An Ode To Tractors

Yes. I love that sound. Diesel engines don’t sound the same as gas. Not by a long shot. Its almost like theres something loose and its rattling around. A sort of knocking. They all sound like that though so I know all is well. I can pretty much go anywhere cause this tire is almost as tall as I am. Here I am. Protected. A soft, squishy human in an iron shell. It even has a radio. I like being the guy in the tractor while the men outside freeze. We all know how to run it, but this time it happened to be me. Right now I’m stronger and faster than all of them put together. Hell, Im stronger and faster than 500 men combined. With one tractor properly maintained one man can feed hundreds. In a matter of months he could move a mountain. Now I know everyone is going to knit-pick and say that a back-ho is different than a dump truck is different than a fork lift, but to me, they’re all tractors.

They are amazing. 

Im trying to think about how to improve on this technology and can’t come up with anything. You need a heavy diesel truck with hydraulic attachments. I know everyone is worried about the fact that America is approaching the half way mark in regards to the parasite/producer ratio, but not me. We have tractors. I believe the 80/20 rule is now applicable. Give 20 guys a tractor each, and the other 80 can just loaf around all day. Who cares? If they find fulfillment in daytime television, more power to them. Ill be busy kicking ass in an awesome machine. A complicated, yet seemingly primitive machine that has become one with me.

Earlier I said I couldn’t think of a way to improve on them. That was a lie. The next logical step would be to imitate the human body with a mech suit. They are already working the bugs out on exoskeleton suits. The legs could fold up into wheels when you needed to travel. The arms could have a sort of Gattling gun of attachments. A jackhammer, welder, simple clamping claw, cutting torch, chainsaw, bucket. What Im thinking of is an all purpose tractor. Something to replace all the other models with just one, big, badass, building machine. Land 100 of those bad boys on an alien planet and you would have a functional iron mine in two days. In a week you would have a new human colony. A new place to put all the Lesbian Guatemalan Poetry majors. But hey, as long as I get to build it I really don’t give a damn how they spend their lives. Ill have fresh beef ready for them to purchase.

oh wait…


Not This Mans Best Friend

Don’t look at me with those helpless eyes… Ive worked real hard to shape my mind in such a way that I make the demon of guilt pass over me to affect others. When you look at me begging my attention though, I can’t help it. I feel guilty. I know the time you spend with me is the highlight of your entire life. Ive watched you grow from an adorable little puppy to a sturdy dog that can hold his own against the other two, despite your young age. I should train you. I should make you my dog.

I don’t wanna. I don’t give a shit about you Laddie. You’re a good dog. Friendly and full of puppy energy. You annoy me.

There must be something wrong with me. Dozens of men online and in real life expound on how awesome their dog is, and how fulfilling the time spent with them is. I don’t get it. To me you’re just an animal. Why can’t I appreciate your simplicity? Probably the same reason I find no entertainment value from professional sports. Maybe Im just not a team player. Who knows.

I do know one thing for certain though. If you don’t learn how to chase cows within the next couple months you will be out on your puppy ass faster than you can say “Its bacon!”

Easy Way Out


“… Not you again.”

“I can’t even believe what I saw on Thursday night. You were in the zone! Everyone was your buddy. That chick was totally DTF. You were blowing smoke in her face and she was still leaning in. You used the pseudonym Emma, and then she magically appeared. A recently graduated child psychologist with 150 thousand dollars in student loan debt. It was a synchronistic masterpiece. The universe was trying to tell you something dude. She even laughed her ass off when you make a joke about CrackBaby Basketball. Then what did you do?”


“You got one booty call text and split. You piece of shit. Some playboy you are. All you are is a pair of balls bursting with semen. Is that what you are now? A fuckin booty call?”

“Hey. I was going for the sure thing. Yes, I was in set. Yes, she was definitely interested. But you don’t know what could happen, maybe she was just a cock tease.”

“You know what Im hearing? Maybe and But. Thats what you are. A MaybeButt.”

“Cut it out with the ad-homine.”

“Ad-Wha? Talk like a real person. What you did the other night was disgraceful. Remember what we identified as the number one trait of lesser males? Go on, refresh me.”

“Comfort seeking…”

“Thaaats right. Taking the sure bet. The ole tried-and-true. How do you ever expect to go anywhere if you can’t even stay focused and pull a bar skank without running off to momma.”

“I got laid didn’t I? This no wanking thing is rough. Throw lifting in on top of that and its like I have fire in my veins. Im tired of being a cranky ass, walking hard-on.”

“There you go again. Making excuses, and seeking comfort. You may have been able to talk me down last time, but you know I’m in the right here. Also, you’re not being cranky. You’re being dominant. You say how its done and people just do it. They may whine about what a tyrant you are, but in the end they have no gripes coming if they can’t come up with a better plan. Its called leadership. Get used to it.”


“Alright we’re done here. Oh and dude… Keep up with the rows. Your back is looking phenomenal.”

