The White River Kid

For the past eight years I've been in business for myself.

My main line is men's socks, factory thirds,

which I buy in 200 pound bales

and sell three pairs for a dollar.

When I first started,

I was harassed by the local police

and the county sheriff's office to buy a peddler's license,

and that ate up all my profit.

Having formally worked as both a mind reader

and a fortune teller,

I knew that the long arm of the law was less likely

to reach out if I was under the Lord's protection.

And so I invented the Little Brothers of St. Mortimer.

Bonjour.

Welcome to Como, South Arkansas.

It's not a town you call dumb, but mention culture

and they'll smash your balls with a hammer.

A dancing bear could earn more money

than Beethoven in this town.

That old Beethoven was a lousy dancer.

Stack 'em neatly Mr. Pittman,

and remember we are selling socks for God

made by blind Christian children.

Push the shit brown and hold back on the blue.

I got stuck with the shit brown last year.

Why you small time, no big time?

You, you, you, you, you'll die selling socks.

Right, like you nearly died on the Rio Grande.

We all have our dreams, Mr. Pittman.

I have earned these good citizens respect

by keeping their feet warm in the winter.

I have allowed them to experience a joy of giving.

Why?

Thank you ladies.

Thank you.

My dream, Morales, does not include Timberfest.

Does not include you.

And I tell you, it does not include socks.

Dream on, Brother Pittman, dream on.

Bonjour.

Are you a lumberjack?

Moi?

No, no.

What is it that you're looking for, monsieur?

A book.

Smart move, you've come to the right place.

What kind of book?

A law book, "How to Become a Citizen of America".

Fourth shelf on your left, immigration Law.

Thank you.

I'm thinking ahead here, Brother Edgar.

Reckon just how many I'm gonna need.

Well, I'm no visionary Mr. Spivey,

but guess it pays to think ahead.

I'll take this.

Are you a county resident?

Only county residents are allowed

to check books out from the Bookmobile.

Oh, Shakespeare.

I like Shakespeare.

You like Shakespeare?

Yes.

Shall I compare thee to the summer's day.

Thou art more lovely and um more

uhh hot.

It's hot.

I'm hot.

Are you hot?

No, no, no.

Don't say anything.

Yeah!

Hey!

Gotta go, bye.

See you later.

Welcome back, Mr. Pittman.

Give me 75 cents for a raspberry slush.

It's hot.

You think the streets are paved with raspberry slush, huh?

What's that?

It's an immigration book.

"How to Become an American Citizen".

No, wrong.

This is not a book about immigration.

This is a book about litigation.

Litigation.

No, no.

Immigration is what you do when you wanna move

from one country to another.

Litigation is what you do when the building company

drops a brick on your head or somebody cheats you.

Then you take 'em to court

and sue 'em for every buck you can get.

That's litigation.

Wow.

Sounds good.

I'll read it.

Now could you give me 75 cents for a raspberry slush

for my friend, please?

Please.

Thank you.

Yoo-hoo.

Oh, my God.

Would you look at the view?

Pretty as a picture.

Alive with flavor!

This is what makes America great.

Landscape and sales.

Sales is what makes America great.

Give me money.

I'm a traveling ministry,

the little money I have is designated for the poor.

Will you take socks instead?

Come on, I wanna see if you wooly gum or no.

Wooly socks yes, wooly gums no.

Just give me your size and I'll fish you out a pair.

Give me socks and money.

Now that's all I have.

What color for the socks?

Blue.

I think I'm a tad short on blue.

No messing or you're dead.

You're robbing me at these socks,

you are depriving the destitute,

taking the food from the mouths of orphans

currently reside in of the Little Brothers of St. Mortimer,

a home for Christian children.

Blind!

Consider that when you put 'em on.

Thanks.

You're welcome, Kid.

Goddamn!

How long does it take a Mexican wetback

to evacuate his bowels?

Oh, no, 3000 legal Mexicans in the state of Arkansas

and I have to find this little dick.

Beautiful day, huh?

- Isn't it? - Looks like you're

a long way from home, Señor.

Yeah.

Carry immigration papers at all times?

Why Sheriff Becker, what a pleasure to see you.

Mr. Pittman, what do you think y'all doing?

Jogging.

He's with you?

Newly arrived from our mission in Laredo.

Orphaned, tragic case. Did you say jogging?

Yep.

In this heat?

Jogging for Jesus.

Jesus.

Mr. Pittman and all the little brothers

of St. Mortimer counsels

for physical as well as spiritual wellness,

but we are gonna be late for God's work.

And protect your head against the sun at all times.

Thought I had myself a wetback there, Reverend.

Your vigilance and devotion to duty

is a credit to you, Sheriff.

Pledged to serve.

Campaigning for reelection I see.

All the way down to Lomas Falls.

Appreciate your vote.

Oh, Lomas, that's a long ride.

Not when there's hot tea waiting

at the end of it, Brother Edgar.

Tea?

How quaint.

Quaint, it ain't.

Bye.

Go, get out of here!

Come on, go!

Screw you, Woolsey, hog shit farmer.

Why not try Plumrod's famous mile high pie

with wedges big enough to cover up a dinner plate

and meringue on top

that ain't nevertheless seven inches high.

And if it ain't, then Slovas Plumrod will give it you free.

I'll have the famous mile high pie.

For my friend, he will eat nothing

until he is finishes greens.

He needs his roughage.

Okay, you eat your greens and stop talking smut.

Yeah, as you say nice ass.

Morales, Morales.

- What? - Look.

He's the one that robbed me.

Robbed you.

Who robbed you?

Him.

Oh, that's.

What?

Butterfly.

What Spanish, French, and German

with a trilingual dyslexic?

No, the kid, the kid.

What, what, what?

The White River Kid.

What's the matter with you?

Keep your voice down.

What, what?