We are almost in the Promised Land. Texas is 20 miles down the road and the hot breath of Satan is howling through our windows at 70 miles an hour. We smell, our faces are red, and our heads are two sticky masses of salty sweat and tangles. We’re still cheerful though. The Snow women are not wimps.
When you travel you can’t help but notice that people are just plain nice all over. Doesn’t matter, Vermont or Kentucky we’re all a friendly lot and right helpful too. In Ohio, someone cared enough about our immortal souls to inquire about their status and remind us that Hell is Real. Neither of us had been quite sure about that but now that we know, we’re gonna drive extra careful. Wouldn’t want to die before we can get to the aforementioned Promised Land and get saved. Actually I was saved when I was twelve but a lot has gone on since then and it wouldn’t hurt to give it another shot.
Praise the Lord and pass the jug, we are in the land of milk and honey or at least cattle and jalapenos. I see by the road sign that the Lone Star Army Ammunition Plant is just up ahead. Bet you didn’t know that we had a Lone Star Army. I didn’t either as a matter of fact but you know it just can’t hurt. Texas was it’s own Republic at one time (after we stole the land from Mexico) and with the way things are going we just might have to succeed from the union and start over. If it comes to that we’ll have to evict George from the “ranch” and the army will certainly come in handy. I might enlist for that little task myself.
Y’all do know that George’s ranch isn’t really a ranch don’t you? Ask any Texas rancher and they’ll nod in his direction “all hat and no cattle.” He does have a little land and he might have a few cows, and I think the man might wear boots occasionally but land, boots, and a few cows do not a rancher make. George was in a fraternity for god’s sake. No self-respecting rancher was ever a frat boy. Their grandpa just wouldn’t have it. Up-and-coming rancher boys drink their beer leaning on their pick-up trucks, gnawing on a piece of straw, not out of some frat-house bathtub.
