by David Safier
John had spent a few too many hours at the ranch with his feet up and a mug of Cindy’s beer in his hand, so he decided it was time to look over some of his other property. There’s a lot of property to visit, and John was having some trouble deciding where to go.
 Giddyap, ol’ friend. Let’s you ‘n me light out to some o’ mah other spreads. Lessee. We could go to mah hacienda down Phoenix way, though I gotta be honest with ya, boy, it’s more like a condo-cienda than a ha-cienda, if you get mah meanin’ — heh heh. Paid four-point-six mill fer the place. Got me about 6,000 feet square, so’s I can spread out a mite. Only problem is, it belongs to Cindy, dag nab it! I’d love to get ma hands on that Philadelphia lawyer come up with mah prenup. ‘Course, we could always drop in on mah daughter Meghan’s loft a ways down from the condo. Paid right near seven hundred thousand hard earned dollars for that place. Earned by Cindy’s pa, o’ course. Dag nab it! Y‘know, mah friend, I’m wearyin’ o’ all this dust ‘n cactus around here. We should light out to the ocean in Californy. Got me a few places down La Jolla way, about two million each. Wish ah coulda bought ‘em mahself, but gol durn it, we Senators don’t make that kind o‘ money. But Cindy — ‘ol’ moneybags,’ ah call her sometimes fer a laugh — sometimes I call her ‘ol’ beer keg,’ not on account o’ her girlish figgur, o’ course, but ‘cause that’s where the money flows from. Ah called her some other names in mah day, but we won’t go into that. Then thar’s always mah Arlington spread in ol’ Virginny . . . Cindy’s spread, ah mean . . . Shoot, I’m gettin’ tired o’ sayin’ that! It’s just a humble little eight hundred thousand dollar condo where I can hang my hat when I go to work. Don‘t wanna head there any time soon, though. I might have ta cast one o’ them pesky votes, an’ you know much how I hate that — heh, heh. |
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