I always made fun of Gryffind and Justin for growing up in West Virginia.

I don't think I realized that level of difference between

rural West Virginia, you know, West Virginia, and then like straight up

middle of nowhere rural. I was in West Virginia, were you?

No, I was in South Dakota, but there's still no actual frame of reference.

For all intents and purposes, there were farms and trees and not a whole lot else.

You know that like Justin and I didn't have like any, Justin and I aren't like

fucking full blown bumpkins. No, I know that.

To this day, I don't know what tractors actually do. I just assume that they were like

very inefficient means for farmers to like, tool around their blocks. They're

really fun. Yeah, right. Just like, what do I do? Do they till? Are they

telling machines? They're doing this. Sort. Do they sort things?

Is it a harvesting? I think that's a combined sort of things. Anyway,

I was in the middle of nowhere in South Dakota. I had a lovely time, except for the

fact that every single day on my vacation at 7am, the following thing happened.

Times a billion in terms of loudness for about five minutes every morning at 7am.

Cal's trying to fuck. The town, the local town, has an alarm to wake everyone up.

That's awesome. Sounds like there's a bomb going off every day at 7am.

That's so fucking cool. Does everybody like do like a zombie like

shuffle to like the central church? Well, no, because everyone's sleeping.

Because no one gets up at 7am, you're crazy. Do they perform rituals as some sort of pagan potato

god? Hmm. I think they have corn out there, actually.

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