Letter to a Friend

Dear Sir:

I happened upon you tonight in the Wal-Mart parking lot. The truck you drove was big. Much bigger than the family car that I was driving, and for that you are not only to be congratulated, but you were entirely justified in looking at me like you are a tougher human being. And who am I to argue? The decal of Calvin pissing on a Ford emblem was all the explaining you needed to do.

I understand how much you must love that truck, which would explain why you secured nearly three parking spaces in the otherwise crowded parking lot. Clearly by the way you hopped down the four-and-a-half feet from your lifted truck and quickly strutted your 5'4" body into Wal-Mart, you were proud of your success in parking. Also, it must be challenging to be so strong that your arms don't actually go all the way down to your sides.

I applaud your courage, dear friend. While your drywall business hasn't had a job since May '08, you refuse to give up your dream and accept a "pussy" job. Sure, your house is on the brink of foreclosure - and a lesser man might take the sissy way out to support his family. Not you; you are a beacon in the community - one who will still buy that 106-inch plasma TV, with which to watch all the MMA fighting and Nascar racing.

And while some would consider a Bully Dog Chip in that diesel a luxury, you have found a way to convince your wife of its necessity. How else would you tow your sleds? You are a wizard of logic. With your tight Tap-Out Gear T-shirts, you have convinced those around you that fat equals muscle.

I would like to someday shake your hand, sir, for clearly being a better man than me. Your camouflage, goatee, and can of chew are the uniform of success. Good luck in all your future endeavors which include, but are not limited to, taking over your father's construction business and beating me off the line at the traffic light.

Regards,

TBR

P.S. No, I was not "looking at your girl."