Restless Tractor Syndrome (RTS)

What would you do if your neighbor found out you were runnin a Zenith instead of the original MS? Lordy. Do you have nightmares about not bein able to get outta your closed cab when the mfr only built an umbrella model? An alls the other farmers is pointin at you, laughin, squealin, talkin bout your m*nliness?

Maybe you need to talk to your doctor about FarmTrac. FramTrac is a pr*scr*pt1on m*d*cat1on for adults between the ages of 45-46 who are way too fat anyway, ain't never gonna get pr*gn2nt nohow and whose lives couldn't be adversely affected anyway you look at it. So eat the durn thing and shush up.

RTS affects twos of Americans every year, causing familial strife "You loot! What the heck do you need with another tractor? I swear, you ain't been the same since that squirrel bit you!",

... financial despair "You @#$!*^!!! You spent @%^#%^ on a $^$#@ nother old tractor?!! Why, I oughtta..."

...and community decay "Yup, I knowed it. That silly ole gasser done bought his fifth froze up M. His mama gone kill him so dead we ain't none of us gonna recognize the patee."

If you suffer from RTS, get help. If you don't get help from a major ph@rma co, get help somewhere, like a major br*w3ry, or something.

RTS. Don't suffer in silence. Suffer loudly.

Then, I was on my way to work one morning. Next I remember, I was hangin on the fence line, truck in the ditch, door open, me just gaping at my friend's new Gleaner (watch out, Allen!). What I could do with a 30' head.

Gradually, one thing led to another. Lonely nights in smoky, dimly lit tracor forums, talking with other men that -- had the same desires. Tractors, its all we talked about.

One day my wife walked in the garage with our minister, my mother and several area mechanics. I knew the jig was up. "Kent," she said, "We love you and we're doing this for your own good."

They put me in a 12-step program but being a farmer, I 'Combined' it into one step. Then I baled it and housed it in the barn.

I know there's no cure, I'll never be free of this curse. Just be forewarned, some moonless night if you hear a rustlin out by the barn, it might be me -- sneakin pictures of your unstyled B or your stripped down Fordson. I can't help it... its a disease.

Hey, buddy. Would... would you mind if I restored that old rototiller sittin in the corner? I'll make it like new, I promise. It ain't metric is it?

(You lurk on Tales by any chance?)

steveormary