You probably know someone who has checked out of the urban rat-race and gone to live on a farm. I mean, in the non-euphemism way. Your childhood dog’s not coming back, sorry. A lot of folks that I’ve worked with in the past have held various fantasies about just giving up on the entire “career” thing and living a more simple, disconnected life, ideally away from as many people as they can afford. They’re wrong. The real reason to live on a farm is that you get to buy more cool gear.
Sure, inside a city, you can get a little tiny lawn tractor, but it feels bourgeois and unnecessary. Who do you think you are that you can’t get by with a simple push mower instead? It gets you out of the house, doing a calming physical activity.
When you have half an acre, well, you gotta mow it somehow and you don’t have all day, so you can justify getting a full-on Lawnfucker 5000. The same goes for having a barn to work on shit in, a couple old pickup trucks dotting the yard. Maybe a ramshackle shed near the property line that mostly collapsed in 1975 but serves to keep the neighbours from taking a single step too far in your direction. And then there’s the tools. Chainsaws, bandsaws, tree saws… you need to cut a lot of stuff when you’re 30 minutes outside of the nearest city.
Not everyone can afford to quit their office job and move out to the boonies, however. This fantasy remains unattainable for far too many of my fellow citizens. That’s why I’ve bought a bunch of foreclosed rural property and turned it into Farmer-For-A-Day theme parks. Drive out with your family, and come try out the cool gear. Do you think your son is old enough to drive a grain thresher? Then he fucking is. There’s no cops around here, but you will have to sign this thorough series of insurance waivers first.
Tags:
#anything that makes me laugh this much deserves a reblog #(”Lawnfucker 5000”) #death tw #injury cw #unreality cw
Brinens and Things 