bagtruck

This V-10 Ford F350 Super Duty lifted and fitted with off road tires versus a dead horse: WHO YA GOT?

There’s good news and bad news today, folks.  Bad news first: the weekly mailbag won’t go up until later tonight.  I made the mistake of thinking I could tackle the mailbag and also help a friend edit a 12,000-word graduate dissertation last night.  The latter lasted until 3:30 a.m., so the former didn’t happen at all.  But the mailbag will be up tonight.  Scout’s honor.

But the good news!  The good news is that one of our more memorable emailers this summer, the gal with the giant truck and a wussy boyfriend with a Saturn, wrote in with an update of her life.  And we’re not ordinarily inclined to post follow-ups to your scenarios, but then most follow-ups don’t involve dead horses being torn apart in an explosion of maggots.  Read for yourself:

I wrote in awhile back with a story about my truck annoying my boyfriend.  So I don’t know if you even care about followups, but the truck has ended the relationship.

Two weeks ago we were helping a mutual friend clean up his new property.  He owns 5 acres which include a number of old farm buildings and an in-ground pool.  I was out using the truck to rip down the crap buildings and drag the remains over to the fire pit when it was discovered that there was a dead horse in the inground pool.  Yeah a dead fucking horse.  Some guys were pulling trash out of there and one of them pulled back a tarp to find the rotting remains of a horse, a big horse and plenty of maggots to go along with it.  Package deal.

Pity you didn’t have a shark in that pool.  They love dead horses.

After some consultation the brain trust decided that the best solution was to wrap the horse in a tarp and then drag it out with the truck.

So we’re pulling it out, two tow straps wrapped around the tarp-covered body when the horse/straps get hung up on some of the other crap in the pool.

“Tap the gas” they yelled, which I did, resulting in no movement.

“Roll back and get a running start” was the next suggestion from the brain trust.

I’d like to pause for a second here.  In her first email, Truck Girl spoke of driving to nearby Lake Huron, so she and her friends likely reside in either Canada or Michigan.  Just keep that in mind as you read on, wondering why they didn’t just remove the other junk in the pool.

“That’s not that best idea here…”
“No, no, it will work and don’t worry your tow hitch can take it!”
“I’m not worried about the tow hitch, but okay, you want it you got it.”

I back the truck up about 10 feet and then hit the gas and…

(horse leg flies off)

Yes, a leg flew off.  The entire horse was yanked forward, it and whatever junk the tarp dragged with it slamming up against the edge of the pool and the lip and wedging there.  The concrete wasn’t going to give, the 60,000lb tow straps we’re going to give, instead the rotting flesh of the horse gives.  One of the straps ripped right through the tarp and severed the leg and then whipped up, bringing the leg up with it.

My now ex-boyfriend was standing right here, watching the entire operation right until this leg whips out of the pool and slams into into him, a good part of the rotting flesh just exploding.  He had maggots all over him, just crawling around and rotting gobs of flesh coating him, along with a nice bruise from where the leg bones slammed into his thigh. He didn’t even have a hat on so he had maggots crawling around in his hair and –

No, we didn’t have a video camera on it, and despite the fact we did have three other legs we could try to recreate the event with, he wouldn’t do it.

My response to this wasn’t sympathetic enough for him.  I was laughing as I hosed him off and pointed out he was lucky the tow strap hadn’t hit him because then we’d be dragging him off in a tarp too.

Lady, I would marry you tomorrow if I weren’t so certain you’re a burly girl who wears a lot of flannel.

Pretty much everyone else was laughing at him as well and suggesting he take it like a man and I guess he felt I was supposed to be his shoulder to cry on.  He went inside to nurse the leg and I went back to work, whereas he expected me to come in and play nursemaid and fetch him icepacks.

After a few days of him sulking about it and avoiding me we finally had a fight and a break up.  After about a week of no communication at all I figure its over and I guess I should blame the truck.  It’s just too cute though, I can’t stay mad at it.

So in the end “dump him” was the correct answer as it turns out.  Thanks!

No no, thank you.