Here I was, sitting out in the back of the truck, ten deep into a twelve'r of 'Natty Lite, blasting Brooks & Dunn, minding my own business, when a lady-cop asked me to take off my sunglasses. She looked deep into my eyes -- told me I looked intoxicated. Windows into the soul or something.
This is 'Merica! I'm a taxpayer. It's my G-d-given right to sit in my F-250, put in a cassette of some country music, and drink myself into oblivion. If it ain't in the constitution, it outta be.
I work hard all week. (I manufacture those plastic balls that hang from the back of a truck hitch.) If I wanna get my drink on and soak up the hot Florida sun on my day off, that's my prerogative.
I was looking a little fair, so no, I didn't put on the Coppertone spf 5 I keep in the glovebox for when it's really sunny. And now I've got that 'bedroom glow' I was lookin' for. When I post bail and git outta here, I'm goin' over to the Pink Pussycat and see if I can git me some.
Wanna a mustache ride? You got it. Just be gentle, the face is sensitive right now. You have any bactine?
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