Where’d you get those overalls at? They’re so hillbilly chic. So ironic. So working class. So Rural. So Tom Sawyer-esque. So Alex Mac-ian. So Mario 64-ish. It’s like you’re in that band Dexy’s Midnight Runners. It’s like, come on Eileen, seriously, come on, those are some nice ass overalls. It’s like you’re a farmer who just got done squeezing on some cow’s big fat titty, squirting it’s milk-cum every whichaway. You know, that’s a lifestyle choice I can respect. There is something dignified about working with your hands, squeezing titties all the live long day. That’s real salt of the earth shit. Sometimes it’s refreshing to just get back to the basics. Back to nature. Just hands and titties. Like Henry David Thoreau or Ted Kaczynski. Yep, dem were simpler times. That was before the google and the Jason Mraz and those shoes that light up when you walk around on em. Long before your Screech Powers’, and your Bawitdaba’s, and your 1-800-COLLECT’S. Back then, you would wake up to the smell of hickory-bacon frying in an open skillet and the crack of logs being split out back. I’d get going right near sun up, put on my burlap sack, some overalls, and drink a warm cup of fresh squeezed milk-jizz. We would all get belly full on hickory-bacon and mama’s grit cakes before we headed out into the fields. Best part was, we didn’t have to wear no shoes, if’n we didn’t want to. Worst part was, if we didn’t pick that cotton fast enough or we stopped to take a sip of water, that old overseer would come beat the shit out of us with a horsewhip. I ‘member one time Erasmus May and me decided it was too hot to work, so we goes and sneaks off into the cantaloupe patch and get us a nice fat melon to snack upon. Long story short, they tied us up and beat the shit out of us with a horsewhip.