Speaking of nekkid:
Where I used to live, on the next acreage, was a very cool old hippie guy. He moved out to this small town because he loved the people. But they didn't love him. He was just too way out there for their farmer tastes. I called him the "nekkid farmer" because he would get on his tractor, with his g-string, cowboy boots, cowboy hat and bandanna and mow the front of his acreage up near the county road. He used to raise garlic, so I'd go over to his house to get some garlic, and he'd have his big old stash of mary jane in a big bowl on the coffee table. Snicker. He was on the volunteer fire department. The corner I lived on was called "Dead Man's Bend" because on Saturday nights drunks would come roaring around the corner and land straightaway in the hay field. One night, a truck crashed and the volunteer fire department was called out. One man escaped into the hay field and the other was unconscious and not breathing in the ditch. Nekkid farmer started giving him mouth to mouth, and from what I hear tell, another neighbor happened on the scene and told another neighbor "Well, if he saves his life now, it won't do no good, because he'll die of AIDS in the future. I wouldn't let that guy anywhere near my house if it was on fire." Sheesh! Here nekkid farmer was trying to save this guy's life and this other neighbor was so rude and wreckless.
In a few months, we had a town meeting about the fire department. Nekkid farmer had quit after he heard about this comment. I had started calling the town Hooterville after the town on Green Acres. Well, someone said HE was the one who started calling that and they all started arguing. Nekkid man was there and he and I just looked at each other and smirked. After that, he was arrested for throwing rocks at neighbor's cars on the road and one of those farmers got out and kicked his nekkid butt. He put up a string of Christmas lights on the top of his house in the shape of a hand giving the bird, facing the road. Then he put an old toilet out there near the road. Hehheheh. I miss that guy.
My new neighbors are pretty reclusive. They have old toilets on their porch, but at least they keep their yard neat. The man goes outside dressed like a minstrel and plays the pan flute in the back forty. Kind of interesting on spring mornings at 5 a.m. They're okay. Our other neighbors live in what we call The Shithole. They have old cars, skinny cows, and just junk all over the place. Buncha white trash drunks. But they're around the corner, so I can't see em. Gotta love those rural neighbors. <grin>
CG
