speaking truth to power

Well hell Beagles, you said deer piss, you didn’t say doe in heat piss, that is a horse of another hue. I guess they could have collected in it some mechanical manner like they do bull semen (which I really don’t want to know how they do that), but still having a whole herd of deer in heat sounds like kind of a risky thing to do.

So it sounds like you think Ol Fred took that into consideration and likely he did, likely he did. And it is not too far off to imagine that one day he took a whiff of that Buckstop stuff and thought it was deer piss all right, but it didn’t have that richness, that organic whole, that promise of progeny, that you get from regular doe in heat piss, but it had kind of an artificial, kind of a chemical taint, like it had some of that stuff you see listed in the ingredients of a Hostess Twinkie.

Well you would think it would be pretty simple case, kind of like a DNA thing, here is actual doe in heat piss, and here is Buckstop’s inorganic brew, and here are their chemical profiles, and they ain’t the same, so that’s that.

Come court day I imagine when Fred was slipping a couple vials into the front pocket of his cleaned and pressed bib overalls, and a couple chemical readouts in the back pocket, his wife might have allowed as how it might be a good idea to bring along that nephew who had gone to law school for a couple years. But Fred brushed her aside. A man with truth on his side, going before a law court in the land of the free, didn’t need no mouthpiece.

He might have been taken aback when he saw that legion of spatty lawyers on the other side, and those money sacks plumping around the leg of the judge’s chair, but Ol Fred, the kind of man we all know old Fred to be, just hooked his fingers deeper into the straps of his overalls and boldly spoke truth to power.

The next thing he knew he was being held upside down by the spatty lawyers as his bills fluttered to the floor, and then the repo men came to his house and took his tv, and then just whatever Fred had earned by the honest sweat of his brow went into the iron vault of Buckstop, whose door slammed shut with a resounding clang.

Ol Fred was never the same.

But what of the deer, because it is all about the deer is it not? I imagine it went well for them. I imagine when they went sniffing there were some who went for that dirty chemical smell, kind of like a deer with a boob job, and others who were more pure in heart and preferred only the real thing, and the former ended up on some Buckstop user’s dinner table, and the latter started a nice little deer family. So the former gene died out and the latter gene prospered, and the deer you see in the woodland are purer than ever.

So all is well that ends well.

Maybe this weekend we can research the real truth of Trost vs Buckstop. Or if the weather is nice maybe we can grab a six pack and put some tunes on the radio and grease our bearings just the way Fred Trost taught us to.