Status Updates From Rurally Screwed: My Life Of...

I was locked up tighter than a whorehouse in Utah.

It wasn't uncommon to find some lady with buckteeth growing sideways, pushing a cart full of Crisco near the cereal aisle hollering at her son or lover - maybe one and the same - that, 'Damn you, Dale. You know we can't afford no Puffed Wheat!'

[Virginia Walmart Supercenter at 3:30am]

I had visions of myself strumming Credence Clearwater Revival songs in the gazebo with a sprightly red cardinal on my shoulder.

“Well, we can’t all live as authentically as you,” I sighed. “You know, with the wind at our backs and cow shit under our feet.“

I go nuts for Wrangler butts.

Every building I passed seemed to specialize in dirt or rocks, sod or silage, trucks or trailers.

This book was a gift from the owner of a small Montana bookshop, with whom I had a wonderful impromptu conversation, and to whom I promised a brief response letter upon completion. Fingers crossed I love it because I don't know what the heck I'll say to this person if I hate it.