A bump jolted me from my hope-my-brothers-don t-notice-me trance and brought me back to my ware bouts, or lack of ware

bouts. You see, I grew up in Wyoming, and there s not much to the state if you take out the first national park and world-class rodeos. My theory on the matter stands as such: when the pioneers started to cross the plains, they didn t call them the plains until they reached Wyoming. I m sure their conversations must have gone something like this So Fred, I hear yous taken your family out on over those there space. Sure is Billy, that there space is sure long, but I hears the space makes for some mighty fine bonding time. The term plain had not yet been invented since the pioneers had not yet seen Wyoming in all its glory. But sure enough when Fred hit the space (what it was formally called before seeing the great Y-O) he sent word back to Billy and told him of his findings. Once again, as I imagine, this is how a letter would have looked like: Dear Billy, It seems that we have come across an area of land that is free from artifice, ornament or extraneous matter. I think I has stumbled across the plains. This place is just so darn plain I have no other idea what to call it and so it seems that this here place must remain to be called the plains blah blah blah. So from then on it was know as the Great Plains. I could totally understand as I continued to look out my window and stare at the sagebrush and rocks as they drug by in a slow, unchanging mass. No offense to my fathers driving, but nothing could fly by with him behind the wheel, hence it drug by. Kids! my father s voice spoke up from behind the wheel. Look out the window kids. You don t know what you re missing! I hadn t the slightest idea we were missing any thing, but our of shear boredom I lifted my head of the side of the seat and look out side. Sagebrush. Rocks. Sagebrush. Rocks. Sagebrush and I bet you can t guess it a small bird. Haha got you there, I bet you thought I was going to say rocks. Yes, this is the state of the plains we were passing through on our way back home. I look around the car, which resembled more of a small house. A fifteen-passenger van is very large for non-commercial car sizes, so you can see how things could get spread out or how you may have a prized possession get eaten by the cushions of the van seats. My two brothers Adam and Andy were over in the corner of the Moby Dick, snickering about some plan they had to annoy me out of my senses, and my youngest brother Alex resembled that of a half tranced crazed weasel. His face was pressed up against the window with a line of drool oozing out of his mouth and a glazed film covering his eyes. I was slightly worried that at any moment he would burst forth into some ancient tribal war dance right there in the car. Strange things happen on road trips, so I couldn t put it past him. As I looked closer I saw his mouth moving ever so slightly. Oh no, I thought, It s finally started to happen. He s lost it. Hey Alex! I yelled. With a sucking sound Alex dislodged his face from the window. What do you want? He asked.

and I do too have boys! Ok. Fine I ll work on it. Just a couple of old relics I picked up from my last safari in the down under. Ah. He replied. But you gotta. Just show me. I wasn t chanting. and your Al Capone needs a little more work to be convincing. put your info up on the table or me and the boys will have to admire your face from the back side your OK. he interrupted. Good thing to do on road trips. what were you counting? You have to pay me for that kind of information Abbs. I don t give my wealth of knowledge out that easily. Whadda you got for me? He prodded. Abby. here they are I proceeded to pull out some . Oh yes. so whadda you got? I am not a patient man in business Abbs. I was counting. Alright I mumbled in my best early 20th century gangster. counting. I ll see. nothing you d want. If you don t mind me asking.What in hecks peaceful name are you chanting to yourself? Ugh. he scoffed pointing at my arms. Plus you don t have any boys. Hand it over Alright.

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