Oh Yes, it's true - it's the Hillbilly Virus and every city boy everywhere is catching it and screaming for it and rallying to oppose it and the most miserable and downtrodden amongst us are the perennial standard bearers. Raise high the roof beam, carpenters - Chicken Little has grown into a Frankenstein and no need to have him hitting his head on the landscape while he kisses the sky.
People are crying so many vicious tears that their eyeballs are turning inside out. The Hillbilly Virus - the name just conjures the images. First people are losing the ability to count on their toes and then they are losing their toes. Compulsive whittling is rampant. If you see some contaminated geeznislaw stumbling in the street - knock off his strawberry hat, and two more will menacingly arise to take its place. Just like that.
Have you ever seen a shirtless bearded man with no teeth, hoeing in his back yard and at the same time he suffers a Gran Mal seizure? If he happens to be wearing old denim bib overalls they will invariably spontaneously combust. As he stands flaming and dying, the recalcitrant hick finds that the only song going through his head, over and over, is "Feelin' Groovy" - his scorched brain keeps asking "Is it Simon? Is It Garfunkel? Is it Harper's Bizarre? Should I throw myself off the 59th Street Bridge?" and other similar dilemmas. Foraging squirrels have a better chance of living to see the next sunrise. So goes the legacy of the dreaded Hillbilly Virus.
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