I was read through the comments the other day and some woman commented that

she didn't like my oky accent. I wasn't sure what to think about that. That's a I don't what is an oki is that someone from

Oklahoma that's not me and if you listen to accents you would know that I'm not a hillbilly.

I'm not an oky. I'm a Mississippi Delta River rat redneck. I'm just a redneck.

That's the way we talk. I can't change it this late in my life and I'm not really embarrassed of it.

But we all sound normal around here when we talk to each other,

so I just thought I would say I'm not an oki whatever an oki is anyway I've got a great story

It's a long story from Michigan the writer calls it a 94 close-up, November 13, 1993. I'm assuming, I'm not sure what the 94 close-up means because the date is 1993 anyway

this is a great story I think you're gonna enjoy it all right here we go I was at the

deer hunting and fishing cabin that my grandfather and my great Uncle Mick

built after they came home from World War II.

The cabin was in Glenny, Michigan on the Asebal River,

Asebel River, I know I pronounce that wrong, but hang with me.

I had gone up to the cabin the week before rifle season started

so I could get in a week of bow hunting and cut some

firewood and do some late season fishing and relax before Grand Paul and Uncle Mick and Uncle Jim

showed up for opening day of rifle season. Michael

season. I was born and raised in Arizona, and I had been an officer with one of the city

departments for five years at the time of the incident.

I took three weeks off every November to go to Michigan for deer season.

I had been going to the cabin for years.

When I would visit when I was a kid.

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