When Cob Met Corn: The Second Time

We do things different out in these parts. You see, despite all my shine, I’m mostly spit. I spent the majority of my youth raising livestock and rolling in dirt. Pants were optional.

Being home, as you may have noticed, has caused me to regress somewhat. My boys have had no problems adapting. Any given day in my yard could easily be mistaken for week 6 in Lord of the Flies.

Atticus is prone to peeing on anything green, which is actually an improvement. Zane, well, he has the conscience of Cheney with a shotgun. Shoot first, fuck the questions.

What’s nice about our collective decline of civilization is that we’re actually cutting a few corners, financially speaking.

When you don’t wear clothes, you don’t wash clothes. It’s good for the pocketbook and the environment. I’m green like that. Hope Atticus doesn’t pee on me.

Something else we’ve been able to save money on are baby wipes, aka, the new duct tape. When a bear drops a deuce in the woods, not only does it not make a sound, but it doesn’t require any searching for a moist towelette. It uses nature.

We’re like that. Although, due to the curse of opposable thumbs we have a tendency to need something; some wet grass and a cool breeze are nice, but we like our results to be a bit more immediate. Hence, we go full-circle, to a time when banjos were plenty and teeth were scarce. My boys have come home, and so has the corn.

Zane waiting to use the bushes.

That baby butt is so fresh and so clean.

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