I have been royally put in my place.

After two fun-filled columns taking pot shots at the way we talk here in the South, I dared to venture out of my safe, secure cocoon last week and vent a bit about TV &uot;talking heads&uot; and the way TV stations, especially cable news networks, clutter up the screen with graphics. With news briefs scrolling along the bottom of the screen, a weather box and the Stock Market report in the right-hand corner, and up-to-the-minute sports scores on the left, it makes it hard to focus in on what the broadcaster is reporting (err, not a real reporter, but someone, normally a sharp-dressed person with perfect hair and orally enhanced white teeth, actually reading on a teleprompter what someone else wrote).

Apparently, someone took offense to my ravings. The e-mail I received – one calling me a bald-headed Republican (yes, I am beginning to show signs of what I refer to as follicle regression) – came from a self-professed radio guy. Gee, I’m sorry. I didn’t know you guys (or gals) took offense to a balding conservative who hides behind a computer screen and pens bad words about the liberal media. At least you radio types are fortunate in the fact that you don’t have to dress for work. I know it must irk you when you rip your favorite Star Trek t-shirt while stretching to push a button that cues canned news stories bounced off a satellite (as compared to what this newspaper does, which is, with just two reporters, covers a three county area from Merry Hill to Hare’s Mill to Pleasant Hill).

Anyway, I now fear for my life. I feel as though that every move I make is being monitored by a person lurking in the shadows. Maybe they’re videotaping me. Maybe they’ll show it to all their listeners on the radio. Ye Gads, my career is ruined; my face plastered all over the radio airwaves.

Please, Mr. RadioMan, spare me from the torment. I’ll be good….I promise. I’ll go to bed each and every night and pray that John Kerry and John Edwards aren’t struck by lightening while they lie and deceive the American voters in their quest to gain control of the White House.

I will give you my word that I will not sing the praises of President Bush at midnight on the third Sunday after the first full moon of autumn. Hear me now and believe me later when I say that I give you my word as a chicken-hearted, fat, balding Republican that I will honor these promises.

As a show of good faith, I will return to my comical ramblings (apparently, you like funny things; good, then buy yourself a mirror). Sir, I promise to make you forget that I’m nothing more than the scum of the Earth my appealing to your alleged sense of humor. Please accept the following as a token of my good faith as I offer you, as a sequel to my two weeks of exploring the meaning of certain Southern words and phrases, these Hillbilly Medical Terms:

Benign: What you be after you be eight.

Bacteria: Back door to cafeteria.

Barium: What you do with dead folks.

Cesarean Section: A neighborhood in Rome.

Seizure: Roman emperor who lived in the Cesarean Section of town.

Catscan: Searching for the cat.

Cauterize: Made eye contact with her.

Colic: A sheep dog.

Coma: A punctuation mark.

D&C: Where Washington, and our federal guvment, is.

Dilate: To live longer than your kids do.

Enema: Not a friend.

Fester: Quicker than someone else.

Fibula: A small lie.

G.I. Series: World Series of military baseball.

Hangnail: What you hang your coat on.

Impotent: Distinguished, well known.

Labor Pain: Getting hurt at work.

Morbid: A higher offer than I bid.

Nitrates: Cheaper than day rates.

Medical Staff: A Doctor’s cane, sometimes shown with a snake.

Node: Past tense of I knew it.

Outpatient: A person who has fainted.

Pap Smear: A fatherhood test.

Pelvis: Second cousin to Elvis.

Post Operative: A letter carrier.

Recovery Room: Place to do upholstery.

Secretion: Hiding something

Tablet: A small table to change babies on.

Terminal Illness: Getting sick at the train station.

Tumor: More than one.

Urine: Opposite of mine.

Varicose: Near by

Hospital: The biggest building in

town, other than Joe’s feed warehouse or Franks lumber mill.

Thanks to one of my faithful female readers (one that apparently does not find me as a threat to our national security because I choose to voice my Republican views) for passing along these hillbilly terms.

Guess I’ll see ya’ll next week….that is if I’m not buried upside-down on an anthill under a broadcast tower.