by Freida Marie Crump
Greetin’s from the Ridge.
I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised. I was visiting’ my friend Lois, a cook down at Coonridge Elementary, when the lunch bell rang. An eighth-grade boy grabbed his plate off the serving shelf, sniffed with disdain and said, "Same old slop?" The kid had lived for fourteen years without acquiring a hint of civility.
Little Delbert Dumbbutt had undoubtedly come from