the farm

Today was another dreary monday, not weather wise but in every other respect. Nothing important/good really happens on mondays. I mean sure, World War 2 was important and stopping Nazis was definately good, but when was the last time you were really excited for monday. Maybe its just me, I don't know, but mondays in general suck. All of this sucking led me to daydream about going to the farm, one of my favorite places, coming in right above waterparks and just slightly below Heaven. Anyway, the name is misleading since its not a farm, and to my understanding never was. Sure, I heard my grandpa bought some goats one time on a whim, but no corn or anything like that, just an old house. But I love that house, the red shag carpeting of my youth, the hard water, the dead mice in the basement, and that signature smell. From my description it sounds borderline infested, but let me tell you, after the squirell got in the window Aunt Sally and Uncle Tom fixed it up quite nicely. Anyway, I've been longing to go back, since we normally only make it out at Thanksgiving. I know what you're thinking: what is out there that makes the farm more fun that a waterpark? Everything. First of all, its pretty much on like a conservative million acres of woods which makes everything more fun. When was the last time you were lost, and I mean really lost in the woods? My time was at the farm. When was the last time you saw a turkey? Mine wasn't at the farm, but it could have been. When was the last time you rode a mini bike up a tree stump? Eric did last year and almost died- that was funny. You see the farm is the place where those stories you tell for years originate. I remeber the giant bass I caught there in Trout Pond. I must have insisted I take it home to show everybody, so we got a bucket, filled it with water, and put it in the back seat. Bad idea. As I got my fries from McDonalds out of the bag, the monster splashed and soaked my burger/shirt. We filleted that son of a bitch, but didn't eat it. I remeber the time I blew the brains out of a squirell. I shot it and it twitched, I panicked and felt bad, so I shot it again and again from point blanck until it stopped moving, with a shotgun. I haven't killed anything since. Or how bout that time Thanksgiving night my cousin lost his watch at the bonfire and recruited every ablebodied adult to help him find it under the leaves.

The farm is pretty much the most fun place to go ever, besides Heaven. I'm hoping to go this friday, on the agenda:
1. Catch a giant, and I mean Giant bass in the pond
2. Ride the mini bikes around
3. Walk through the woods and see some turkeys
4. Fight my friends with sticks
As you can see, my plans don't sound that exciting, but that's what makes the farm so special. The ability to turn the most boring day ever into the day you will never forget. And we are having a stickfight. Word.