"L Ron Hubbard & Dave Wolverton- A Very Special Trip" - читать интересную книгу автора (Hubbard L. Ron)

you, do you have anything to say for yourself?"
Dumphee cleared his throat, found it hard to talk. "Uh, I didn't do it, Your Honor, sir."
Judge Wright made a little snarling face, as if Dumphee had poked him in the belly with a
sharp stick. "I don't want to hear that! I know it was your uncle's car, and you said you was late
for a date. But you was caught red-handed, drivin' down old Bald Knob at ninety miles an hour
with ten gallons of shine in your trunk-and when the police flashed their lights, you revved it up
to a hundred and forty!"
Dumphee's pappy shouted, "Aw, he's just born with good reflexes, Your Honor! You can't
blame the boy for that."
"You shut your yap in my courthouse," Judge Wright said, pointing the gavel at Dumphee's
pappy. "If your boy has such good driving instincts, put him on the racing circuit-not runnin'
shine!" The judge cleared his throat, tried to regain his composure.
 "Now, Everett Dumphee, I'm a fair man-or at least I try to be . . ." the judge said sweetly.
"But I'm tired as get-out of you Dumphees running shine. My grand pappy sent your grand pappy
to prison for it. My pappy sent your pappy to prison for it. And I'd send you to prison right now,
but for one thing: you Dumphees can't help it that you're all so inbred that you ain't bright enough
to figure out right from wrong."
Dumphee's mother gasped, and Dumphee spoke up, trying to defend the family honor, "Uh,
sir, I ain't-"
"You've had plenty of chance to say your piece!" the judge brushed him off. "Now I'm
going to say my piece. Dumphee, boy, your problem is that you're uncivilized. You give
West Virginia a bad name. You live up in them hollows with your dogs and your guns and
your moonshine, marrying your cousins and playing your fiddles. Jethro Clampett has got
nothing on you-
"Uh, Bodine,тАЭ Dumphee said.
"What?" Judge Wright asked.
"Jethro Bodine is his name. Jed Clampett is his uncle. I watched that show on TV, and
Bodine is his name. We get 140 channels on our satellite dish, now."
"Are you trying to be a wiseacre with me?" the judge asked.
"Uh, no, sir;' Dumphee said, affecting a thick accent. Judge Wright always talked with a
thick accent, as if he thought that he sounded like some southern gentleman. But the truth was,
with modern television pumping educated standard American English into every home in the
hills, practically no one in West Virginia spoke like the judge did anymore. Dumphee thought the
judge sounded like a hick. Still, it sometimes helped to sound like one of the good ol' boys.
The judge said, "Because I've got a hundred acres of good farmland at home, I don't need no
wiseacre, and if you are being a wiseacre with me..."
"No, suh!" Dumphee said louder, in an even thicker accent.
"My point is, this is 1991. Everyone else up in those hills is trying to raise marijuana and
driving Porsches. But you folks-you're living in the past." The judge shook his head so woefully,
Dumphee almost wished that he were a marijuana farmer, just so he'd get some respect. At
Dumphee's side, his pappy was stiffening, getting red in the face, blood pressure rising so high,
Dumphee feared he might burst a vessel.
The judge sighed. "You got to go out and see the world, son. So, I'm going to do you a favor.
I'm going to civilize you."
The judge took a long, deep breath, stared Dumphee in the face. "I hereby sentence you to
the maximum penalty for your crime: ten years of watching television in the West Virginia State
Prison."
The words hit Dumphee like a fist in the belly. It was so unfair. He really hadn't been
running shine. He hadn't known that his uncle had that keg in the back! It wasn't fair that he'd go
to prison. Didn't the judge know what men did to each other in there?