It hadn’t been a good day, so I asked Artificial Intelligence (nickname AI) to write my column. His real name is Bard. His full name is Bard Dot Com.
I’ve read that AI can do all sorts of things: write your thank-you letters, compose an apology for being too honest about a dress, list the latest stats in major league baseball.
So I instructed ol’ Bard: Write a funny column about outhouses in Southern Appalachia. And he did. It began this way:
“The outhouse is a Southern Appalachian institution. It’s been around for longer than anyone can remember, and it’s a place where folks have gone to do their business in peace and privacy for generations.”
Accurate information, but not funny.
The column meandered for 505 words. It recounted how outhouses are usually located in the yard, where they offer “stunning views of the surrounding countryside;” that you never know what critter will emerge when you open the outhouse door; and that outhouses are a great place… “to bond with your loved ones.”
My grandparents, Barto and Hattie Hudgins, had a two-holer on their farm, but I don’t remember any of my uncles or my daddy saying, “Hey, brother, let’s go down to the little house and do some family bonding.”
So I’m still waiting for the funny part in Bard’s column. Ah, here’s one:
“One time, my grandpa was using the outhouse when a bear came along. The bear started sniffing around the outhouse, and my grandpa was too scared to move. He just sat there and held his breath. Finally, the bear got bored and went away.”
Now, a bear might find that funny, but probably not any human being.
After a couple more unfunny anecdotes, Bard ended the column this way:
“Outhouses may not be the most glamorous places, but they’re definitely a part of Southern Appalachian culture. And they’ve got a lot of funny stories to tell.”
And we’re still waiting to read one.
Wish Bard could have interviewed my friend Bimbo Brewer. Bimbo is gone now, but his story has survived for decades. Here it is:
Bimbo got a call at the newspaper about an explosion at a farm in Nicholson, Ga. He grabbed his camera and lit out. EMTs had come to the aid of Grandpa, who had suffered oval-size burns to his backside. Seems he fired up a stogie while sitting on one hole and threw the flaming match into the other hole.
It was a hot summer day, and methane gas had built up tremendously inside the receptacle. Grandma was standing at the kitchen window and saw her husband come rolling head-first out of the outhouse with his overalls around his ankles.
The EMTs were laughing so hard, they nearly dropped the stretcher with Grandpa on it on the way to the ambulance.
OK, Bard, that may not be hilarious, especially to the guy who was the butt of the joke. But it’s better than your stories.
Guess I’ll have to write my own dang columns.
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Phil Hudgins is a retired newspaper editor and author from Gainesville, Ga.. Reach him at phudgins@cninewspapers.com.
