Can't Decide Whether to Noodle or Rent a Hog-Huntin' Helicopter

Some interesting new laws came into effect in Texas last week.

People are always complaining that the government should cut out the pork. Now you can help, thanks to a new law that makes it legal to hunt feral hogs from a helicopter.

www.HuntingHog.com

Wait just a minute, Antsy McGee. I know what you're thinking: "I've got a case of Budweiser, an AK-47, and a rented helicopter. What could go wrong?"

You're right, I can't think of anything either. But for the sake of All That Should Remain Unholey, be extra cautious and take the aerial hunting safety course first.

There's a reason there aren't many regulations on feral hog hunting--they're a highly adaptable invasive species that eats anything they can get their hooves on and leaves behind a giant mess wherever they go. (You know someone like this, I'm sure of it. Don't look at them right now, they'll know we're talking about them. Just keep looking at the computer.)

Now, imagine if they produced thirty offspring a year just like them. Feral hogs have up to twelve piglets per litter. I know, it sounds adorable, but they do a lot of damage.

I'm here to destroy you

Feral hogs have been a problem for a long time, and they do hundreds of millions of dollars' worth of damage every year, like by tearing up land and devouring crops. They've even destroyed golf courses.

That does it, Wilbur. You've gone to far.

Don't look at me like that. You know what you've done.

That's better. Not so cute now, are you?

Watch for more headlines containing the phrases "Hog Wild," "Bringing Home the Bacon," and "Aporkalypse Now."

And I know you'll be thrilled to find out that noodling is now legal. Didn't know it was illegal before? Or do you have no idea what noodling is? It's fishing. But you're the fishing pole. The bait too, come to think of it.



Yes, you shove your hand (or foot) into a catfish's mouth and hope that it bites you. I can't wait to get started. I don't even like catfish that much, I just want to see the look of horror from the manicurist when I go into the salon.

Speaking of poles, there's a new "Pole Tax." Yes, "pole." Strip clubs that serve alcohol are assessed a fee of $5 per customer to help fund sex offender prevention programs. Actually, the charge has been around for a couple years, but the money's been sitting there like a big tease that the state can't touch, because of a lawsuit from club owners who complain that the tax suppresses their right to free speech.

Not true, says the Texas Supreme Court. In delivering the unanimous decision of the court, Justice Nathan Hecht stated that, "The fee does not infringe upon a scantily-clad nubile young woman's freedom to speak on any topic of her choosing in front of an audience of sweaty patrons reeking of alcohol and broken dreams as they delight in her bouncing, writhing, and gyrating...sorry, what was I saying?"

But you know the clubs aren't going to eat that fee, so it'll be passed along to the customer, who will have fewer singles to wave around in the club. This will lead to tearful testimonials about Rick Perry "Literally yanking dollars from the G-strings of strippers," which makes a really funny picture.

I'm really happy about this one--you've seen the people who protest at funerals? I'm not even going to link to them, but the ones who think God is a big Mr. Hatey McCrankypants? No more funeral protests allowed, within three hours before or after the service. I tweeted my approval of the new law and got a reply from the protestors who noticed it:

I feel dirtier than a noodler in a strip club.

You're Not From Around Here, Are You?

Being from Texas means you sometimes have to explain things other people don't understand.

Like that armadillos are ususally seen like this:

...because this is how they react when they're frightened. Like by an oncoming car, for example:

Some things here don't need much explanation because they're found in other southern states too, like rabid high school football fans or chicken-fried steak. But I haven't met anyone outside of Texas who understands what homecoming mums are.

They're hard to describe, really. Yes, they're like giant corsages, but they're much more than that. They have lots of...stuff on them. Imagine rolling around in glue before pillaging a craft store. That's sort of what you look like wearing a mum. If it's a good one, I mean.

The young adult novel, REASONS FOR LEAVING, I've been working on takes place in a suburb of Houston, during most of a school year. I realized after writing the first draft that I'd said nothing about homecoming. That wouldn't do. I had to have homecoming. And homecoming means mums. Because they are hard to describe to those who haven't seen them, I emailed my agent with some pictures from my daughter's homecoming to let her know, "Here's what I'm talking about."

If you look closely, you can see that there are chrysanthemums in those arrangements somewhere. The girls wear these to school on Friday and to the homecoming game on Friday night. Attaching one of these with a corsage pin would just tear your shirt right off of you, so they're worn with ribbon harnesses like giant necklaces. But the girls aren't the only ones lugging around steroid-laced flower arrangements:

Yep, those are guys. They often use ribbon harnesses too--their mums are attached to garters they wear around their arms, but the arrangements have become so elaborate they'd slip off from the weight of them, landing on the floor in a heap of ribbons, plastic footballs, and teddy bears adorned with blinking lights. And no one wants to see that.

So, now you know what mums are! The challenge in the story will be describing them in a way that will be clear to readers unfamiliar with the tradition, without going on so much that the description seems unnatural or boring.

Any of you have something like that in a manuscript you've written--something that's perfectly clear to you, but that people outside of your state or area just don't get? How did you describe it so it seemed like a natural part of your story, and not like info dump stuck in there for the benefit of the reader?

There's deep-fried Mountain Dew in the novel too, but of course that makes perfect sense.