Antimacassar, er, Anticant!
"CHRIST, Hell, dirty sonofabitch -- the rotten bastard actually went right in there! I'll be God-damned!" as my 87-years-old farm-neighbour, Judson Andersen, said to me tonight, after we got that "whore's dream" of a takeout-augur (which he re-welded for me to-day) remounted in my silo. And, ditto-that -- I finally figured out /how/ to weasel my way back in /here/ with various irreplaceable sagacities & dire insights; and, for now, will piss off and leave you lot in peace anyway, as our host is sound asleep -- and I've got a few lambs coming yet. And, sure as Hell, them Cheviot ewes'll be at it at two in the ack-emma! (Actually, they're jolly sheep and damn good Ma's, plus they usually don't NEED any help -- but, I like to get up and ooze around the barn a few times in the night, just in case. Nice thing is the little shits are doing alright in this 40-degree weather. Ain't like the first round back in February....)
SORRY, Anticant, I perceive that in the foregoing I lapsed rather into American, eh? 'Oh, well, maybe next time', as the Mouse said after he failed to make love to the Elephant, 'after all, morality is mainly a matter of LUCK!'