Reviving an old tale...
As a small boy, I remember the old men sitting on the porch at the old country store. If they didn't have a chair, they would sit on the wooden Pepsi or Coca~Cola cases. Some of their faces were still black with coal dust and they walked stiffly whenever they moved. If they were not playing "checkers" with pop-bottle lids, they were whittling on a piece of unmistakable cedar or making jokes about one another. Of course, they would take time out to walk to the edge of the porch to spit out their worn-out chew of Red Man or Days o' Work chewing tobacco.
They would talk about squirrel hunting up on the "spur" by the mulberry tree. If you got there at the right time, you could get yourself two or three squirrels before breakfast. Eventually, the discussion would get around to who had the best huntin' dog on the creek and who made the biggest fool of himself drinking "moonshine" last week. Boredom would finally win out as the weekend drew near. It was time to go to town and "trade" for groceries and meet old friends.
The courthouse square was the usual meeting place for anyone that went to town. It was not uncommon to meet folks you hadn't seen for several months, or even years. On those hot and muggy days, most folks would be standing under the shade trees. A few of the women would be slowly fanning themselves with those wooden-handled paper fans from the funeral home.
Many years ago, there were a couple of farmers that lived just outside of town and whenever they would clean out their barns, they would hook up their horses to their wagons and haul that horse manure right through the middle of town. The people called them "honey wagons." If the wind was blowing just right, you could smell 'em before you could see 'em. So they would drive those "honey wagons" straight thru town -- right past the courthouse square.
It seemed there was always a group of people milling about the square and those unmistakable smells would be wafting thru the air. The horses hooves played a joyful melody on the pavement. It was quite a distraction, to say the least.
As they passed by, the old men in their overalls would simply turn their backs, spit their tobacco juice, and continue to swap stories and pocketknives. The women in their sunbonnets would turn their heads away and start talking about last Sunday's church service and gossip about who was sleeping with the deacon. The leaves would be lilting in the breeze as the unforgettable aroma would soon drift over the trees and be lost to the clouds.
On one hot, muggy evening, a local politician -- in a tight race for County Sheriff -- happened upon a fairly good crowd in the courthouse square. Being a "politician' and being in a hotly contested race, this was as good as a packed crowd at Yankee Stadium. By fortune or circumstance, an empty "honey wagon" was on its return trip back thru town. That unmistakable aroma was still lingering.
Someone yelled, "Homer, why don't you jump up here on the back of this wagon and say a few words to the folks!" So Homer, not wanting to miss an opportunity to get a few potential votes, jumped up on the back of that almost-empty wagon and waved to a few people, looked down at his boots, stuck his nose up in the air and got a good whiff of that heavenly fragrance. He thought for a moment, looked the people straight in the eye, then he said.... "You know, I've been a Democrat all my life and this is the first time I've ever given a speech on a Republican platform."
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Right down to the last line 