“… Thanks man…”

“Stay focused!”


Manspreading ACTUALLY Harms A Woman

Ive been getting up earlier. Every few days I bump it up a half hour. Today I had finished with work in the morning and was waiting for my meal at the local cafe. I was sitting in a booth on the side of the restaurant. As is my regular habit with booth seats, I spread my legs out across the whole seat to better utilize it. This left just my boots overhanging the edge of the seat. I was reading some really boring stuff in the newspaper and all seemed well. I hate to admit it, but I was really just dozing there. All seemed well. Then two women entered the restaurant. One of them was quite old, decrepit, and pale. Pretty standard for this town. Old people come here to die because its all they can afford. Well being on two feet was obviously quite a hassle for her so she takes the shortest possible route to a bench seat. This route was right by my booth. She tottered along, and ever so slowly, ran her left knee right into my boot.

Like a slow motion train wreck, she stumbled, bumbled, went down to the ground. But not before cracking her forehead on the table next to mine. I stood and witness the truly pathetic sight. I offered to give her a hand up. All she replied was, “I wanna go home!” I managed to drag her doughy ass off the ground and get her into a booth.

So all you He-Man-Woman-Haters, let this be a lesson. Manspreading is dangerous.


Hit-And-Run Leads To Awesome Sex (Part 1)

My first red pill pickup was plagued by so many errors it makes me wince to this day. But I got the bang, so I’m gonna chalk it up as a win.

It was late fall and cold enough to justify having a huge fire in the woods. Thats what we do in Montana. Make huge fires and drink beer in the woods. Sophisticated I know. Since we were having a gathering anyway I loaded my truck with my sound equipment and decided to supply the tunes for people to drink to. The night was going well and people were feeding me drinks the entire night while I worked the turntables. Nobody was dancing, but everyone was laughing and drinking and having a good time so I didn’t blame myself. Two little college honeys must have been thinking along these same lines because they came over and started shaking their shit. The 17 year old blonde came over and introduced herself to me as “Pixie” (yes… really…)

“What the hell is wrong with everyone? Why aren’t they dancing?”

“Ive learned you can’t make anyone dance. You can only encourage them.”

I talked with both Pixie and “Emma” for quite some time. My buddy “Johnny” Kept bringing over a corona with the a few swigs taken from it, then filled back up with lemon vodka and sweet and sour mix. He even put a lime slice in it. Whatta guy. Well I must have had six or seven of those and began to lose interest in DJing. This was fine as it was already pretty late and most people had bounced. The generator ran out of fuel and I sat around the fire with a few friends and tried to string sentences together while sitting next to Emma. She got bored and caught a ride home with someone else and left her Subaru parked next to my truck. After a few friends and I loaded up my equipment I threw her in reverse and immediately ran over a giant boulder that tore my drivers side running board off and ran the the front of my truck right into Emmas Subaru. I looked at Johnny as he sucked air in between his teeth.

“Man… You jacked that shit up!”

My vehicle was fine, but I had basically destroyed her drivers side headlight. I was too drunk at the time to worry about it. So I just drove home and passed out. The next day I had a bit of anxiety over the right course of action. Should I get her number, call her, and give out insurance info? Would that make my rates go up? Probably. Sounds like a real hassle. Luckily the ghost of Heartiste floated up from the poon nether world to give me some solid advice.

Ghost of Heartiste: “You wanna bang this girl right?”

Grody: “No shit, Sherlock.”

Ghost of Heartiste: “Alpha males don’t take responsibility for shit! Be selfish my poonami padawan.”

Grody: “This is kinda going against my code. Im not used to this…”

Ghost of Heartiste: “WOOOoooooo…”

I was tired of celibacy, so I decided to take his advice. I completely ignored the whole thing and continued my gym routine and kept getting shot down on approach… after approach… A roughneck buddy of mine stopped into town and fed me drinks until I couldn’t speak and I wound up with a DUI right after my probation expired from my North Dakota drug charges. Fuck. It was time to quit drinking. A couple of painful months went by as I took control of my habits and cleaned up. The night before my pickup I dreamed of the full moon. I examined all the luminous craters in all their intensity. I went to my classes and couldn’t help but notice all the females were all dolled up. While staring at some skinny brunettes thong I thought of the dream… Moon… Cycles… Thong underwear… Somewhere it clicked that tonight would be a good night to get laid.

That afternoon, out of the blue, an obese female friend sent me a text message inviting me to a party at her house. I showed up early and it was her and another fat friend plus her flaming faggot room mate who kept making blatant passes at me. I put up with their drunken shenanigans until some more people finally arrived and started playing drinking games. The booze held no allure to me. Then, the moment of truth. Emma and Pixie walked in. Game on. They set up camp at the kitchen island. Against all the pickup advice, I made the most direct approach imaginable. I rested both elbows on the kitchen island, brought my face to her level, and delivered my stupid opener, some snark about there being nothing going on tonight. She bit and started explaining all of her lame adventures that night, which included stripping down to her underwear to swim in a hotel pool. Nice.

