For years I have been giving my friends sage advice about screening potential summer visitors. Unfortunately the only person who constantly ignores this freely proffered wisdom is me. I just can't seem to get it.

When summer arrives, every personage in the known cosmos suddenly seems to remember that they have kindred living in Alaska.

Let's use my example:

"Whoa, wouldn't it be great to see good ol' Nick again? I'll betcha he's not the same annoying a$$#*^+ that he was back in college."

Or, "I hear yur goin' to Alaska, Jim-Bob. I have a fifth cousin by marriage up thar and I'm sure he wouldn't mind showing ya around and put ya up fer a couple of days."

This from the yammering yap of some distant relative I thought was shot 20 years ago for rustling night-crawlers outside of a worm ranch in Goatguts, Ala.

Please don't get me wrong, close family and friends visitations are way cool. I just don't think that anyone should be allowed to chill on our cabin's deck unless it's an established fact that they would still want to spend their summer vacation with us if we were living in the Mojave Desert, slow roasting in a steel Quonset hut, and sucking cactus roots for moisture.

My point: Several years ago I met a rather bizarre guy who was piloting a motorhome the size of New Jersey accompanied by his wife Gert and a two and a half ton Rottweiller called Cannibal. John Bubba Billy Joe Bob Langtree was from Moot Point, Ark., and looking for some great fishing. A few locals, including myself, enlightened him how to nail kings after we were assured that Cannibal wasn't interested in initiating us into his "Newly Neutered Brotherhood" if his master ended up skunked.

I'm not sorry about meeting or helping that family, but I am about giving them my name and address.

Re: The sniveling Sneeds of Swamp Gas, Miss.

Johnbubbabillyjoebob supposedly told them to "Drop on by my bubba Nick's, ifin ya hits Homer. Just tell JBBJB sent ya'all."

Well, damn, if they didn't call and, damn, if I didn't blurt, "Yeah, drop in when you get here and we'll have a cool one. It'll be great to hear what John Bubba's been up to."

I should have said that we were expecting an earthquake along with major volcano eruptions and it would be more practical for them to visit Peru. I didn't and they landed in our front yard.

Two homemade plywood campers pulled into the driveway and backfired to a shuddering halt. A man the size of a belly-dump stepped out of one of the rigs and said, "You be Varney?"

"Yep. You be Sneed?" I countered, staring at the humungous dude while trying to estimate the mud slide that the hygienically challenged Cro-Magon would create if he ever opted for a shower.

"Yep, Beauford T here, and all these here is kin or pertin near anyways. My wife Emma Lee Mae is finishing up a case of deep fried Twinkies and will be here in a second if she don't get stuck between the dashboard and front seat again. Hey, where's the beer ya'll promised? I cud sure use a chug, can't stay long though, cuz we gotzta get back down the road to Anchor Point where Emma's third cousin's cousin lives. They gonna be surprised, too. They think I'm still in jail."

"Well, I sure as hell don't want to hold you up Beauford, how about a six pack to go?"

"Sure. Hey, ya gots inee extree fish? We ain't caught nutin' worth keepin' so far. Can't believe ya don't have no catfish, bass or yellow-whiskered mud suckers. This state sucks."

As I turned to find him some warm brew and complimentary cologne, I asked "Does some halibut sound OK?"

"I dunno," he whined. "That's a really ugly fish. Me and Emma don't like ta eat ugly fish. Got any jellied bottom-eel heads?"

"Sorry, Dude, fresh out. But I have some frozen salmon steaks that are holding their 1979 whitish gray appeal. Howz that?"

"Well, I guess anything will do ifen it's free."

"Great," I mumbled as I went inside to get my special "Just Go Away" gift pack consisting of some leftover suds I couldn't get my neighbor's hog to drink plus a block of ancient fillets that I had been using as shelving in the freezer.

As the mental flat-line drove off, Jane informed me that some guy called claiming that he and I had been thrown out of the same day-care Bible school for disruptive behavior and was looking forward to visiting us in August.

I immediately called Turk and asked one question.

"Yo, Bro, do you still have that bulldozer?"

"Yep."

"How much do you want to build a moat?"

Nick C. Varney is a freelance writer who now does background checks on anyone who says they want to stop by and visit in the summertime.