Way out in the Mid-West there was this fella — fella I wanna tell ya about. Fella by the name of the Carp Hunter. At least that was the handle his loving parents gave him, but he never had much use for it himself. The Carp Hunter he called himself the Carp Hunter. Now, the Carp Hunter — he didn’t make a whole lot of sense. And a lot about where he lived, likewise.

But then again, maybe that’s why I found the place so darned interestin’. They call Peoria Whiskeytown. I didn’t find it to be that, exactly. But I’ll allow there are some drunk folks there. ‘Course I can’t say I’ve seen London, and I ain’t never been to France. And I ain’t never seen no queen in her damned undies, so the feller says. But I’ll tell you what — after seeing Peoria, and this here story I’m about to unfold, well, I guess I seen somethin’ every bit as stupefyin’ as you’d see in any of them other places. And in English, too. So I can die with a smile on my face, without feelin’ like the good Lord gypped me.

Sometimes there’s a man — I won’t say a hero, ’cause, what’s a hero? But sometimes, there’s a man. And I’m talkin’ about the Carp Hunter here. Sometimes, there’s a man, well, he’s the man for his time and place. He fits right in there. And that’s the Carp Hunter, in Peoria. And even if he’s a lazy man— and the Carp Hunter was most certainly that. Quite possibly the laziest man in Illinois, which would place him high in the runnin’ for being laziest worldwide. But sometimes there’s a man, sometimes, there’s a man. Aw. I lost my train of thought here. But — aw, hell; I’ve done introduced him enough.