Emma: “Whats your name?”

Grody: “Austin Fitzpatrick, nice to meet you.”

Emma: “Ok good… cause you look an awful lot like this fuckin Grody guy who ran into my fucking car!”

Grody: “…”

After a little while I broke off the interaction with her and took up as much of the sofa as I could while watching the drinking games going on. She slid up underneath my arm and we continued to talk. Mostly about the illuminati and how lizard people were going to take over the world. Then she and Pixie started to talk about the Bon-fire and how fun it was. I told them I really appreciated how they weren’t afraid to dance in front of everyone.

Emma: “It is you! I knew it!”

I flashed her a surprised shit eating grin. She playfully slapped my chest and feigned indignation. I wasn’t really surprised that she hadn’t recognized me because I had gone from full beard to baby face. (except for soul patch… cause… why not?) We went outside to smoke a cig and she had forgotten her lighter and asked me to go inside to get it. Shit test. I told her I would wait as she went to get it. We had a great conversation and went back inside. At this point it was just a waiting game. I socialized with the other guests and waited for most of them to go home before I sat on the couch next to her and put her under my arm. She kept taking big swigs from a bottle of Jack Daniels. Excellent. Enough was enough. Because she wouldn’t face me directly I put my forehead against hers and used both of our rounded heads to roll her mouth up into mine. I took her and Pixie and another dude to the dudes house and let him have Pixie. I bounced with Emma back to my place. (I figured since I was a noob it would take too much game to go for the threesome)

This chick was an 8.5. 20 years old with and hourglass figure. Great hips and thighs. Heres the kicker though. E tits. When I popped open that bra I heard the angel chorus and all was right with the universe.

stay tuned for part 2 where I describe in brutal detail all the mistakes I make when trying to make this girl into a plate.


I really was tempted to name this post “Cows are Assholes” but that title didn’t really get to the heart of the issue. In my travels I have uncovered yet another subliminal politically correct motif, that considering my line of work, is especially irritating. It goes a little something like this.

“Do you know what they do to those animals before slaughter? Its completely inhumane. If you saw the process I’m sure you would change your mind about animal rights.”

Notice what they did there? They managed to take the morally high ground without offering any specifics, and more importantly, without offering any solutions. Rhetorical genius. In fact I do know what they do to the animals before slaughter. They line them up. If they won’t get in line they poke and hit them with sticks. If thats not enough motivation, they use sticks with electricity. Yes, its completely inhumane. But thats the point of this post.

Anthropomorphization -to ascribe human form or attributes to (an animal, plant, material object, etc.)

Animals are not humans. To assign our morality to them is asinine. They are a crop for harvest. Im going to cut these spouters of nonsense some slack because they’ve never worked with livestock. I guarantee that if they spent one year in my occupation they would completely revise their position on animal rights. 99% of the things we do for our cattle are for their own good. But do we ever get the benefit of the doubt? No. Its a fight the entire way. Every step of the way they oppose us. Their cowardly herd mentality is the only thing that keeps them together. As far as I can tell, they have no fondness at all for their fellow herd members. They would clean up all the feed and let a fellow herd member who was crippled starve to death. Me first. The only time they present a danger to us is when they are beat on until they are worked into a frothy mouthed frenzy. This is why we rarely do that. Its not in our best interests to abuse the animals under our charge. I spend my days making sure they have fresh water, plenty of food, all the right vaccinations and medical care, and what do I have to look at day after day? They shit in their fresh feed that we labour to provide for them and grind it in with their feet. One cow will casually lap up the dribbling piss of another. They routinely shit on each others heads, and neither party seems to notice or care. When a cow has twins, she will pick one to feed and kick the other calf off her udder until it starves. Our bulls will routinely butt heads. Sometimes when two are busy fighting, a third party comes in at a full charge and breaks the leg or shoulder of one of the combatants. Cheap shot. Cows are assholes. They have no rights because they deserve no rights. They don’t deserve to be treated humanely because they are not humans. You have no idea the true depths of selfish cowardice until you’ve met a cow.

So then now that I’ve illuminated to you the nature of livestock, how do you propose we “humanely” get them to go into the death chute? Yes I agree the electric prod is rather cruel. So why don’t you go up and explain to the animal that its time to pay us back for all the work we’ve put into raising it. See how far that gets you. Besides, a pneumatic hammer is about the most quick and painless death I or anyone else can conceive of. I know if I was on death row, I would rather get smacked and have it all over in one second that get injected with poison and squirm and writhe in agony for minutes at a time.

Unless you’re a complete vegan, I don’t really want to hear about animal rights. But wait a second Mr. VeganMcSkinnyJeans… I bet you didn’t think about the millions of rodents that get ground up in grain combines during harvest time. See… No matter how you look at it, for you to live, something else has to die. Its the way of  the world. Take that little red pill. Have yourself a good cry. And meet me in the real world.