FOLIO OLIO: I CAN SMELL THE BARN

I'm like the old workhorse who plods along tilling the field all day, but you point his ass toward the barn and he'll drag you behind him as he breaks into an all out gallop. It's 6:15 am and I'm awake and ready to head home.

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I forgot to tell you a story from New Orleans, or Nawlins as we insiders call it. We walked in a recommended restaurant and the hostess smiled and said, "I'm sorry, but we have a dress code and ya'll can't come in." Now, I was wearing a 30 year old blue denim shirt (unbuttoned), a faded gray T-shirt and big ballooning chef's pants with a hot pepper print. My wife asked what was the matter with the way we were dressed and the hostess pointed to Debbie's Berkinstocks and said, "We don't allow sandals."

I laughed aloud and found that most bizarre on several levels, especially since 95% of the people in Nawlins were wearing flip flops. Go figure.

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I drove through the town of Wing and felt the need to tag it with #76 for my old friend, Rupert.

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My old buddy, Billy Love, gave me some advice one time that I passed along to you, dear readers. It had to do with those gasoline nozzles that do not have that little piece of metal in the handle to lock the trigger in the "GO" position. I suggested that you can just wedge the gas cap under the nozzle lift handle and then wash your windows or whatever, since it would cut off automatically.

THIS IS NOT TRUE!!!!!

This afternoon I wedged the cap, went to the bathroom, and when I came out there was an OCEAN OF FUCKING GASOLINE GUSHING OUT FROM UNDER MY TRUCK! I had to walk through it to get in my truck, but by then my shoes was soaked in gasoline. I wanted my truck as far away from that potential inferno as possible. I drove to the side of the gas station and tried for a long time to wipe the gasoline off my shoes in the gas, but it didn't work. The smell inside the truck was overpowering. I had to change my shoes and remove the floor mat. I put these item in the camper shell. Now everything inside the camper shell smells like gasoline. My wife, OF COURSE, blamed me, giving Billy Love a pass with a "He's young and didn't know better. But you are old and should have known better."

I am sorry that I gave you that awful, dangerous advice.

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I've seen a lot of signs like these across America...

...and I couldn't agree more. We are the most misgoverned country in the world...okay, Somalia is worse, but it's about the only one. We are paying people to govern who only use our paychecks to them to run for their next reelection. I blame every fucking one of them and I want to start anew. The new guys COULDN'T do any worse.

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WARNING: UNLESS YOU ARE A MEMBER OF MY EXTENDED FAMILY, THE REMAINDER OF THE PHOTOS WILL MAKE NO SENSE TO YOU. YOU ARE ALLOWED TO GET ON WITH YOUR LIFE NOW.

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I found myself (through no fault of my own) driving through Baker, Florida heading northeast from the panhandle. I decided to stop by a place at which I spent a lot of time. It reminded me of that great TV show, "Life Without Humans". I tagged the fence, then drove in, but all and all it was rather depressing.

Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Quiet Meadow...

I tagged the fence with #70.

That may look like tall grass, but it's not...

It's a combination of knee-high grass, poison ivy, other vines and brambles and is very difficult to walk through. (check out the plants in the gutter of the barn)

I'm just going to show you the images without much commentary...