by: Marty Chrisman

The bright orange Dodge Charger tore along the dirt road at ninety miles an hour. Everybody in Hazzard County knew the General Lee. It was the most well known car in the county. And the most memorable. With its bright orange paint job, the big black 01 trimmed in white on both doors, the rebel flag painted on the roof, and the name General Lee painted above each door, it was a hard car to miss.

Equally well known in Hazzard County were the two cousins that co-owned the powerful stock car. The Duke Boys. Bo and Luke. Bo was the younger of the two cousins and he generally drove the General Lee. With his baby blue eyes, feathered light blonde hair and sexy smile, Bo was a favorite with the ladies. Luke, who usually rode shotgun beside his cousin, was the oldest of the three cousins who lived on the Duke farm. With his brown hair, sapphire blue eyes and crooked smile, he was just as popular with the ladies as his cousin. And both boys had a lean muscular build from their years of working on the farm. They were considered the two best catches in the County and most of the girls in the county would give anything just to spend some time with them. And the majority of them had at one time or another.

After a long hard day of working in the fields with their Uncle Jesse, the boys were headed to the local hangout to blow off some steam. The Boars Nest was the only honky-tonk in Hazzard County and the most popular. Everybody went there. Located about 7 miles outside of town, The Boars Nest was housed in a long cinder block building with a large dirt parking lot out front. It was owned by Boss Hogg, who owned most of Hazzard County and what he didn’t own, he held the mortgage on including the Duke family farm.

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by: Karen Campbell

The Atlanta Herald’s front page looked like a rogue’s gallery with the story of the
cocaine heist. There were the Bandit, the Snowman and Carrie, happily accepting the
reward money from the authorities. There were Jason and Harlan, cuffed hands trying to
block the camera lens. There was a crimson-faced Sheriff Justice, charged with
conspiracy and theft of narcotics.
And there was one brief line about the assistance of some locals in Hazzard
County.
Well, Boss eventually got over the loss of his reward, and by the time Christmas
came to Hazzard, life had pretty well got back to normal.
Boss and Lulu took a holiday cruise to the Caribbean, and in the ensuing quiet,
what with no new schemes or scams to beware of, the Dukes actually realized the meaning of “peace on earth”. On Christmas Eve, they invited Rosco, Enos and Cooter out to the farm to share their celebrations.
The light from the cozy fire flashed onto the silver and gold tinsel that glittered on
the tall, star-crowned Christmas tree as Daisy carried in tray after tray of colourful, sweet
smelling cookies and hot, buttered rum. “Careful, Enos,” she warned! “Don’t grab so
many, they’re still hot! You’ll burn your fingers!”

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by: Kristy Duke

By: Hilery “Scoot” Davenport
Edited by: Hoss

The Dukes stayed up till around midnight, discussing why it was so quiet in Hazzard, law-wise.

“I think Boss and Rosco are planning something, it’s just been, well, peaceful for a change,” Luke told everyone. They were debating the subject.

“Well, I think the silence is nice,” Daisy said.

“I agree with Luke, Daisy, I think it’s just the calm before the storm.”

“Bo, I’m siding with Daisy on this one; you boys worry too much,” Uncle Jesse spoke to them in a kind, understanding tone, but he wished they would just pipe down and relax for a change. They needed to enjoy the peace for once, but being who they were, they couldn’t. They knew something was gonna happen in Hazzard. “Now, I want all of you young ‘uns to go off to bed,” Jesse finished as they went off their rooms. He himself followed when their lights had all gone out.

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by: Karen Campbell

Just outside of town, Artie Bender’s wagon was rolling along a quiet country road.
Artie Bender’s wagon was alot like Artie Bender: small, old and rickety, but full of
bounce. Hazzard County’s own “Grandpa Moses” was heading into town to pick up
some flour, coffee and a brand new set of paints that Rhubottom’s General Store had
special-ordered, and seated next to Artie, his tie pulled askew and his shirt-tail falling out,
was a very tired Rosco P. Coltrane.
But for all his artistic sensitivity, Artie no more noticed his companion’s mood than
he noticed the deerfly that was buzzing ’round his hat. He shook the reigns of the bony
old mule that shambled along in the shafts, and gazed smiling at the woods around them.
“Them leaves was sure pretty a few weeks ago, wasn’t they, Sheriff? Nothin’ like
the ones you see up North…I seen ’em once, in Maine it was. Looked like the Lord done
took up His own brush and painted the whole countryside in candie apple red and
persimmon orange…still, sure do miss even our little show when it goes.”
Rosco had pulled his boots off his aching feet; he now used one to swatt at the
deerfly. “I ain’t paintin’ a picture, Artie, I’m supposed to be in hot pursuit! Can’t you get
this old bag o’ bones to get on?”

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