Giddyup

This delicious piece of Kodak deserves a small addendum:

Our original purpose for visiting the ass-less chaps store, (Big R), was to buy tickets for the Cheney Rodeo. My coworker, Great Aunt Jenny Lou, had told me the day before that, at last year’s rodeo her friend had gotten so inebriated that she had forgotten to pull her pants down in the honey bucket and ended up urinating herself while she sat on the toilet. Being the dependable compadre that she is, Jenny Lou told her wet compatriot that you couldn’t smell or see the mess, (you could), and that they should just stay at the rodeo talking to all the boyz (a horrifying experience for the unfortunate girl the next sobering morning).

Needless to say this peaked my interest in rodeos; I having , until this day, a shameless rodeo virgin. So we bought the ticket and took the ride. The most interesting thing that we saw there was a French-Canadian’s chest. It was just shining bare and bright as Kristoff’s ass. Tronzor, this man and I had been the only three people smoking at the rodeo so we, necessarily, became friends. The night was getting cold so I made a jealous comment about the thermal efficiency of the French-Canadian’s mustache. He was proud of it, but then pulled his shirt away and bemoaned that as much heat as he trapped around his upper lip he would lose even more from his naked chest. However, after saying this his memory sparked, “but this one time I dated a german girl who had hair all over her tits…a lot of hair.” The moral of this story being, even if you don’t piss your pants at a rodeo you can still have fun with ass-less chaps and those silly French-Canadians.