Fishing The White Trash Way

Not far from Evansville, way down in the hills and lakes of southern Indiana, lived a man named Jim-Bob who loved to fish. One day, he was hauling his catch home in the back of his pickup truck when he stopped at a traffic light next to the village constable, Billy-Bob.

"Dang, Jim-Bob," said the constable when he saw the back of the truck, "You musta been out on the lake all day to catch that much. Lookee there - that's one, two... lotsa fish."
"Naw, t'weren't more than an hour."
"Don't you be pullin' mah leg, now."
"Naw, really." Jim-Bob knew Billy-Bob loved to fish, too. "Lissen. I'll pick yuh up bright 'n early Saturday, an' I'll show yuh how I does it."
"Awright."

So Saturday comes, and Jim-Bob picks up Billy-Bob and takes him to a lake. They load up the boat and head out, but instead of going to any of the half-dozen spots Billy-Bob knows are good for bluegill, walleye, and whatnot, Jim-Bob drives them right out to the middle of the lake.
"Tarnation," said Billy-Bob. "You ain't gon' catch no fish here, Jim-Bob."
Jim-Bob reaches into a sack under his seat, pulls out a stick of dynamite, lights it off his Winston, and throws it into the water.

BOOM! Dozens of fish float slowly to the surface. Billy-Bob is speechless for a few moments, then all the words try to come out at once.

"Jesus H. Christ, Jim-Bob, are yew crazy? That's possession of explosives - "
Jim-Bob calmly reaches back into the bag and pulls out another stick...
"- and illegal demolition - that there's a felony charge - "
...lights it off his Winston...
"- and the Conservation Officer's gon' shit hisself a pink Twinkee when he gets wind of this - "

Jim-Bob calmly hands the stick with the lit fuse to Billy-Bob. "Lissen, are yew gonna talk, or are yew gonna fish?

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