Hell er therabouts

I'm itchin to get back to the truck, but every time I go outside, I lose interest. It's hot. So instead, I thought I'd share a poem with yall about Texas. It's from a book called "Best Loved Poems of the American People" copyright 1936.

HELL IN TEXAS

The Devil, we're told, in hell was chained,

And a thousand years he there remained,

And he never complained, nor did he groan,

But determined to start a hell of his own

Where he could torment the souls of men

Without being chained to a prison pen.

So he asked the Lord if He had on hand

Anything left when He made the land.

The Lord said, "Yes, I had plenty on hand,

But I left it down on the Rio Grande.

The fact is, old boy, the stuff is so poor,

I don't think you could use it in hell any more."

But the devil went down to look at the truck,

And said if it came as a gift, he was stuck;

For after examining it careful and well

He concluded the place was too dry for hell.

So in order to get it off His hands

God promised the devil to water the lands.

For he had some water, or rather some dregs,

A regular cathartic that smelt like bad eggs.

Hence the deal was closed and the deed was given,

And the Lord went back to His place in Heaven.

And the devil said, "I have all that is needed

To make a good hell," and thus he succeeded.

He began to put thorns on all the trees,

And he mixed the sand with millions of fleas,

He scatteed tarantulas along all the roads,

Put thorns on the cacti and horns on the toads;

He lengthened the horns of the Texas steers

And put an addition on jack rabbits' ears.

He put little devils in the broncho steed

And poisoned the feet of the centipede.

The rattlesnake bites you, the scorpion stings,

The mosquito delights you by buzzing his wings.

The sand burrs prevail, so do the ants,

And those that sit down need half soles on their pants.

The devil then said that throughout the land

He'd manage to keep up the devil's own brand,

And all would be mavericks unless they bore

The marks of scratches and bites by the score.

The heat in the summer is a hundred and ten,

Too hot for the devil and too hot for men.

The wild boar roams through the black chaparral,

It's a hell of a place he has for a hell

-unknown-

Ahh, What a sweet poem....

Tractor pull

My oldest son (16yo) and I went to our first tractor pull last night. I can say with my utmost conviction, that I have never been so impressed and revolted at the same time. I have been more revolted at times, and maybe more impressed (although I can't remember an incident) at other times, but never the two entwined. First the revolted (just to get it over with). That was a slice of humanity that should never be administered in that strong of a dose at one time. Not the participants, but the spectators. It makes me question my hot rod genes. More about that in a minute.

Now for the impressed part. After the first 4 engined, 8000 h.p. fire breathing monster made its pull, I was trying to organize how I felt into a concise, intelligible statement, and here it is... "HOLY MOTHER OF ALL THAT IS LOUD, FAST, BRUTAL, AND BEAUTIFUL!!!" It's hard to be eloquent, while stuffing yer eardrums and yer tongue back in yer head, but I think I did ok. After that first multi engined run, I felt one with my redneck brethren! If everyone would have broke out in a tractor pull praise and worship song right then, I would have joined in whole heartedly. I was weak, giddy, my face hurt from smiling so big. I think I'm an addict, and I'm not ashamed to admit it. The sound is what got to me, sticks with me the most. The roar of 4 blown big blocks near redline, the tortured whine of a chorus of blowers and transmission gears. It was so beautiful, powerful, overwhelming... the sound was almost visible. I told my son that that must be close to the sound of the end of time, or Armageddon, he just smiled distantly and sighed yaaah.....I think he was impressed too.
I liked the smell of the alcohol/methanol smoke cloud that drifted over the bleachers after every run. It's a distinctive smell, kind of sweet yet industrial. A smell you probably shouldn't like, but can't help it. Like the smell of a ski boat, you know, the 2 cycle oil/gas exhaust mixed with lake water. There ought to be a perfume for women with that smell. Do I come across as shallow? my wife thinks so....

How does all this apply to my truck project? I don't know, it probably won't change the truck in a visual way, I won't put pulling tires on it, or stick the exhaust out of the hood, or anything out of the hood for that matter. But the sound...that sweet sound....my precious....

I've changed a little from this experience, I'm not going to get a tattoo, or pierce anything, or start wearing bare midriff t-shirts (maybe just at home), but I think I've just hit another gear in my hot roddin journey.

It was their fault. My cousins I mean. They're the ones that invited us to go. I won't name names, but you know who you are. You're responsible for this, my new addiction. There is a way out though, a way to atone for your sins so to speak. You can donate to the Chevy 6.2 diesel fund for the needy builders of obnoxiously loud engines. It's a fairly exclusive charity. I know all the poor tortured souls that will be recipients of your kind gifts. I'm sure he...I mean they would be eternally grateful for any donation.....