I guess there is no other way to kick off this thing then rambling on and on and on…
One day I was a passing this old barn, ya see, and the old farmer (I assume he was and old farmer… who else would own an old barn?) came out of nowhere (which is a figurative term since nowhere doesn’t have a doorway or window from which you can come out of…).
Anyhoo, and he grabs my arm (which, although was rude, there are ruder places to grab a body), spins me around and stares me down with his glass eye. It was more like a marble really… It was easy to tell, it was larger than a normal eye and had swirly colors in it. Plus it was in the hand that wasn’t attached to my arm.
So, he’s waving this marble around at me and then something weird happens (now?)… he speaks: “Son, making love is like blasting stumps from the ground. It don’t matter how much dynamite you got, its where you put it.” After saying that, I felt it was in my best interest to leave. Refusing to let go (which is pretty good for an old farmer who was in about as poor a shape as the old barn) I poked him in the marble and ran for the hills, which was a long ways a way this being plains-country….