The mystery of the cowboy revealed

On the highway this morning, I found myself behind a blue GMC pick-up bearing two stickers, one of a rippling rebel flag and one that read: �Cowboys foreplay: Get in the truck!�

Ah-ha! So that�s how it works. I�ve often wondered about the mating rituals of these elusive men, figuring that somehow, horses were involved, or Stetson cologne, but now I knew for sure. It�s all about the truck. I drove up alongside it, smiling and nodding, alternately pointing to my mouth and giving the �thumbs-up� sign, to indicate my willingness to �make out,� but the driver was consumed with singing along to Molly Hatchet, and didn�t notice me. Perhaps at some point in the future I�ll run across him again and be ordered to �get in the truck,� but in the meantime, I have a great idea for a line of custom bumper stickers, highlighting the mating rituals of other groups:

Sailors� foreplay: Get in the dinghy!

Divemasters� foreplay: Get in the decompression chamber!

Mechanics' foreplay: Get in the garage!

Nuclear physicists� foreplay: Get in the particle accelerator!

Toxic mold removal specialists� foreplay: Get in the cellar!

Birthday party clowns� foreplay: Get in the unmarked panel truck idling outside!



Star of the day. . .Brooks. But not Dunn.
posted @ 9:35 a.m. on March 29, 2005 before | after

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She lay awake all night,

zzzzzzzzzzz......