Lonely Farmers: The Freevee Event.

Upon seeing on the program guide, it sounds like fodder for Dateline, but no.  We get a new goatmommy, there but for the grace of God, after Megyn got in the rat poison and hemorrhaged even out of her eyes.  Its an interesting premise, two or three words that seem to imply so much, and not in the minimalist sense like the movie names, but actual marketing, you know.

I've seen this before anyway, sitting with a Bud Light in Davenport, Iowa surrounded by some of the nation's most interesting antique iron.

They said, there was some regulation about providing rural coverage on the pay tv systems, basically almost like a subsidy, that they pay the farmers some, and they then feel the notion to pay the farmer's tv network.

They took these city girls and brought them to God Knows, Wyoming.  It's almost like 40 Dollars a Day with Raquel, how you just sort of airdrop those bitches and see if they can find their way home, and if so, in that unlikelihood, what diseases have they discovered, like Megyn's doctor, ya know?  That golf-f*ck ratboy piece of garbage that hovers around Tampa, the once and future litigant, Donald John Trump.

I usedta make 40 bucks a day, myself.  It was good.  Didn't get a bleary-eyed letter from a city girl, or anything.  Mostly gay European friends.  Anyway, my 40 dollars in hand, Scott's Mini-Mart on Hwy 9 or the old Frank's Finer Foods in Chesterfield, SC, at the time Seneca cigarettes were 9.99 per carton.  I'd do the carton, hit the Chinese restaurant where the impossibly thin slave girl ran the register(I had thought, with such an electrolyte imbalance, she'd make an easy abduction, not that I've ever abducted anyone or anything, or even particularly daydreamed about it any length of time, no matter what Larry tells you), and the video store, Bob Perdue's flagship video store, that is, hitting the DVD deep-cuts, Lee Van Cleef, the soft-core porn Blair Witch, continual rentals of Lucio Fulci's Zombi 2.

And what was left over, I just fed to the pidgeons, kiddos.

I recall working most of one summer for a pair of shoes.  I had some shoes bought circa 2001, but they were hopelessly falling apart.  In the morning, the wet grass soaked my footies as I ran the string trimmer for a six-hour stretch, hoping in vain, some 10 or 15 dollars at a clip, to buy another pair of shoes from the discount store.

The city girls.

Do we understand them?  Or are we hypnotized?  Will a farm boy lose his innocence?  Will she teach him to read?  Will he teach her how to live, at all?

40 bucks a day sounds like an STD med price before government subsidies, but it was nice little show in its day, with a kind of premise in a few words that TV seems to forsake so much, not a remake or something, not Mollie B's Polka Slamdown or something.

Send Dylan Mulvaney to the farmers, and then give the farmers a secret room with a camera where they can record their thought's for the students of comparative anthropology.

40 Dollars a Day.  An 18pack, a bag of Lay's five dollars in one dollar lottery tickets, except on cigarette carton day.  And we wonder now maybe, how even predilicted and prevaricated and approach transcendent ontology to even fight wars against people like the Nazis; and hell, we only knew who they were because of their uniforms, they were proud enough to label themselves, they always are, whether its FreeVee news or GOP candidates, they love a label, you know, and if they had won, they would be trying to program our Saturday nights and parcel out advertising for it.