Don't Come A-Knockin' If This Land's De-Rockin'

The Pony and I dodged the Dirt Road Truckers this afternoon. They were scooting about their staging area on various vehicles of the heavy equipment type. I suppose they were working overtime, or trying to get caught up before the holiday weekend.

When we left this morning at 6:45, they were already busy little bees swarming around the stacks of rocks they left last night in the neighbors' field. All they had to do was load and haul them, then dig up some more.

On the way home, we went by one area where the Dirt Road Truckers crew had dozed a new path since this morning. I told The Pony. "That's too bad. I hate it when they dig up the rocks. They rape the land. Look at it!"

"Um. Isn't that what farmers do? They rape the land, get it pregnant, steal its babies, and sell them for money. Or eat them. It varies."

"And we're letting them. And profiting! You know what that makes us! Pimps of the land."

Speaking of a pimp of the land...Hick could hardly wait to hop on his Gator this evening and go inspect his whore (or hoor, as they might say in Jersey).

"They started on our land today. I'm going up to see what they got done. He says he hauled four or five loads out."

"But they're working in Neighbors' field."

"They can work in more than one place. Dig out the rocks and get them ready. Then some load and haul while the others dig more."

Here is what was once our beautiful 10-acre parcel up on the hill, suitable for Genius and The Pony to divide one day and build their own homesteads. Now I suppose they can start a rappelling school once all the dirt washes away and only cliffs are left.

Here is the field of the neighbors, the hub of most activity this week.

And people laughed at the thought of folks buying bottled water when they can get it from the faucet for (sometimes) free. There's a market for everything, I guess.



Just depends on how you pimp it out.