Freddie Joe Bigrigs sat on the stoop of his trailer smokin' some pipe-weed (without the pipe). He looked out onto his rig, his most prized possession, gleaming in the moonlight. It was parked next to his trailer in the Shire Mobile Home Park. He inherited the rig from his uncle, Billy Bo, who retired from trucking and went to live with the Elvis-folk. Freddie Joe was skeptical of his uncle's tall tales about dwarves, dragon wagons, and the Arkansas-stone, but he sure loved his rig.
When he wasn't on the road, Freddie Joe lived in the trailer park with his friends, Sam, Murray, and Bubba, with whom he would pass many a day and night drinking, playing cards, and watching NASCAR. But just as he was about to get horizontal (that's trucker talk for sleep), his friend Randolph showed up out of the blue. Randolph, who was a good friend of Billy Bo's, was an old long-hauler who occasionally made deliveries to the Shire Mobile Home Park. He had been driving trucks since the good ol' days, the time before the freeways were even built. But tonight was no ordinary night.
"Randolph!" Freddie Joe exclaimed, "You look like you just had the crap scared outta you!"
"You still have that ole rig your uncle Billy Bo gave you?" asked Randolph. "I just found out that it's not just any ole rig. It's THE ONE RIG! It was manufactured by Moore Door long ago. It must be destroyed immediately!"
"What? It's the best dang rig I ever did have. Why can't I keep it, Randy?" Freddie Joe said, scratching his head.
"'Cause the Black Ryders is comin' to repo it," said Randolph. "They'll bring it back to Moore Door, who'll use it to take over the whole damn truckin' industry and put everyone else out of bidniz."
"Who in the hell are the Black Ryders? Are they bears?" asked Freddie Joe.
"Worse!" said Randolph. "They follow no law and fear no trucker."
"Are you sure my rig's from Moore Door?" inquired Freddie Joe, fearing his imminent demise.
Freddie Joe looked at the faded runes on the side of his rig that said "MOORE DOOR", with its famous "Red Eye" symbol still visible after all these years. Below it was a slogan, but Freddie Joe could not read it. "What's it say, Randolph? I dunno how to read."
Randolph lit a match and held it up to the side of the rig. Soon the faint lettering became visible. Randolph read the words that appeared:
"One rig to rule 'em all,
One rig to fetch 'em,
One rig to bring 'em all,
And in the darkness, hitch 'em!"
"What in tarnation is that supposed to mean?" said Freddie Joe, scratching his head.
"It means you best leave the Shire before the Black Ryders find you," replied Randolph. "Call your friends up and go to Tom-Bob Biddle's house as soon as you can! I'll meet y'all over at the Angry Kangaroo. And remember: stay off them highways! That's where the Black Ryders will be lookin' for you."
Freddie Joe called his friends, saying that they was gonna make an emergency delivery. After much grumbling and swearing, they agreed to help him. With their help, Freddie Joe and his friends discreetly snuck the rig out of the trailer park.
"Time to take to the road, for a quiet little drive in the country," said Freddie Joe.
"Or not!" said Sam, Freddie Joe's best friend and part-time gardener.
As the hillfolks made their getaway, they could hear the sound of diesel engines and smell of gas fumes as nine rental trucks covered with black paint rode into the trailer park. They were driven by nine of Sorass's most loyal goons, who rented them so they could take back the rig. They prowled around the trailer park, looking for any sign of the One Rig, accosting innocent hillfolks and asking them where "Bigrigs" was.
Relieved by their narrow escape from the Black Ryders, Freddie Joe started singing an old song of Billy Bo's.
"The road goes ever on and on,
Eastbound and down, loaded up and truckin',
We gonna do what they say can't be done."
The hillfolks drove the rig until they reached the old woods next to the trailer park.
"The Old Woods? But they's haunted!" said Sam.
"Yeah, I know, Sam. But we got no choice," replied Freddie Joe.
