๐Ÿ˜‚ ๐Ÿ˜ฏ ๐Ÿ˜

A reporter walks into a bar in a small Louisiana town. He's been sent by his editor in the big city to get a human interest story, and so he walks up to some burly guy in overalls and offers him a drink in return for the story of the best day of his life.

"Best day? Well, that must've been the day that Old Man Jones asked me for help. You see, his pretty little wife had wandered out and gotten lost in the bayou. So we put together a search party and went looking for her. Just before sundown, we found her..."

This is great, thinks the reporter.

".. and then we all fucked her. Best damn day of my life."

"Holy shit," yells the reporter, "that's terrible. I can't print that. Here, have another drink, and tell me about the second-best day of your life."

"Second-best, huh? That might've been the day Jim Bob's prize hog broke out of its pen and got lost in the bayou. He was mighty attached to that hog, so we put together a search party and went looking. Just before sunset we found it. Then, we all fucked it. Not as great as Mrs. Jones, but pretty damn good."

"Damn it, man, I can't possibly print that story," says the reporter despairingly. He decides on a different tack. "How about another drink, and you tell me about the worst day of your life?"

Hillbilly's face falls. "Worst day of my life? Well, that had to be the day I got lost in the bayou..."