Whooee! I jest seen that I give my little boog post the selfsame title as that there book by that Jack Kerouac feller the beatnik guy from the 1950's - On the Road. My boog story ain't gonna be all deep an' esoterical like the French-Canajun boy from Massachusettes, KerouacFeller.
Ma an' I an' the younguns piled in the chugmobile fer a trip t' Ma's little sister's place in Penetang on the Georgian Bay. Ma did the drivin' an the navigatin' both. She turned fifty or sixty corners an' went down sum bumpy ol' two-laners but we got here in one day an' didn't hafta look fer a motel that'd take the eight of us an' ol' Spot, too. Ma's sister's named MarillaBird an' her manfeller's named BobJimmy. Ain't that a coinkydink?. My ol' Pappy was a BobJimmy, too.
Well now, faithful Good Friday readers, BobJimmy my brother-in-law has got hisself this great huge lump of a slobberin' St. Barnyard dog. The big feller's name is Austin, like Austin Powers, but they call'm Oxen on accounta he's big as an ox. Here's a pitcher -
Ol' Oxen sits his big ass down onta the chesterfield like he's sum sorta human bein'. He seems a purty good ol' boy an good thing, sez I, cause I reckon he could take off ol' Spot's head in a single bite. I hear tell sum psychoFreudians got sum theories 'bout fellers who get great huge slobberin' dogs. Brother-in-law BobJimmy's probbly a textbook case.
Anyways, I ain't got any polytickal analyzin' t' give you today on accounta the big road trip we took an' spendin' 4 an' a haff hours makin' a 2 an' a haff hour trip. It looks like there's sum polytickal smoke on the horizon, though. Ol' Harpoon sez his fellers an' gals ain't gonna pass ol' Good Ale's budget. That could mean we Canajuns're headed fer an election vote soon.