Post last updated: March 18th, 2019
I just want to do a little farmin’ and the neighbors are trying to turn our hillbilly neighborhood into a resort. It was okay that Mr. Golf Cart had a golf cart; it was just a strange quirk of his personality. But now, by golly, another neighbor has gotten himself a golf cart.
Golf carts have changed in the years since Mr. Golf Cart purchased his. They now sit higher, have mag wheels, and a boom box in the ceiling.
It also ZOOMS down the street at a neck breaking pace. It does not have a horn, though, which might come in handy for his little hot rod. Mr. Golf Cart has a horn but doesn’t seem to need it as he putt putts through the ‘hood.
Along with the horn, it’s missing air-conditioning. Mr. Golf Cart’s much older cart has two bungie cords above the front dash. He has two pieces of paper hanging on the bungie cords. If the paper is waving in the breeze, Mr. Golf Cart knows his air-conditioning is working.
The clothes pins are on his air-conditioner to handily fasten at arm’s length anything else he might need. That’s his turquoise sweat band clipped to the far right. Until just recently, Mr. Golf Cart even had a hood ornament — a flat golden eagle that must have been about three feet long. When I asked where it was, he informed me it blew off. I guess it’s hard to affix plastic dollar store hood ornaments to a metal dash. He probably should have used rolled up duct tape.
The amount of money these boys spend on their toys boggles the mind. The golf carts are just two of the boy toys on the Southern Rural Route. There are also boats, motor homes, earth movers, big honking riding mowers, and tractors. I don’t have the money to splurge on such toys. Whenever I uncurl my fist and it begins to scream in agony because I’m about to spend money, I buy a few seed packets, a new dishtowel, or I replace some of my Shoes With Air. I recently bought one pair of them and got another pair half off.
These gentlemen, like my brother, are enjoying union pensions. I don’t have a pension and I’ll admit to being a tad worried that I’m not keeping up appearances. Before you know it, these union guys are gonna cast a vote and decide po’ people like me are no longer welcome on the Southern Rural Route. What will I blog about then?