Oh there he goes again!
His lap-bowl of belly moving like a mold of jello to every click and clack of his ancient mower engine tractor. The tired machine cranked its soul out carrying years of making America Great Again with a beer in one fist, and a Big Gulp gas station bargain soda, with whatever superhero is selling movie tickets this week slapped on the label to pinch out every last drip of novelty from the age-of-heros dead brand in the other. He scowled hard ahead with the look of a man whom has grown fat and comfortable in his overalls, assuming everyone around him owes him something. America, home of the free... free from English and Roman Tyranny at the cost of mowing down an indigenous people, though, to many here it meant: entitlement, Freedom, for me, myself, and I. Everyone paints the picture of theirselves as God when they are led to believe that is what they mean by being made in His image. But who am I to judge. His old iron mechanism clicked along, trudging him through the aisle. At one point he just stopped and died. The sun finally showing the old man the way to the light. It’s about time that thing did more than show us the cloy taste of humility; Trump needs to do something about that smug yellow bastard in the sky. The traffic stopped in the narrow alley. I watched from my stand, eating my fifteenth goddamn oatmeal bar hoping it wouldn’t taste so bad this time. For a moment everyone just waited. Flywheelers in Fort Meade Fl was a big swapmeet and tractor show that draws in hundreds of old timers from all over to trade their junk, and show off their turn of the century touching Tonka Toys... wait, nobody has those anymore? Well then good. I guess I belong here too, at the old man convention, the land of misfit toys, the can of cream corn nobody ever remembers buying. Anyway, out here it isn’t unusual to find a human stick in the spokes. Funny thing is the place is so big that almost nobody walks. It’s quite the site to see everyone riding on their merry shopping spree in their suped up golf carts, tractors, bath tub on wheels (this is based on a true story) and Triassic era machinery. All that was missing is someone using their cats to pull a sleigh. Though if it happened at Flywheelers I’d probably just wince for a fast moment before grabbing another damn oatmeal bar wishing it was a pint of whiskey. The old man was fine, by the way. He woke, rebooted, remembered where he was, and obnoxious clock ticked his old ass on to another lane, ssssslowly.
The event was great though. I made beginners money drawing cartoons, everyone was pleasant, my neighbors were great, and I got me a lot of exercise. They have this fantastic old times village there. It’s really fun riding around that area, and visiting the old chapel where you can still smell the acrid stench of burnt heretics from the weekend before. I’m just kidding, everyone was nice, and there was hardly no public executions. Surprisingly enough there was a lot of diversity. Everyone coming together for the love of combustion engines, unhealthy food, junk, and one guy looking for the Dunking Clown that was never there, god help us all. I saw a Trump/Pence flag waving over a sign that said “American Made Junk” and I half chortled, half cried, and all put in on this gas powered generator someone was selling for $150. I cannot say no to a deal. I had a fantastic time and drew some funny faces. Here are a few of those sketches.
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