Mastertank1
2nd Level Yellow Feather
- Joined
- Jan 21, 2006
- Messages
- 3,375
- Points
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A Texan of Irish descent is touring his forebears' 'old country'. He leaves the regular tourist areas behind and looks for the tiny farm his family came from, in a district of tiny farms.
He stops to ask directions of a local elder, who is working the potato patch that occupies the entirety of his not much bigger than a postage stamp farm, excvept for the space occupied by his house and shed. After the local tells the Texan how to find the old Cleburne Place, the two get to talking about farming and ranching.
The Texan states; "I get in my car right after breakfast, and I drive and I drive, and by the trime I reach the end of my property and my front gate on the public road, it's time for lunch!"
The local, glancing at the short track from his shed to his own front gate, replies; "I know what ye mean. I had a car like that once."
He stops to ask directions of a local elder, who is working the potato patch that occupies the entirety of his not much bigger than a postage stamp farm, excvept for the space occupied by his house and shed. After the local tells the Texan how to find the old Cleburne Place, the two get to talking about farming and ranching.
The Texan states; "I get in my car right after breakfast, and I drive and I drive, and by the trime I reach the end of my property and my front gate on the public road, it's time for lunch!"
The local, glancing at the short track from his shed to his own front gate, replies; "I know what ye mean. I had a car like that once."
