Well, it's official; I am a real West Virginian. My popcorn crop has withered and died. Apparently the little sprout couldn't take direct sunlight and actual soil, having been weaned on fluorescent bulbs filtered through dirty dishes, cigarette butts and beer. I am now awaiting my federal bailout check.

You know, having dead crops and no shortage of women that done me wrong, all I need is a busted pickup truck and a dead dog to have a country music hit.