 Al Earl put down his bottle and matched his foot down on the throttle. Then a couple of boobs with a thousand cubes in a 1948 Peterbilt screamed alive. We woke up a ten. We roared up off of that shoulder spraying pine cones, rocks, and boulders and put 400 head of them Rhode Island Reds and a couple of burnt-out roosters on the line. Look out below, cause here we go. What brick has way up on the grapevine? What's up, y'all?