We’re approaching June, which seems to be the traditional wedding month, so it’s appropriate and timely to relate a supposedly true rural wedding tale.
It doesn’t matter where it happened, but rest assured, if it did, it was in the middle of the Fly-Over nation.
Picture this: It’s a beautiful day for an outdoors wedding. Everyone is dressed in wedding finery. Everyone’s been rehearsed in their roles — from bride and groom, to attendants, to flower girl and ring bearer, to minister, to relatives of the couple to be wed, to soloist to piano player.
The wedding march begins. Everyone is in their proper places. A few tears of joy are shed. The father of the groom — throat lump in place — croaks out that he “gives this woman to this man.”
The minister says fine wedding words. Songs soar into the heavens. The ceremony goes off without a hitch. The wedding exit is completed. Pictures are taken. The reception party begins. The maid of honor gives a toast to the glowing bride. The best man toasts his newly-wed best friend and wishes him “a honeymoon never to forget.”
During the reception, the best man and the groomsmen quietly exit and prepare the grooms shining SUV for the honeymoon trip. The suitcases for the trip are already loaded.
In addition to the ever-present chain of beer cans wired to the rear of the car, and a few risque slogans painted on the windows, the ornery friends of the groom pack-fill to capacity the interior of the SUV— front seat, back seat, and cargo space — with small air-filled balloons.
The fellas return to the reception just in time to pitch bird seed (not rice) over the triumphant bride and groom as they dash to their get-away car. The newlyweds fling open the front doors, scrape into the outdoors the balloon on the dash and front seat, the laughingly pile in, start the car and peel out on their honeymoon trip — beer cans clanking behind them.
They travel a few miles, sharing sweet nothings between them, when all of a sudden, the best man sits up out from under the balloons still in the back seat and yells, “Hey, where are we going?”
Luckily the happy couple didn’t wreck the car. They were good sports about the prank and turned the SUV around and returned the best man to the church.
***
I talk a lot about my flock of laying hens, but I haven’t explained how my development and application of high technology is the key to maintaining and improving the productivity and profitability of my hens.
Let me explain more clearly. It’s just the nature of laying chickens to be inefficient about laying their eggs. Just think about it. First a hen has to select a nest to lay her egg in. Then she takes her own sweet time to lay her eggs — all-the-while occupying the nest that another hen could be using. Then after she lays her eggs, she spends more wasteful time sitting in the nest cackling about her newly-arrived egg. All that wasted hen-time is wasted money and profits to me.
So, I solved that problem years ago by inventing a new machine that maximizes poultry profits by making the whole egg-laying scenario swifter and more efficient.
It’s called the Hi-Volt Egg-o-Matic. It works like this. The hen climbs into the electrified nest and the instant she settles down, the patented “Electrified Comb-Cap” drops down on her head and completes an electrical circuit.
You sharp agriculturists have probably already figgered out the key profitability function of the HVEOM — it shocks the shell out of the hen.
HI-VOLT EGG-O-MATIC
As a side-note, I’ve made a bunch of greenbacks selling my HVEOM at premium prices to all the major industrialized egg producing corporations in the U.S and around the world — thanks to merchandising on the internet.
***
My words of wisdom for the week. This one is an original pearl of wisdom from yours truly — to the best of my knowledge: “The only thing that interfers with the wind in Kansas are shadows.”
Also, “Can’t believe it’s riot season already. Still have my Covid decorations up.”
Have a good ‘un.
