Insidious Weed Infestation Causes Quite Considerable Cultural Conundrum

In one of those things that would only happen in a place like Lamont, a feisty yet forlorn anti-metropolis nestled against the barren, hellish wastes known somewhat politely as “The Scablands”. (Oh, who came up with that name! Talk about a complete and total lack of a marketing orientation!) Anyway, as the old adage goes, “Where there is dirt, there are weeds” (Okay, I just made that adage up - but freedom of the press belongs to those who own one!!) – and believe you me, Lamont has more than its fair share of dirt, and not just the growing kind, either. So, given this volatile mix of regularly tilled soil, above average rainfall, interstate trucking from international ports over on the coast and an above average propensity for bad things to happen, the lowly town of Lamont (Oh, they are not even a city! Given their lack of population, they are defined as just a measly little town! Think of the psychological strain and humiliation that can put on an electoral body, for Pete’s sake!) has been struck by a non-native weed that has radically altered the social and cultural dynamic which was hanging by a thread in the first place. Yes, Lamont and the surrounding area have a Stage 4 infestation of the dreaded ‘Lunas Hippicus’ weed, known in farm/ranch circles more simply as “Loco Weed”.

“Oh great! That’s all I need right now!” lamented Wilber Festoon, 54, an area farmer/rancher and heir to the tarnished and tattered Festoon farm/ranch dynasty! “First, my little girl (She is 23 and well over 16 stone!!) has got it in her head to go get tattoos and piercings on parts of the body me and the wife never even knew existed, then my son goes to the slammer after getting caught up in some illegal ‘bull wrestling’ ring, and I do not have the time or the inclination to outline my wife’s quite extensive incongruities, we could be here for days, but now the whole herd is all hopped up 24/7 on some dern weed that seems to grow with some proclivity (more like reckless abandon!) in these parts, although I can’t seem to get wheat to grow here to save my life! (Maybe that has something to do with drinking a 12-pack before getting on the tractor!) Yeah, that is just great!” he sniveled in typical farmer/rancher fashion – which can be downright annoying if you ponder it for any length of time, given that totally bogus reputation they have for rugged individualism and the untamed American spirit and all of those other Hollywood lies about farmers/ranchers – at least the farmers/ranchers in these parts, anyway. (Editorial Note: The Lamont Blog believes that farmers/ranchers in other parts of the country do indeed live up to their cultural stereotypes, but the area ones leave more than a little to be desired in their manly pursuits and world view – except for the area women, of course, who seem to excel in these areas. So please, do not fall into the trap of generalizing our local farmers/ranchers with the national variety – like in Texas or Iowa or other normal places like that where the men who serve on the County Fire Department don’t start crying when asked by the town to use a fire hydrant to put out fires or whatever. Thank you!!)

“So, me and the wife went down to the back pasture and I’ll be dadburned if the whole herd wasn’t down there sitting around some bonfire, singing “Moo-Bai-Ya” and chewing on that dang Loco weed like it was going out of style!” said the flummoxed farmer/rancher while wiping the chewing tobacco juice off his shiny, pointy-toed, multi-colored, highly-embroidered 'cowboy' boot.. “And to top that all off, then one of the cows came up, saying he was now their new union representative from the International Bovine Brotherhood Local 642, and he was demanding that I rent some fancy cattle truck and drive the whole mess of them over there to that New York City so they could participate with their cultural soul mates in the “Occupy Wall Street” protest where all them hippie types who don’t know how to clean up after themselves and go to the bathroom wherever the need strikes them are proving how worthless they are! I don’t so much mind them cows getting all stoned and doing funny things with their hides, (or the wannabe hippies, either!) but I’ll be dadburned if I am going to go carting them all the way across the country so they can protest the very people who help set cattle future prices in some significant yet indirect way! A man has to draw the line somewhere, I reckon!” he said with whatever tattered remains of self-dignity he could muster in a pinch - although this meager bravado was largely sad and transparent! (Editorial Note: No animals or worthless, anti-social hippies were harmed in the making of this Blog article. Thank you!)