So I'm picturing a westbound pioneer trail wagon lumbering along a dirty, bumpy cow path somewhere in the Plains, in the mid-1800's. The sourdough jug is swinging back and forth on a nail affixed to the back of the wagon. Ol' Chester seems perplexed. He scratches his head and mumbles to himself. This goes on for miles. Maw is quite concerned. "What in the world is fryin' yore hade, Paw?" "Is it Injuns?", she asks. "Nope", he says. "Is it the two busted wagon wheels or the very fact that the kids are sickly and runnin' a high fever?" Naw", he says. "Then why are you all pestered then, Paw?" After a long pause, Chester says, "Maw, Last night I was afreshen the sourdough jug and after separating the weevils from the flour barrel and straining the road dirt out of the water bucket, I'm not one hunnert percent shore that I got the maysurements axactly!"
About a mile down the road, Maw clubs Ol' Chester on the head with broad ax, shoves him off the wagon and continues on to Oregon.