Private to Peter/Ben
Was about high noon, I reckon, when this stranger rolled into town. Tumble weeds were a-blowin'. Brad Paisley was playin' on the jukebox. Honey Boo Boo was on the TV, 'cause the remote stopped workin' and it was a pain to switch the channel otherwise.
He didn't give his name, this wild-eyed unknown. Just strolled up to the bar, took a shot, got on that mechanical bull with purpose...
And two seconds later, he spewed like Old Faithful. We never did get his name, but his legend lives on in fable and myth. We call him... Chunks.
Oh, hey. Speaking of Triple J -- actually, are you sitting?