America, Hell yes!
Place where corn grows longer and
taller than shit on the farm my Dad owns where that Old Johnson grows with his
unibrowed, cross-eyed mountain children, carrying half-broken dolls in paisley
dresses too short to be shirts and tractors greener and newer than the one
their hick daddy drives.
America, yes.
I love it here where any man can
grow tall and bear fruit even under the boot of a rich man with too much time
on his hands and feet. I get most of my stuff at the Pig at the end of the
month when my check comes.
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