Happiness Is A Big Steaming Pile Of Shit

 And I should know, because I got my very own big pile of steaming shit today! Even now, as I glance out my window, I can see it literally steaming away in the cool of the evening.  I have my very own 'Mystical Forest FX/CGI' shit pile.  It's pretty awesome. 

American Robin Official Harbinger Of Spring Approves Of Steaming Piles Of Shit.  How Do I Know?  American Robin Be All Up On Steaming Pile Of Shit Picking Out Redworms For Baby American Robin Lunch Which Implies Tacit Shit Approval By Robins (American)    

I have been slinging shit all over my garden this afternoon.  You'd think I was tossing Mardi Gras necklaces the way everyone flipped me their tits.

  Have a New York Slice of bush with those tits, podner!  

Which is a lie.  But everyone just had to stop and chat with me all afternoon long.  This says a lot for my neighbors, because I was out there in a "Fuck Off And Die" t-shirt, shit crusted barn boots, and absolutely covered in cow ass head to toe.  But everyone had this kind of stoned grin on their faces, like 'Wow, we're all outside, and that big glowing thing is in the sky again!' including me - although a good half of my good mood was having a pile of Mystical Forest FX/CGI shit - and we all kind of rambled on to each other in a super friendly way.  Even Neighborhood Crackhead (who is one of my favorite people) was in on the 'Love Peace Chicken Grease' vibe, talking really kindly and patiently to the little kids gathered around him, petting his dog, being super chill.  

To be honest, Neighborhood Crackhead is super chill anyway, and if dudeboy likes to get high, as long as he behaves himself who the fuck am I to judge, as I sit here around an Orange Driver and a rompin' stompin' valium?  The guy is friendly and polite, dresses neatly, and he treats his dog like canine royalty and the dog reflects the man.  That dog is a sweetheart, a friendly and well behaved lil' Staffie love bug who does not cringe, does not jump up or act a fool, and is so incredibly healthy it looks polished.  That little dog loves his dad, and NC sits out in the field with that dog and they have them some conversations sometimes, and play tug, and fetch, and I'm Gonna Gitcha.  I am all for Neighborhood Crackhead.  You go, bud.

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Because my Biker loves me, he bought me a1991 Dodge Dakota V8 longbed.  I love a truck, and a longbed is just right for my needs.  Man it feels good to hop behind the wheel.  I would rather have this truck than I would have a diamond ring.  

If my ass had the cash I'd hire a guitar player and rampage.  As it stands, let a girl dream.  

It runs perfectly, the wipers and heat work, there's no rust, it's got a bench seat and I can carry a sheet of plywood or a steer or a bunch of coffins or whatever you need carrying. I have no time for a passenger vehicle unless I'm travelling, and even then I'll probably find some bigass thing that I need a truck to carry home anyway.  No I will not help you move.

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Dairy Farmer Sent From God, my free shit connection, practically ran to me with open arms when I showed up at his farm this afternoon, because apparently I am a harbinger of Spring.  

Harbinger of Spring.  You saw it here first.  

We yammered in his driveway for awhile, and then I drove around back of his loafing sheds, where the lagoonage and barn waste stacks are, and just stood out in the sunshine listening to the happy cows make happy cow noises.  He came up in his loader and kind of grinned at me and said "Smells good?"

"Yeah.  I like the way a farm smells," I said.  He kind of smiled again uncertainly.  He loaded up my truck, and it was when I was backing up, looking in the rearview mirror, that I realized that while we had this conversation I had been standing inches away from a dead calf.

Circle of life, folks.  A dead newborn calf goes in the compost because all it is at that stage is jello with hair.  

Surprise them at your next the' dansant with this festive treat!  Newborn Calf With Radish Roses and Pimiento Olives!  Ole!  Cha Cha Rama Lang-lang!  

Some farmers drag them out and let the eagles have them, but Dairy Farmer Sent From God does not have a convenient thicket to hide the dead calf in (because by law you cannot feed eagles. That's right.  It's ill-eagle to feed wild raptors.  Yes, I said it.) The farms that do have those thickets are outstanding in that they will have up to 75 and upwards bald eagles sitting in the trees waiting for their chance, which attracts the Audubons and the birders to this dot on the map to get out and oo and aw and take pictures by the side of the road.  Little do they know that the reason for this flock behavior is the plentitude of jello-calves in the nearby underbrush every Spring.   Fun farm fact:  a dead newborn calf smells like warm condensed milk!  See what you can learn here at Steve?

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Oddly, just as the Orange Thing administration brought the shits and the bigots out of the woodwork, so has the Biden Administration brought out the undercover liberals.  People I'd been saying 'Hi' to for years suddenly unloaded their secret liberal leanings to me today, which made me regain faith in my community. 

Formerly, under the Orange Regime, I had been disenheartened as people I'd been acquainted with for years suddenly came out with this 'Yay!  We can hate "__________" openly now!  Grab my pussy Mr. President!  Fake News!  Gonna plaster my car with Trump stickers!' bullshit, and I was left thinking "Dear Lord do I even know you?" and stopped doing business in a couple of places.  

It really was this bad.  Never forget, folks. It really was like this.  

During all that horseshit, my Biker found an old street sign, a big old reflective yellow and black one for 'Democrat Street' and put it up over the garage, which is where manly men declare their political stances out here in Fuckyersisterville. In addition, he got a 'Biden-Harris' campaign sign and nailed it way up high on the gable of our house so nobody could steal it - and it's still there.  (As if the multiple rotting strings of Buddhist prayer flags on my porch weren't enough to indicate our social stance.) It was his Bull Of The Woods manly repping, out and proud there in a sea of MAGAshittery that made the difference in our little town.  

My husband.  Actual photo.  Seriously.

So many people told me "I felt so relieved to see that on you guyses house."  And "I was really getting scared, so thanks for putting that up."

An old road sign.  Imagine something like that giving people hope.  We're just a couple of chubby people out here in the boonies and people are telling me that the old road sign my husband put up to piss his mark gave them hope.  Imagine that.