Yeah, HEY

Everyone stop bugging me.

"when's the next post coming?"

"Oh, I've been busy"

"Come on, man."

"Oh, uhm.....nah,"

and then that's it.

This is that post. These are the words of a generation. This is the post in the fence line that divides some obscure piece of property with a small home from the barren, dry land that it is ensconced in. Fruitless now, perhaps once providing a living for a small town farmer. But now to Bruce. His name didn't matter........he didn't have a name. He looked over the crackled, hot land that was what he imagined a leather wallet might look like under a microscope. The sun shone down. He chewed a piece of straw, trite an action as he knew it was, and it secreted a scarcity of bland tones onto the meager saliva that rested upon his tongue and teeth, what few he had.

His tongue had one of those little cracks in it. In the center. Where you see someone has it and you're like "what the fuck? .....Do I have that? What did he eat too many sour patch kids or something? What a thing to have." Don't look at people's tongues. They're for licking, not looking.

Anyhow Bruce is standing there all like "Man it's a notch over warm, god damn it."
He's wearing some tattered white shirt with the sleeves ending at his shoulder. He sectioned them off with a machete. One might even say......he macheted them off.

His son pulls around the horse. The horse is all like

"Hey uhm....HEY BRUCE...I'm a horse"

"I reckoned that before ya spake it"

"Still...I'm a horse"

"Well....of course"

"Don't fluck with me right now"

His son, Amanda, interjected;

"Hey guys, it's not like there's some flipping contest about shit that you're winning by saying more words"

I think this story is a classic.