Hello again, Murika...

Ever wish you was someone else? I do, I've always wanted to be a goober. You know who I’m talking about, don't you? I've always respected that guy you see at the Quik-Trip early in the morning. He's above average in height and always looks like he’s starving to death. You'll rarely see him without a cigarette hanging out of his mouth, unless he's drinking, of course, and then he'll have a spit-cup beside him to get rid of the effluent portion of his chew. That's why he stays outside a lot, because it's a big hassle, when you’re from Texas, to have to conform to the rules of society. He'd much sooner spit on the floor, but his momma quit doing it, so he figures that what's good enough for momma is good enough for him.

He drives the (mandatory) primer gray 1984 Ford F-150 pickup truck with the rusted-out fender wells and the retro-fit Hurst five-speed shifter, mounted on the floor (pretty much). Someday he’ll get around to filling in the hole in the floor caused by cutting the hole too big; all he had was a SawzAll and about a dozen metal-cutting blades, so the hole is not real neat. Besides, it matches the over-all flavor of the interior, because the hole he cut in the dashboard for the new stereo is a little too big, too. The face place almost covers, except for those two places where the blade got twisted and cut too far, but overall, it works just fine. He only has one tape left, because 8-tracks have a tendency to deteriorate over time. That’s okay, too, because he really likes Black Oak Arkansas. But, what the hell, it runs good when he can afford to keep gas in it. A country boy can survive…

The bed of the truck is pretty much empty, except for a few beer cans and Speedy's cage. Speedy ran off about two years ago, when he took him out to hunt. He figures he'll find him sooner or later, so he keeps Speedy's cage in the truck, just in case. He'd never admit that he misses that damn dog, but not a day goes by that he doesn't think about him... the stupid little shit don't have a lick of sense.

Oh, I forgot, he's also saving up to have glass packs put on his muffler, just to antagonize the cops. He likes to come roaring into town, revving up his engine at stoplights like the #8 car at Talladega Speedway. They hate that...

But, I guess everyone wishes he were something he's not. I'm going to have to learn to accept my lot in life.

Well, gotta go... Dick Cheney is having another one of his attacks and I may get to go into the Oval Office today. I can’t wait to sit in that big leather chair and spin around… maybe even make that Secret Service guy with no neck bring me some Ho-Hos.

Dubya