Leather Chaps and Rumbling Fatboys

There's chicken tattas in the oven, a rice, mixed veggie and cream o' shroom soup concoction nukin' in the microwave and a bag of "steam it in the bag" rabbit food waiting it's turn on the counter.

Yumtastic!

Feeling a little guilty about the lack of any real content in my post from earlier today, I felt I owed ya'll a little sumthin' sumthin', so here I am.

This weekend is time for the yearly biker rally here in Frog Pond Holler, when the campground is filled with lots of beer, hootin', hollerin' and general mayhem. The local police, all both of them, and the highway patrol usually position themselves on either end of town. They enjoy living up to the small town / redneck stereotype by harrassing the visiting bikers with roadblocks.

The bikers? Other than the roar of Fatboys and the occasional twinkle of glistening chrome in the sunshine, you barely know they're here.

Law enforcement stopping every little old lady trying to leave town to go to Walmart? Total pain in the ass.

Anywho, hopefully I won't have to go anywhere other than maybe the dollar store. In the meantime, the guy who owns the vacant lot across the road has placed a large sign by the edge of the road, directing motorists to the "Hillbilly Saloon," which is actually a single wide trailer at the state line where some toothless, braless old grandma sells bottles of beer on the front porch.

Good times.

Ya'll have a good one. A sink full of dishes is calling my name.

Later Taters.