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The Wasatch Behind: Keep on truckin' I say

Sun Advocate Columnist

I was disappointed last year when Nancy Pelosi and Harry Reid made snide remarks about those of us who attended the tea party rallies. I was unhappy when President Obama made fun of those of us who cling to our guns, religion, and righteous intolerance. I was incensed when homeland security secretary, Janet Napolitano, said military veterans are a threat to national security. But last week, when president Obama put the bad mouth on pickup trucks, I went through the roof. I'm mad as hell and I'm not gonna take it anymore.

A man and his truck - it's a beautiful thing. I saw that bumper sticker on a beat-up old pickup a few months ago. I smiled for the rest of the day. I feel the same way. Old Paint, my 1997 Dodge 4X4, is one of my best friends.

Next to prescription eyeglasses, cell phones and assault rifles, the pickup truck is one of man's most useful inventions. It provides transportation, independence, freedom, self-imposed solitude, cargo utility, off-road ability, comfort and shelter from the elements. It's a home away from home, a ticket to the great outdoors and a chariot of the gods, all in one. I'm sure that when that first cave man invented the wheel he was dreaming of a Ford F-150. It just took a few thousand years to get there.

Real men drive pickup trucks and they are the ancestors of that brilliant cave man who invented the wheel. Real men step up to get in their trucks with their heads held high. Only sissies and slaves drag bottom in a Yugo or a hybrid. Real men want power, speed, and off-road mobility.

You can tell a lot about a man by the truck he drives. A juvenile road warrior will make his ride as big and intimidating as possible. Brush guards, Mickey Thompson tires, six-inch lift kits, chrome, spotlights and roll bars add a splash of swagger and danger. The young El-Swavo type will have a custom paint job, flashy chrome rims and a custom interior with beads and trinkets dangling from the rearview mirror to charm the girls. If he can afford it, a family man will drive a four-door mega-cab with greasy little fingerprints all over the back windows.

Cowboys drive diesel, dual-wheel monsters with huge horse trailers precariously clinging to gooseneck hitches. A workingman will have ladders, air compressors, buckets of paint, wall board spackle and rolls of plastic sheeting in the back of his rig. Weekend recreationists haul ATVs, OHVs, UFOs, jet skis and boats.

A dedicated sportsman will have a truck all decked out with deer and elk stickers, gun racks, off-road tires and big antenna. A practical older man will have a camper shell, an AARP bumper sticker and an ugly dog riding up front. A true conservative will leave his truck in factory condition, unaltered and unadorned. A stay on the trails liberal will have Subaru Outback and only wish he could drive a pickup without catching a lot of guff from his comrades at the espresso shop.

Real women drive pickup trucks, too. Strong, independent, resourceful and dangerous women, the kind who carry a .38 for feminine protection. Girl trucks are easy to spot. They usually have flowers, hummingbirds or butterflies on the rear view mirror, right next to the rebel flag.

I'm sure that when our founding fathers guaranteed life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness, they had pickup trucks in mind. In fact, the constitution guarantees the right to own the pickup truck of your choice. How else could we achieve our pursuit of happiness? Pickup trucks are essential to human happiness. Everyone knows that.

So what type of politician would bash pickup trucks and pickup truck owners? A guy so out of touch with the real America that he can't see rebellion brewing when it slaps him in the ballot box. Scott Brown, the new senator from Massachusetts, the guy who sits in Ted Kennedy's chair, drove his pickup truck to capitol hill last week.

Look both ways, Mr. President - left and right. If you don't, you guys are going to get run over next November. Breaker, breaker, good buddy, I think we got us a convoy.

Beep - beep, eh?

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