This'n here is me and Biff the farmhand. I'm the young'un on the right in the cowboy hat and boots. This is a pretty dern typical scene from my day I reckon.

Usually I gets up when the rooster starts a-hollerin' and I takes a bath if it's Friday and jes' dusts myself off if it ain't. Then I mosey downstairs where Ma has breakfast a-waitin'. Shucks, me and Biff must go through two hunnert pancakes and four dozen eggs 'tween us. A man can sure work up an appetite workin' on the farm.

After breakfast I climbs on ole Blue and with a gee-yup I rides around the ranch, checking the fence so'n to see if there ain't no holes big enough for our Gurnseys to mosey through. We got ourselves a pretty big spread -- pert near five hunnert acres -- so this takes most of the morning.

Then I ties up ole Blue, slops the hogs, feeds the chickens, and either milks the cows or cuts off their heads and slices'em into steaks. Round about this time the sun's gonna be goin' down, so odds are Biff's naked and standing on top of Pa's ole Chevy Luv pickup.

I like Biff. When he first moseyed down the dirt path to our farm looking for work I remember thinking he looked dern peculiar. Then one night we're sittin' 'round the campfire drinkin' hooch and tellin' stories when jes' outta the blue he pulls his Wranglers right down 'round his ankles and shows me this metal ring he got clamped tight 'round his privates and sticks some kinda air fresh'ner under my nose that gets my heart a-twitchin' like a Cuban bandleader, and I'm thinkin', yup, Biff is dern peculiar. But Ma and the cattle like him, so I cain't complain.

So's prob'ly on this here day it's round'n about when the sun's settin' and I found Biff standin' naked as a jaybird on top of Pa's ole Chevy Luv pickup. Sometimes I says, Biff, what on God's green earth are you doin' up there? And he says, Roman, I jes' had a hankerin' for some sun. Care to join me? And I says, shucks, don't mind if I do! So's I'll strip off too, 'ceptin' for my boots and my cowboy hat, and jes' lay up there naked as the day I was born. We tell stories, look for shootin' stars, and sometimes whup each other 'cross the buttocks with the radio antenna.

I reckon Biff is doin' his impression of a chicken here. It's fun as hell to watch, but damned if it don't leave a man sore as the dickens afterwards.

So's that's how's I spend most of my days on the farm. But I don't recollect what that brown smudge hoverin' over my privates is, or how I got that tan line, or where my armpit hair went.