One day Brer Dom went to work and got him some ethics, and mixed it with some high-soundin' words, and fixed up a contraption called a Tar-Baby, and he took the Tar-Baby and he sat her in the big forum box, and then he lay off in the bushes for to see what the news was going to be. And he didn't have to wait long, neither, because by me by here comes Brer miz pacing down the forum—lippity-clippity, clippity-lippity—just as sassy as a jay-bird. Brer Dom, he lay low. Brer miz came prancing along until he spied the Tar-Baby, and then he fetched up on his behind legs like he was astonished. The Tar-Baby, she sat there, she did, and Brer Dom, he lay low.
“Morning!” says Brer miz, says he—“nice weather this mornin',” says he.
Tar-Baby she says, “Assume good faith,” and Brer Dom, he lay low.
“How does you sym'toms seem to prosper?” says Brer miz, says he.
Brer Dom, he lay low, and the Tar-Baby, she says, “Be polite please!”
“How you come on, then? Are you deaf?” says Brer miz, says he. “Because if you are, I can holler louder,” says he.
Tar-Baby says, “Be thoughtful,” and Brer Dom, he lay low.
“You're stuck up, that's what you are,” says Brer miz, says he, “and I'm going to cure you, that's what I'm a-going to do,” says he.
Brer Dom, he sort of chuckled, he did, and Tar-Baby, she says, “Work towards agreement.”
“I'm going to learn you how to talk to respectable folks if it's the last act,” says Brer miz, says he. “If you don't stop quoting rules at me, I'm going to bust you wide open,” says he.
Tar-Baby, she says, “Do not get personal,” and Brer Dom, he lay low.
Brer miz kept on asking her, and the Tar-Baby, she kept on spewing forum etiquette, until presently Brer miz drew back with his fist, he did, and blip he took her upside her head. His fist stuck, and he couldn't pull loose. The ethics and rules held him. But Tar-Baby, she says, “Don't ignore questions,” and Brer Dom, he lay low.
If you don't lemme loose, I'll knock you again,” says Brer miz, says he, and with that he fetched her a wipe with the other hand, and that stuck. Tar-Baby, she says “Explain your content,” and Brer Dom, he lay low.
“Turn me loose, before I kick the natural stuffing out of you,” says Brer miz, says he, but the Tar-Baby, she says, “Concede the point when you have no response.” Brer miz lost the use of his feet tangled in the rules and ethics, and Brer Dom, he lay low. Then Brer miz squalled out that if Tar-Baby doesn't turn him loose he'll butt her crank-sided. And then he butted, and his head got stuck. Then Brer Dom, he sauntered forth, looking just as innocent as one your mammy's mockin' birds.
“Howdy, Brer miz,” says Brer Dom, says he. “You look sort of stuck up this morning,” says he, and he laughed and he laughed, and then he rolled Brer miz into the thread for dumb asses.