The woods were home to old Tom-Bob Biddle, who lived out in the sticks because he thought the 'gubmint' was out to get him. He lived with his 19-year-old daughter Goldie Lee, who all the hillfolks agreed was the finest girl in all the Middle South. When the hillfolks arrived at Tom-Bob's shack, he was singing a song and making some moonshine.
"What the hell are y'all doin' on my private property? Y'all better not be revenuers," said Tom-Bob indignantly.
"Murray Brody-Buck, pleased t' make yer acquaintance," said Murray, offering his hand as a gesture of friendship.
Tom-Bob pointed his rifle at Murray and said, "Get off my property or I'll blow yer damn hand right off!"
"You don't unnerstand, Randolph sent us here," said Freddie Joe.
Tom-Bob threw down his rifle, and greeted the hillfolk with a warm smile, revealing his three gold teeth. "Well, why didn't ya say so sooner? Any friend of Randolph is a friend of mine."
Just then, the spittin' image of perfection stepped out through the door of the shack in a halter top and a pair of short shorts. "What's goin' on, pappy? Who ya talkin' to?"
"Get back inside, Goldie Lee!" shouted Tom-Bob. Turning to the hillfolks, he said, "Well, I reckon it's suppertime. But you'd better not go near my Goldie if ya value yer life."
Tom-Bob hung up his rifle on the wall, joining its 300 cousins. Famished from their long journey, the hillfolks tucked in to a hearty supper of possum stew. They told Tom-Bob of their adventures thus far, including their harrowing escape from the Black Ryders. While they ate, Goldie Lee looked longingly at Bubba.
"You hillfolks are so key-yute!" Goldie Lee giggled. "Y'all can sleep in my room tonight."
Tom-Bob shot an icy stare at the hillfolks. "You better not! Y'all are sleepin' on the floor."
The next morning, Tom-Bob woke up the three hillfolks sleeping on the floor.
"Rise 'n' shine, hillfolks, it's time for breakfast. I done shot myself a squirrel," Tom-Bob said, holding the recently-deceased rodent by the tail, which he intended as their next meal.
"No thanks, Mr. Biddle. I ain't hungry." Freddie Joe said.
"Suit yourself! Just means more for me… Funny, I thought there was four of y'all," said Tom-Bob perplexed.
"Yeah, where's Bubba?" said Sam.
Tom-Bob took a rifle off the wall and opened the door to Goldie Lee's room. "Goldie Lee, have you seen… Dadgumit! What in tarnation is goin' on in here?"
"Sorry, mister. This ain't what it looks like!" Bubba said, wearing only his birthday suit.
"You and my daughter, nekkid as jaybirds!" stammered Tom-Bob. "You better get the hell outta here!"
The hillfolks ran for their lives as Tom-Bob chased after them, shooting with his rifle. "You no-good sumbitches! I'M GONNA BARBEQUE YO' ASSES IN MOLASSES!"
They jumped into the rig, and after fumbling for the keys, drove off as fast as they could manage. All the while, Bubba tried to put his clothes back on. "Time to put pedal to the metal and get the hell outta here!" exclaimed Freddie Joe.
Soon after leaving Tom-Bob Biddle's house in much haste, the hillfolks arrived at the Angry Kangaroo, a bar and motel at the truck stop located off the interstate. It was a favorite of truckers, bikers, drifters, and lot lizards.
"Just remember, only call me by my handle: Mr. Underpants." said Freddie Joe, as they entered the bar. "And don't call attention to y'all-selves."
As they walked over to the counter, they passed a mysterious middle-aged man wearing a white jumpsuit and a pair of blue suede shoes, which Bubba promptly stepped on.
"Dóntyú steponmai blúswéd-shúz", the stranger said in the tongue of the Elvis-folk.
"Look Freddie Joe, it's Elvis!" Sam said. "What would my old pappy Hogfat say now?"
Freddie Joe sighed. "Sam, that's just an impersonator. The real Elvis has been dead for two years."
"Nuh-uh!" Sam replied. "The National Enquirer said Elvis is alive and well. He's just pretendin' to be dead 'cause he got tired of bein' famous."
