I almost got run over by a combine today. So feelin sad and ornery and collectin guns because I’m a short feller, that don’t even factor dude. I can understand bein mad about some woman but to the point of throwing drinks on couples out for a night on the town– sir I almost got run over by a tractor today, it wouldn’t have cared if I were tall or short.
Those greasy tires would have crushed my nuts like a bug’s carapace all the same. So excuse my lack of interest in yr story, that’s all. I’m just glad to be alive in one piece nuts intact, I’m at the bar, drinkin an if some available female takes up the threads and byways of conversing with me then fare thee well.
I’m ready to taste something that smacks of distant starfire or the blazes of lust now that I’m not waiting for any Man.
The farmer’s are burning the last of the fields at the end of the Fall harvest. Rod and some Southern dandies form up in a circle dance wearing hosen to stop the Boll Weevil from making a terrible return next harvest.
No More Fancy Words 