But Who Will Get the Kids?!

First of all, a big thanks to everyone who came out to see us last week. It was a great show and, more importantly, it was a great crowd. 

Now, we’re turning our attention to a custody agreement between two farmers who made their money and moved to California. They’re now having a dispute over who’s getting what. Enjoy, and stay tuned for more shows.

A lawyer sits at his desk, neatly dressed in a suit, and makes some notes before his phone rings. “Yes? Right, the McDonalds. They’re a little early, but send them in. Maybe I’ll get an early lunch break out of it.”

He hangs up, and almost immediately, there’s a knock on the door. Two more people enter, this time dressed in boots, overalls, and straw hats. 

“Well, how-dee-doo, Mr. Harrelson! I know we’re here a touch early, but as my papaw used to say, ‘If you’re early, you’re on time, and if you’re on time, you’re late.’”

The woman sighs. “Sal, let’s not waste the man’s time, here. We’re just here to talk about the kids.” She held out her hand to shake. “I’m Isabelle, and Sal here’s my ex-husband.”

“Right, I see you’re here to discuss the custody agreement, then?’ He shook her hand, then motioned to the chairs, and the two sat. The woman sits her bag on the floor, where it visibly rolls. Mr. Harrelson leans over his desk. “Everything alright in there?”

“Aw, yeah, you know how kids are.” 

He blinks. “Right. You’re welcome to let your kids out any time, Ms. McDonald, but let’s get started discussing your custody. Mr. McDonald, it says here that you agreed to a joint custody agreement, where you and your former spouse will each get them a week on, then a week off. Are the kids happy?”

“Oh yes, one place to romp and play and headbutt each other is just as good as the next, ain’t it?” Sal chuckles. 

“Well, I certainly hope not. I wouldn’t want some poor kids getting head injuries.” 

The couple laughs. “Mr. Harrelson, you are a riot and a half. But, yes, all that’s correct, but I’m looking to get more time with the kids. They’re getting older, and I’m looking to settle down a little. I’m starting a petting zoo.”

Isabelle shakes her head. “Well, I’m hoping to change the agreement to get more time with my kids. I raised them, and I was thinking about opening a yoga center with the kids. Those are really getting popular, and I think I could do something real special with it.”

Mr. Harrelson frowned. “Well, I can’t say I’ve heard of that before. I’ll have to ask that you look into that before you make any decisions, considering child labor laws, but—”

“Now, Mr. Harrelson, hold on just a second,” Sal says. “Are you telling me you thought we had children?”

The attorney stares at them. “Yes, that’s generally what child custody means.”

“No, no, we’ve got kids!” Isabelle beams, then uncinches her bag. A tiny goat clops across the stage. “Better than children by a long shot, if you ask me.”

Mr. Harrelson was silent. “You mean to tell me that you two Beverly hillbillies came all this way, just to find me out of any family lawyer in Rancho Cucamonga you could have picked, over goats?”

“Well, when you put it that way—”

“I’m going to have to ask you two to leave.”

“But—”

Mr. Harrelson stood, shooing the protesting farmers and their goat. He’s nearly headbutted for his efforts, but soon, he’s alone again. He slumps into his chair, then picks up the phone. 

“Jean? Yes, I’d like you to cancel my goat yoga appointment for today. Yes, I’ve definitely had enough barnyard shenanigans. You can stop laughing now”

He hangs up and sighs as the curtain falls. 

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