Set A While

I have a string of things to write about as long as your arm. I've had one particularly vexing article that I've been writing for, I guess, almost a month now, when something I read drove its steely fangs into my brain. I gone through six revisions and, frankly, it's all sh*t. This is one time that I can't phone it in, no matter how tempted I might be to get lazy.

So, when I get stuck, I do what any self-respecting, part-time slacker might do - I surf. The internet, that is. Or, the interwebs, which some smarter-than-average kids, like my very own Star Child, like to call it. Them. The 'Net, for gosh sake. You know what I'm talking about.

Anyhow, I use StumbleUpon and I Google research and I look at patents and I look up case law and tunnel through eBay and check my mail and then, check it again and basically do everything except what I'm supposed to do, which is, write. Sometimes, I find Pearls of Wisdom or articles on the Perils of Wisdom. Sometimes, I bump into clever blogs that are so vertical, interest-wise, that my interest is in how there could be a fascination with such a specific thing, like owl tattoos.

I appreciate good writing, of course, from non-pros, especially, since the pros are busy writing their novels, novellas, novelettes, short stories and poems. Occasionally, I'll find a bit of something interesting in an unexpected place. I found this description from an auction on eBay for a pickup truck:

"THE WIND-UP: Nice old 1963 C10.  The original motor and transmission was pulled some time ago and replaced with a 292 and 4 speed out of a 1965 C20.  The truck has seen a lot of action and has the usual dings accompanied with daily ranch life.  There are no major mechanical problems that I am aware of.  The odometer shows 110,000 miles but I wouldn’t attest to the accuracy.

The truck had been sitting for a couple of years and was running rough on the old gas when I brought it home.  I did clean it up a bit and looked it over.  The cab was full of rubber bands and the box was littered with fencing staples.  The previous owner was a rural letter carrier in addition to being a cattle rancher.  It still runs ruff; the truck does need a full tune-up.  The tires are weather checked but it will go down the road and you can drive it onto a trailer.

  THE PITCH: I purchased this truck from an acquaintance back home, sight unseen.  I paid him too much, but what the heck.  My original plan was to use the motor/transmission in my 1946 2T Chevy and part-out and junk the rest.  When he sent me pictures, I changed my mind.  There were a few dents but it would work great for hauling scrap parts to the salvage yard as well as junk to the dump.  I could then save my baby (1967 K20) from such duties.  Well…in the mean time I found an even better rig for hauling and need the cash to get it.  The little beauty is a 1949 Chevy 6100 with dual cylinder hoists and dealer equipped air-brakes!  It runs like a dream and is screaming, “Buy me Kevin, buy me!”  Now I have more rolling tin than money (and sense), and need to part with this pickup.  HELP!

 THE SWING: My reserve is less than what I have in it (Gas is getting expensive again…).  I have cleaned it up and checked it over.  I have clear title, air in the tires and gas in the tank.

Please help an old fool and buy the truck you always wanted…and make us both happy."

Can you guess where this truck is located? That's right - on a ranch in Montana. I can hear this being spoken by Barry Corbin . . . you know, the guy who was the rich guy, Maurice Minnifield, in Northern Exposure? Kinda makes me want to buy that truck. Wait. Isn't Brokeback Mountain in Montana? Or was that Wyoming? Steers and queers, boys, steers and queers. Heck, now we're talkin' Texas. And, as you know, everything's bigger in Texas . . .