Sign Up  /  Login

"Little Rude Rotting Head" LbNA #44199

Owner:Adoptable
Plant date:Oct 17, 2008
Location:
City:Hays
County:Ellis
State:Kansas
Boxes:1
Planted by:Rad Rhymer
Found by: Baats
Last found:Jul 17, 2010
Status:FFFa
Last edited:Oct 17, 2008
Once upon a time there was this here kid named Lotta Trubbel,who lived a few miles north of a town called Phillipsburg, in the state of Kansas. Now, if you’re a rodeo fan, you know where Phillipsburg, Kansas is, because Phillipsburg happens to be the home of “Kansas Biggest Rodeo!”

Anyhow, Lotta, wasn’t the nicest little girl on the face of the planet, mind you! She was what you might call a smarty pants...rude,bold,...you know the type.

Well, on her sixth birthday, it seems her Aunt Tilly, an avid Cornhusker fan, from the neighboring state of Nebraska, gave her this red hood with the words, “Go Big Red,” on the back. That was nice, I guess, except Lotta fell madly in love with the thing, and refused to take it off. Lotta, by the way, was a little weird. That hood hasn’t been off her head since that fateful day, and that’s not real good, beings as how she turned twelve years old last week-end. When the mold started oozing out around her temples, people started calling her, Little Rude Rotting Head.

Well, one day Little Rude Rotting Head’s mother dug out her knitting basket, filled it to the brim with delicious goodies, like jalapeno peppers, meat balls rolled in hot chili powder, a few bottles of Red Devil Hot Sauce, and a jar of spicy, pickled crow gizzards, and told her daughter, “Take this to your grandma. She is very ill with bleeding ulcers, and she has to be extremely careful what she eats.” (Her mama was a little weird, too.)

Now, Little Rude Rotting Head (that name’s a mouthful, isn’t it? I think I’ll just call her Rot.) Anyhow, Rot wasn’t too happy about that, but she finally threw down the cattle prod she was goosing the dog with, grabbed the basket and took off out the door, down the path, and through the cornfield. She was trudging along, cursing under her breath, when suddenly, out from behind a Chinese Elm, popped this huge, ugly wolf! Yep! A big, hairy, stinkin’ old wolf, with slobbers runnin’ down his chin an’ all. He stood there in front of Rot, blocking her way, and he said in a sickening, sweet, syrupy voice, “Where are you going, you sweet little morsel?” Sounds just like a freakin’ ol’ wolf, huh?

Rot smiled sweetly and said, in her most polite tone of voice, “Whatsit to ya’, Stinky Breath?”

Not to be discouraged, the wolf replied in an even sweeter tone, “What’s in the basket, Sugar Buns?”

Rot again smiled sweetly, and answered, “Nosey ol’ poop, ain’t you?”

Well, that remark sort of ticked the old boy off, so he decided to dispense with the sweet talk. “Tell me where you’re going or I’m gonna rip that confounded hood plumb off your head and chop it into so many pieces, it’ll look like a bowl o’ cranberry sauce,” he roared.

Wow! That did the trick alright! “I’m going to my grandma’s house just down the road,” Rot replied quickly, in a meek, shaky voice.

“Okie dokie!” twittered the wolf. Then he did a quick little tap dance, heisted his leg on the Chinese Elm, waved his tail in the air, and took off down the path with a smirk on his face.

Now, you and I both know that old wolf was up to no good, don’t we? Of course, we do! He made a mad dash to Grandma’s house, barged in the door, and snarled, “Git yer butt outa that bed, Granny!”

Well, you gotta remember that Grandma was related to Rot! Who do you think Rot inherited her manners from, anyhow?? Grandma yelled, “Up your snoot with a hikin’ boot, you sorry, flea-bitten hunk of stinkin’ fur!”

Uhh….yeah…..well, that ol’ wolf didn’t think that was a very nice thing to say, so he bared his teeth, grabbed Grandma’s nightgown by the collar, and ripped it plumb off the poor woman’s frail body! That scared the peewadden out of Grandma, and she leaped out of bed and streaked (and I do mean “streaked,”) out the door! The wolf immediately put on Grandma’s nightgown, snuggled under the covers, and waited for Rot to arrive.

Well, he didn’t have long to wait. Rot soon came storming through the door shouting, “Grandma! Who’s that old woman in her birthday suit at the top of your hackberry tree?”

“Aww,” replied Grandma, (or I should say, the wolf.) “You’re imagining things, Sweetie Pie. Now, whatcha got in that basket, kid?”

Rot just stood there, staring at Grandma’s nose. She set the basket on the floor and said, “What happened to your nose, Grandma? It’s grown at least four inches since I last saw you! Have you been telling lies again?”

“All the better to smell you with!” replied Grandma, twitching her snout. “By the way, kid, your head stinks! Smells like dead cooties.”

Rot didn’t answer. Her gaze fell on the ol’ wolf’s sharp fangs. “What the corn!” she cried. “Where’d you get the cool choppers, Grandma? I didn’t know you had teeth!”

Well, as you know, in the story, this is the part where the wolf leaps out of bed, snarling, “All the better to eat you with!” But that’s not what he said. Instead, he yelled, “All the better to eat your stupid red hood!”

Smart wolf! He knew how to get to Rot! The poor girl was so terrified she gave out a shriek, grabbed her head, raced out the door, and sped down the pathway as fast as a bottle rocket on the Fourth of July! She didn’t even take time to wave at Grandma up there in the tree!

