We’re strong, simple people. We enjoy the simple pleasures: Flannel, dirty gloves, throwing lumber onto truckbeds in slow-mo, leaning on fences, you name it. MAN do we love leaning on fences. Wood fences, wire fences — you give us a fence, we’ll lean the fuck on it.
Out here, it’s always sunrise or sunset. Are there other times in the day? We don’t know. And frankly, we don’t want to know. We’re simple like that. All we know is that this lumber has to go from here to somewhere else, and it’s up to us to move it. Also there’s horses out here so shut those greasy gates and let’s peel out into the mud.
Us? We’re all about family. When we’re not about lumber. Which is often. But we’ll swing by the son’s Little League game and rub his head when his team loses, then swing by the gal’s Little League game and rub her head when her team loses. Just let em know that it’s all gonna be ok because we love them, and we’ll get that lumber where it needs to go.
But we’re not afraid to let loose every now and then! Sometimes we go to the diner where the way-too-attractive waitress pours us coffee and gives us broad smiles. She may look like a model but she’s got flannel on and never isn’t turning around with a coffee pot so she’s one of us.
We live on a porch. Quiet. Homely. Not much call for buildings in our town — we’re not really into ‘frills’ — just give us a porch and some iced tea pitchers with the sun shining through them and we’re as happy as a pig in gloves leaning on a fence.
At night, we just admire the stars. LOVE those stars. Who needs a television when you got stars? Not us, that’s who.
My son points up at the stars as if to say “wow!” I smile. I am glad my son enjoys the stars. At least one kid gets that you don’t need ‘video games’ when you have stars. They’re like our own little tiny, glowing fences in the sky for our eyes to lean on. Truly magical.
In conclusion, I love this country.
My wife is a truck made of fences.
We’re just simple folk who love fences and throwin’ wood in slo-mo!
You must be THIS tall to drive this way.
Awesome, sure, but what if this was the way he died.
It’s not the size of the bed of your truck that matters.
One of America’s Greatest Pastimes: Adults tricking kids into cursing
I don’t think popular R&B singer Seal would appreciate you giving away his number, man.
It’s okay if you can’t afford to buy yourself a pickup truck, just turn your ol’ Chevy Caprice Classic into one.