Tuck Tuckson’s fussin’ corner

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Tuck Tuckson’s fussin’ corner

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Photo via pexels.com

Matthew Tucker, Contributor

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Tuck Tuckson is the university’s first and only 120-year-old student. In his spare time, he enjoys shouting at the news and watching reruns of “Columbo.” Due to a misunderstanding with his optometrist, he is currently pursuing dual degrees in gender studies and animal husbandry and hopes to graduate sometime before his 130th birthday.

Hey y’all, it’s me, da Unaverseties of Nawlins’ only super-centenarian student, Tuck Tuckson, back for another edishin’ of eryone’s favorite column “Tuck Tuckson’s Fussin Corner” and whoa nelly! Have we got a humdinger for ya dis week! When ya get to be as old and crotchety as me, ya get ta know a thing or two bout what them fancy folks in their uptown mansions call “mannas.”

Now, mannas is a funny thing, cause some of the worst people I’ve ever known in my long and illustrious lifetime have also been the sweetest talkers. Why, my poor ol’ mama practically swooned from lust right in front of my papa when the man from the bank came to take the farm out from under us, on account of how smo-oo-oth he was. “What a well manna’d fella that man from the bank was,” she sighed as we walked barefoot to da workcamp.

Yep, “mannas” is a real mystery, but today I’ma talk to you bout nose mannas. “Nose Mannas!? Tuck, you old codger, you finally lost it!” Yeah, I lost it, but it’s ya young no-goodnicks with ya bad nose mannas that made me do it!

Y’all got phones that know evrything there ever was to know, but no one ever taught ya no nose mannas! Midterms is jus round the corner and wit it coming that old cat-coffin-knee, making a bigger racket than the summer cicadas. I’m speaking, of course, of yo’ nasty sniffles.

Let me learnify you a thing or two, in case you are not privy to the mysteries of human anatomy. There is in fact, no portal to a secret bugger dimension in the back of your sinuses, my chillin. When that long, stringy, goopy strand of poisonous excrement comes slithering out ya nose hole and you suck it back up into ya face making a nasty noise like an ornery bulldog chewing on hisself, that snot didn’t go nowhere, junior! It’s still clogging up your face hole just waiting to creep down your nose again just so ya can suck it back up!

You’re distracting ole’ Tuck, havin’ a hard-nuff time takin’ his midterms, what with his bad eyes and bum hip and his creeping dem-nentia. Blow ya dang nose, ya young fool! That booger ain’t doing you no favors clogging up your face hole! Ain’t you got no sense, sucking sludge up into your face all day is nasty, and it’s rude, and it’s bad for ya, too!

Speaking ‘a sense, you know what makes no sense? I’m an old man wit da hayfeva and I’m prone ta sneezin’, but it don’t do no nothing for me to have you fussing over me afterwards. “God bless you, Tuck!” No, god bless you, you dumb pup, cause you ain’t done a damn thing but embarrass me!  

When you hold a door for me ya, saving me some time and the trouble of moving a heavy door, when ya chew with your mouth closed, ya keep an old coot from getting stomach-sick at the table, and when ya cover ya nose when you sneeze, ya stop a geyser of face juice from shooting out your head and spraying me in my church clothes. But when you say “God bless ya,” ya just calling me out for being an old man that sneezes too much.

My daddy explainified to me that way back in the time of the black plague, fellas were dropping dead left and right in the street, just a-sneezing and a-dying, when some old pope in his funny hat, medical expert that he was, decisioned that what was killing these fellas was the devil snatching their souls out their bodies when they was sneezing, and like any rashnal-thinkin’ doctor of this here 21st century, ole Pawpaw Clem prescribed a prayer of “God bless you” to cure one from the devil’s grip.

Now I’m not one ta question the voice of God hisself on earth, but I do believe the bubonic plague was caused by tiny bacter-e-i or some such nastiness and not no soul-snatching devil, so a “God bless you” did a fella about as much good today as it did him back then, lying face down dead in the mud.

No Sir! I won’t have it and my pappy never did neither! Why, when I was a boy, if we sneezed, my daddy would come running over and punch us right in the belly and then makes us give him a quarta and he was right to do it too!  So, I’ll make ya’ll a bargain: you save your God-bless-yous when I sneeze, and when y’all sneeze, I won’t punch ya in ya little tummies and steal y’alls lunch money.

So what have we learned here taday, my chillin? Well firstly we learned that ole Tuck’s still a mean old son-of-a-gun, but you already knowed that, didn’t ya? We also learned ‘bout nose mannas, what they is and what they ain’t. They is blowing that nasty nose juice inta a clean-ex and not sniffling through midterms, but they ain’t saying no God-bless-yous ‘cause the devil can’t kill me anyhow! I been one-foot-in-the-grave coming on 30 years now.

Well, that’s all fa this edishin,’ and as always, this is your favorite super-centenarian student saying, “Leave me alone and close the door; it’s chilly in here and I’m watching my stories!”

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