This is an adaptation/parody of Albert Camus's The Stranger. It was written by two AP English students that graduated last year. The misspellings and the grammatical errors, I hope you can understand, are intentional.

Aynor is a small town near the city our school is in, Myrtle Beach, South Carolina. It is known for being a podunk town "way out yonder" that produces many elementary school dropouts, incestuous families, and farmers.

The Aynor Stranger
by Ray Foltz and Brendan Pinter

I reckon it was yesterday that my woman and sis kicked the bucket. I remember one day when we were out tending to the billygoats, we slipped behind the tractor over yonder. As our brown bodies lay on the fertile cow manure, I fondled her breasts. I wanted her, but I ain't love her. I reckon I ain't never loved nobody. Nine months after our rendezvous, our fourteenth child had arrived. Papa was so happy that he had another farmhand on the way, I just figured it was anoth person to pilfer my baccer. Sis suggested we should get married. I said it don't matter. She asked if I would marry any of our other sisters and I said sure. She looked upset, but then she flashed me that toothless grin and I knew she was a'ight. And so it come to be we was married some time back.

I guess we was married about a while when that drunken farmhand got her. We farmers had been playin poker and drinkin moonshine at my place while my wife was still out harvestin the baccer in the field. Bosefus got on his tractor and left, but he ain't take the bush-hog off yet. My wife ain't even seen him coming. Our bush-hog may be old, but it's still the most powerful in the county, not that it matters. I ain't knowed my wife made such good fertilizer. I was reckoning, if she gotta go, she may as well help the crops grow. So anyway, I had to spend my Saturday at a funeral home and miss the televised tractor pull.

Pa wouldn't let me take the John Deere down to the funeral home. He was mad that I was missin a day of work to go to his daughter's and my wife's funeral. I reckoned I could walk there because it was just over yonder. The sun was so hot. I was sweating like a sow in heat by the time I got there. I talked to my half-cousin, the funeral director, and we had some chew baccer together. The vigil was so boring I woulda rather taken sandpaper to a bobcat's hiney in a phonebooth, if Aynor had a phonebooth. I sat there for hours it seemed and I was more tired than an eighteen wheeler. I started gettin uncomforble in the funeral home. It was hot and I was bored and tired. I was trying to pass the time, so I took my knife out of pocket and severed my leg. It didn't matter. I got another one. After the funeral, all I could look forward to as I hopped all the way back to the big house was another chew and catching the rest of the tractor pull. I realized that life had not changed even though my wife hit the hay. I still had eight other single sisters and one good leg.

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