Pure Mulk Rufus Blessings on Bearmeat

After my first semester at Baylor, I went home for Christmas break. Somewhere in between the traditional tree hunt (in which I would get lost in the woods for a few hours, bloody ax in hand ((yes, the ax my dad hit me with when I was in high school)) (((no, I'm not making this up))) and the Nap on Super Bowl Sunday, a stray dog found our farm. I suggested he be named Rufus. So it was spoken, so it was done. I can't remember, was he the dog squished by a falling mobile home or the one who tried to kill one rattlesnake too many? Farm dogs usually meet untimely deaths.

If you think me totally deranged at this point, check out Bearmeat. All will be explained; well, at least the title of this blog posting will be explained. Go Mulk! Go Rufus! Sic em Bears! If you leave a message there, tell them a good homeless son of Samuel Brooks sent you.