
it), and so one day availed myself of the opportunity of
being airlifted out back around '87 or so. Having to leave
under less than amicable circumstances--my car was impounded
for not meeting NC safety standards. No gun rack in the
rear window (an incidental point that I view as an incredible
entrepreneurial opportunity in the aftermarket soon to be
created when BMW shortly begins assembling cars in the area).

But I will not miss the ravages of "Q" sauce. Often served
thinly disguised as spaghetti topping in that area (Mama Leone
mia, forgive them for they know not...), it can produce side
effects that are given to register seven points on the Richter
scale. And to add a modicum of gastrointestinal affrontery to
the internal disarray, one could mistakenly attempt to stem the
"winds of shame" with Cheerwine. A socially redeeming aspect
of the leftovers, however: the former is quite effective, I
found, for degreasing tractor engines, and the latter emminently
effective in cleaning carbuerators--or removing the former
from velour upholstery...

J., now in exile