On and on she ran, heading straight south, down Highway 183. She cut through the rodeo grounds where she plastered a Brahma bull, and knocked the legs out from under a horse. The bull took off, in a state of shock, heading south toward the town of Glade. As for the cowboy, the ambulance arrived promptly to take him to the hospital. Fortunately, he wasn’t badly hurt. Just a broken neck, a crushed tailbone and three fractured ribs. However, the horse had a heart attack so they had to shoot him. (The horse, that is, not the cowboy.)

Anyhow, on with the story! Rot quickly cut back onto 183 again and headed on into Phillipsburg. She turned east at the First National Bank onto 36 Highway, then, just before she reached Alco, she turned south again and ran like a bat out of Topeka, straight down 183. (By the way, did I mention that she knocked down an old lady crossing the street just south of the courthouse? Poor old soul, didn’t know what hit her!)

Anyhow, on she ran until she reached Glade, where she caught up with the terrified bull, causing him to charge wildly into the door of the Triple C Café on the corner. She paused for just a moment to watch the customers jump out the windows, then, on she raced, headed south. Soon, she arrived in Stockton. It was there that she wiped out the motorcyclist. The newspaper article claimed he was hit by a jet- propelled, giant-sized, red-headed woodpecker on a skateboard. Silly news reporter! How many woodpeckers do you know who own a skateboard!?

Anyhow, Rot kept on running south, finally reaching the town of Plainville. Folks in that town are still wondering what that red streak was, tearing down Highway 183 headed south. Some claim it was a flying saucer. Others say it was a flaming arrow. One guy swore it was Superman, shooting a flaming arrow from a flying saucer. (Of course, that was the guy she knocked head-first into the gas pump.)

At any rate, Rot kept right on running for twenty-six more miles, until she found herself in the city of Hays. Straight on south down Vine Street, she raced, until she reached I-70. Then, she turned and went west. She zoomed on to Exit 157 where the sign said, “Old Fort Hays,” which is the 183 bypass going south. She zipped by General Hays Inn, and just south of there, she discovered a town called “Frontier City.” It looked dead! She checked the place out but all she found was a broken down wagon, an old railroad depot, some old abandoned stores, an outhouse, and a stray cat. To her disappointment, even the Tommy Drum Saloon and Dance Hall was closed up! Rot was too tired to dance, but she sure could have used a drink or two after running all that distance.

Well, just as Rot was leaving Frontier City and was starting to head on south, a sudden breeze whipped around the corner, sending her red hood flying in the air like a hydrogen balloon! Back into that deserted town her hood sailed, headed east, straight over Wild Bill Hickock’s head. On it traveled, east bound, over the tree, and on toward Wild Bill’s second head. (It’s not everyone who has two heads, you know!) It came to a stop, smack dab on top of ol’ Billy Boy’s noggin, and there it stayed.

Well, poor Rot couldn’t reach her beloved hood. She sat down on the wooden bench behind that head, muttering under her breath. The words coming out of her mouth were not nice. No lady should talk that way. Finally, she grew sleepy because she was plumb pooped. You’d be pooped too, if you ran non-stop for sixty-five miles!

It was getting dark and the air was beginning to get a bit nippy. Rot’s unclothed head wasn’t used to the cold. Her scalp turned blue. Her hair shivered. The maggots broke out in goosebumps. Rot looked around for a warm place to crawl into. Suddenly, she glanced to the south, and there, right in front of her nose, was the Windsor Hotel!

“Eureka!” she shouted, gleefully. “A place to stay for the night!”

She ran to the door and jerked on the handle. It wouldn’t budge! It was locked up tighter than a jail cell! Angrily, she plopped herself back onto the bench.

“&&$$%%%*##&&&!” she said.

That’s when she looked over her shoulder and noticed the patch of evergreen foliage just behind the back of that bench. She lifted the north edge of the foliage and found it was nice and roomy underneath.

“Oh, goody!” she thought. Then, she caught the stray cat, gave it a tight squeeze and a goodnight kiss, stripped off her clothes, threw ‘em in the outhouse, crawled under the foliage, and fell fast asleep. Hey! Don't give me that look! I told you at the beginning, she was a little weird!

In the meantime, back at Grandma’s house, that ol’ wolf grabbed up that basket of hot goodies and gulped them all down in one swallow! Not smart! First thing he knew, smoke started rolling out of his ears, a ball of fire shot out of his mouth, sparks started shootin’ out of his nostrils, and he was howling and yowling in sheer agony! His bushy tail shot straight up in the air, and he raced out the door yowling and yipping like a coyote with a cockle burr up his....uhh....nose! Last I heard there were fourteen firemen trying to get both Grandma and that ol’ wolf out from the top of that hackberry tree!

Now, I’m told that after three months went by, Rot’s mom started to wonder why her daughter wasn’t home yet. After all, Grandma’s house was only a mile away.

Now, I don’t know if Rot is still asleep, and I don’t know if that red hood is still on top of old Bill’s head, and I don’t know if Rot’s clothes are still in that outhouse, and I don’t know if that cat’s still alive after Rot squeezed the “you know what” out of it, but if you happen to find Rot under that foliage, would you be so kind as to notify Mrs. Trubbel? I hear she’s really worried and is offering a reward. She paid twenty bucks for that knitting basket and she wants it back!

P.S. Please be careful not to startle the skunk. He thinks he has first dibs on the place. I’ll have to admit, he’s a rather handsome dude, but he doesn’t have very good scents!