"I see you noticed ol' Sideburns sittin' over there," said Barleybeer Butterball, the rotund proprietor of the bar. "He's a strange feller. Whenever he comes in here, he just sits over there in his jumpsuit, eatin' peanut butter and banana sandwiches. He don't say much, and when he does open his mouth I can't understand a damn word he says."
"Have you seen Randolph?" asked Freddie Joe. "He said he'd meet us here."
"No, I ain't seen him in a long time. But there's been a lotta suspicious folks about here lately. Like that squint-eyed southerner over there," said Barleybeer, pointing at a nearby bar patron.
"Whatcha lookin' at me fer? I just lost mah glasses," the squint-eyed southerner replied.
The hillfolks waited in the bar while their room was prepared. Bubba was drinking and having a deep conversation with some shady-looking characters in the corner of the room, where he was giving out all of Freddie Joe's personal information. "His real name is Freddie Joe Bigrigs and he lives in the Shire Mobile Home Park. And his mother's maiden name is Brody-buck. And his Social Security Number is…"
"Bubba! Stop givin' away all of my personal information. We's goin' to bed!" said Freddie Joe, dragging the inebriated Bubba away from the table.
The hillfolks' room was typical of roadside motels: cramped, dirty and dingy. The TV didn't work. There was a terrible odor that no one could identify. The beds were unmade and had strange stains on them. And the bathroom was even worse! "It's just like bein' back in the Shire," said Sam, longing for his trailer many miles away.
Worn out by a long day's haul, the hillfolks quickly got to sleep. But their slumber was interrupted in the middle of the night when someone knocked on the door to their room.
"Aryú-lónsum túnait?" the voice inquired.
"Wake up, Freddie Joe, it's Elvis!" exclaimed Sam, who eagerly greeted the mysterious stranger at the door. Only Freddie Joe could understand what Sideburns was saying, as he had learned the Elvis-tongue by listening to his Uncle Billy Bo's old records. Sideburns told them of his meeting with Randolph and that he was to take them to the Heartbreak Hotel, where the Elvis-folk were assembling.
Just then, nine pairs of headlights flashed into the room. It was the Black Ryders! Sideburns guided the hillfolks out the fire escape of the motel, and into their rigs. As they drove off, the hillfolks could see that their room was being ransacked by the Black Ryders.
Dang! That was a close one!" said Murray.
The little convoy made their away along the back roads of the Middle South, staying away from the big slab as much as possible. Sideburns drove through the maze of country roads, with the hillfolks following his lead. But after a while, the hillfolks began to wonder if they were going in the right direction.
"I've seen that tree three times now. I think we're lost!" said Sam.
"Not all who wander are lost," Freddie Joe reminded him.
At that very moment, Sideburns pulled over to the side of the road, and unfolded a map.
"You know, I'm pretty sure that means that we's lost," replied Murray.
Eventually the hillfolks and Sideburns made their way to Trucks-top, a camping ground popular with the locals. After gathering some firewood, they built a campfire at the top of the hill. They passed the time roasting marshmallows, playing charades, and telling old tales.
The hillfolks went to sleep, and guess who showed up? The Black Ryders! They emerged from their obsidian rental trucks wearing dark robes. One by one, they walked up the side of the hill until all nine of them were standing over the sleeping hillfolks.
Awakened by their presence, Sideburns got up quickly. "Dónt bícrúl!" he shouted.
Unfazed by Sideburns's plea for mercy, the leader of the Black Ryders shot Freddie Joe in the shoulder.
"Elizabeth Gilthoniel!" Freddie Joe cried out, inexplicably remembering the name of his eighth-grade girlfriend. The Black Ryders were puzzled for a moment, but moved back in for the kill. Sideburns, thinking quickly, took off his glove and set it on fire.
"Imma hunka hunka burnin glove!" Sideburns said, waving his glove in front of the Black Ryders.
Scared off by the fire, the Black Ryders made a hasty retreat back into their ebony-hued rental trucks and drove off as fast as they possibly could.
"Return-tú Sorass!" commanded Sideburns. "Address-annûn!"