Myth Merging In Boschertown

The Peckerwood takes his customary seat across from the three Don's in the Boschertown Tavern. The bar is U shaped; the TV is elevated and positioned at the right leg of the U. The three Don's like to set where they can see the TV, the door and the bar maid fetching beer from the cooler. They await the peckerwood from across the street. He always orders Coors. Larry the owner stocks the Coors in the deep recesses of the beer locker. He doesn't want the "Bud-lite" date chaser spotting a non-union beer. The three Don's drink Busch but like the peckerwoods choice because the 4'11 inch, 90-pound barmaid has to climb into the cooler. The peckerwood likes it when the 200-pound barmaid takes the dive. Wide track view for a penny a pound.

The dwarfed out bar maid says, "What will it be?"

"I was thinking of getting a Budweiser, the king of beer."

"Get him a Coors, or we're going to kick his ass."

'"I'll take the Coors here and the ass kicking across the street."

Dumb Don says, "How much land you got over there, about an acre?"

"If I told you, none of you dumb asses would know because you don't know what an acre is. I know, George "the link" Washington knows and surveyors know. You guys haven't got a clue."

"Damn do we have to turn down Hank Williams to hear this?"

"Hank! That's his son, Hank died in the back of a Cadillac with Jim Beam as his closest friend. Rough roads in Ohio were his demise."

"I'm in," says Big Don, "let's hear it."

"An acre is ten square chains. A chain is 66 feet. This is the longest chain that George "the link" Washington the father of our country and the head surveyor could carry through the woods. So one acre is 66 feet by

660 feet. 660 feet is one furlong. That's the distance a farmer would plow in one direction before turning to give the mules a new view."

Don says, "So you're saying that mules determined what an acre is."

"Hell no, a furlong is how far a farmer could plow in one direction and still hear his wife yell in case of an emergency or attack by heathen Indians."

Dumb Don, "So you're saying it was the Indians."

Smart Don, "No dumb ass it was the women."

"Did any of you knuckleheads ever notice that a furlong is used in horse races?"

Big Don pipes in, "I got it they were plowing with horses."

"Let me try another approach, an acre is 160 square rods. A rod is the longest hickory staff that George "The Rod" Washington could carry through the woods; it comes out to 16.5 feet. There are four rods to the chain."

Donny boy says, "So a square 40 by 40 rods is an acre?"

"Dummy, that's 1600 square rods."

Don, "What the hell is wrong with the mile wasn't it invented by the Romans."

"Ok, let's cover the mile; this is the distance the Roman solders covered with 1000 paces. There are 640 acres to the square mile. Thirty-six square miles is a township, this is how our country was sectioned off."

Short Don, "you can't fool me; I know that there are 5,280 feet to the mile. Who cares about rods and chains."

The Peckerwood says, "Ok smart-ass, what's a foot."

Little Don, "12 inches."

"Wrong, it's based on the barleycorn. Thirty-six barleycorns to the foot. I don't want to hurt your brains with to much information but a barleycorn is also a shoe/foot size."

Bad tooth Don, "Bullshit, Barley is used in beer; I want to know how you can make accurate measurements with a rod and chain. You need to use inches."

"Easy, three barleycorns make an inch"

"All this explaining to you double dumb-ass Don's

has made my throat dryer then a popcorn fart."

"Yo—Bar wench, pull me another Coors."

The three Don's brace themselves for the cooler dive.

Peckerwood, "The reason Big George is called "The link" is because our measurement system is based on the length of our founding fathers male member. The chain is divided into one hundred links each link is 7.92 inches, as measured by Martha. She wasn't putting up with a one-inch finger knuckle length pecker like the English Queen."

The bar maid came to attention inside the beer cooler, her vision impaired by the new lump on her head.

Talking Don, "Damn you're pretty smart for a Peckerwood."

"Yeah I'm pretty, and that's, Mr. Peckerwood."

The barmaid got in the last word while rubbing her noggin. "Don't talk like that about George Washington our founding father when I'm in the beer cooler."