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Aug 15, 2017AugustW rated this title 4 out of 5 stars
There abides a kinship among us farmers that I reckon most civilians cannot fully comprehend. A brotherhood that makes the mafia oath of silence look like a drunken vow made with an Elvis preacher at that multi-level marketing convention you went to back in '89. There's a word in Spanish that translates as a friend that you would kill or die for, but in English we simply call that a farmer. Which is how in a town of 400 no one saw a thing when a local terrorist, whom the media euphemistically labeled a bully, was gunned down in broad daylight with at least 60 witnesses or co-conspirators. In these parts, we simply call that a good old fashioned, behind the woodshed, St. Joe ass kicking. Now, I hope you will excuse me but I need to mosey on down the road a piece and pick up some more buck shot for the impending war with those devils north of the 38th parallel or the demons south of the Mason-Dixon.