Boys will be, well, boys


I encountered this sign, which has been hit more times than Muhammad Ali, on a trip to shoot pictures for the Corndancer Dot Com photo of the week. This week the picture is of an old barn. See it here. The nearly obliterated stop sign is on a National Forest Service Road off AR Highway 314 in central Arkansas.

You would not have wanted to be down range from this sign.

You would not have wanted to be down range from this sign.

Apparently, there’s some genetic disorder which runs rampant in us southern good-ol’ boys. It goads us to become armed, to quaff a few brews and to seek out highway signs and attack them with reckless abandon. The only other explanation hearkens back to the great comedian of the 60s, Flip Wilson, when he said, ” … the devil made me do it.”  In either case, the landscape is sprinkled with much evidence lending credence to both arguments.

Notice, in my first statement, the operative word is is “us.” I have to admit, that before my brain had learned to deflect these leanings, I was an active participant in this nefarious rite of passage. I hope there’s a statute of limitations on this sort of thing.

It's not as if we weren't warned. But then few good ol' boys carry a maginfying glass in their jeans.

It's not as if we weren't warned. But then few good ol' boys carry a magnifying glass in their jeans. Even less stop to inspect their targets first.

Exit wounds on the sign. Also, a good hint as to the exact location.

Exit wounds on the sign. Also, a good hint as to the exact location.

So life goes on. As long as there are good ol’ boys and signs in out of the way places, this practice will continue to flourish. But that’s OK. We have far more serious issues to address.

Thanks for dropping by,

Joe

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