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Seems there was a new "For Sale" sign up on a big spread of land just outside of Lubbock and as it happened a New Englander from Vermont with a rich accent was driving past it in his '43 Chevrolet pickup when he decided to stop, perhaps taken in by the looks of things; with the derricks and the gas pipes and the cattle and the armadilloes and all. Says to himself "I'll have a talk with the owner. Now which one of these roads do you suppose'll take me to the sign's poster?". So he picks one, being the enterprising sort whose origin hails from much backwood and overly slopey landscapes. Leaving the fork behind, he drives into what appears to be a driveway, past an RFD box, and he begins scanning the horizon for any sign of a house .. and after about five minutes of kicking up a roostertail of beige dust he thinks he spies one. "Now tha's nice, reminds me o' Patterson. Think I read somewhere in Menckin these Texans have fine taste in houses 'eyah; three storeh Victorian." and he continues driving on in. More roostertail, more gettin' where he's goin'. Five more minutes, he pulls up into a gravel section and with the loud crushing report of his beige tires on the traprock in the turnaround, he stops and slides the column shifter into neutral, takes his foot off the brake pedal, turns the ignition off, and sits there having himself a listen. Then he cracks open the door to the ancient pickup, climbs down off the running board, gathers his wits, looks around, runs his eye up and down the stories; "Eyah, nice, new paint ... ", and with a push from his left hand against his left spine, straightens himself up. Walking parallel to a brand new porch on which sits several new wooden lounge chairs, a swing hanging from under the porch roof, he takes a few steps and after a couple more steps, just past where the stone abutts the green expanse of lawn through which the gravel "U" cozies on up to the porch, he spies a big old red barn, previously occluded from view. "Look at that thae barn! That's gotta be at least three stories!"
Just as he finished this last thought a man dressed in a business suit wearing a cowboy hat walks through the front door onto the porch and in a bright spirited Texas drawl asks "Kin Ay healp you mister?". To which the New Englander replies "Eyah' ya' ken help me. I saw the land fe' sale sign ... ot front ... 'an took ta wonder'in what you were ask'in for as a sale price?". The Texan gave a look at the the man and he took a hear of the accent of the speaker and he did a little 30 degree turn of his torso to the brown and white Chevy and after little further conjecture as to the relationship of the whereabouts of the origin of his inquirer and the truck and the question, invites him onto the porch for a sitdown. "Have a seate have a seate there, Yankee. Lemme give the missus a call and have 'er fix us some lemonade". And he quickly goes back inside leaving the door open behind him making noise decending deeper into the interior going out-of-earshot.
By now, standing in the noon-day sun with the rays beating down on his brow the New Englander had about all the dry arrid Texas heat he could stand without a drink, so he walks onto the porch and has himself a seat on one of the loungers. Coming back outside with a tray on which are a couple of icecube-laden glasses of lemonade, the rich land owner offers the prospective buyer a glass and puts the tray down on the table then sits down himself in another lounger. "How much land we talk'in?" asks the rustic. To which the relaxed sipping Texan replies "We'll lets just say there's an awful lot of land here owned by yers truly, Yankee. Land from here to there, as far as the eye can see" and he points, like a monkey; but somehow his cowboy hat diffused this odd jesture. "What 'jyah fixin to spend to own all of THIS"? he adds. Well, the Yankee was prepared to go a few rounds with this fellow despite the Stetson and despite his gestural demeanor. So he proposes "Tell you what. I mean to have all this land I see in front of me. And I'm will'in to pay top dollar for it. But truth be told I can't for the life'o me see how much land there is here on acounta I haven't got my specs on me..."
Interrupting with a "Soooo", says the Texan, "What'll it take for me to put you into them specs". Thought he had the upper hand. To which the farmer from Vermont "How about I trade you this fine automobile for it"? Somewhat taken aback by this crazy proposal, having looked up and down the length of the rusty hulk as the visitor stood before over yonder in his survey and been in the act of snap-judging the hayseed before offering shelter, "THIS Chevy? This pickup here? Why, that crate of loose screws with a bag of gasoline and a siphon hose with which to spit fuel into the carb ain't worth jack and not worth the price of this here Stetson" and he grabs the hat from off his own dome and chucks it into the seeds lap. He didn't actually get to saying outloud "That's what I think of 'yer offer Yankee". But he sure as shootin thought it. Well, the seasoned NE'er wasn't overly anticipating the hat coming off and landing in his lap ... but did pick it up ... and, putting his left hand to his chin and scratching there for a couple seconds, taking a good long look under the brim ... then extending his arm out past his knees and squinting his right eye at the crease in the top after he turns it here ... and then turns it there ... all a couple of times, says "Ok, then. The Stetson it is". And reaching into his pocket he pulls out the keys to his pickup and chucks them onto the lemonade glass tray sitting on the table. "The Chevy's yours!".
Now, the Texan wasn't the brightest bulb in the pack but he wasn't a stooge either and, sensing that perhaps he ought to just let the whole land deal go and take up the NE'er on his exchange. If not to lose the lid certainly to gain what in most respects appeared to be a viable means of tooling around the back forty. So he says "Ok, mister. Yah got yerself a deal. Now how you fixin to get back to Lubbock without any wheels? And with the sun beating down like it usually does here in Texas, I'm certain that new hat of yours isn't goin' to be of much use long'bat ten miles down the road?".
But the New Englander just puts on the new hat, stands up, centers himself, and begins to make for the steps off the veranda. Walks past the pickup, walks on down the drive, walks on out of sight of the Texan, the porch, the house, gets to the fork in the road, and starts walking headed for Lubbock.
Well, then I guess you deserve an explanation having spent two hours of your time waiting for one.
But it's not that easy to tell a joke much less write it down as it's being recalled. Consider the legend of William Tell. Not the part where the guy splits the apple off the top of of his son's head. But what Willi admits to Geisler when he parts the buttons a tad on his frock revealing the location of the second arrow.
There are a lot of spectators about ... waiting to see what Geisler's bound to do.
A variation on the joke, shortened goes like this:
Guy puts an add in the paper for an amplifier he's trying to sell. "Best offer excepted".
Reader sees add, gives seller a call, makes appointment to come out and see it.
Buyer gets there, impressed by the acreage of the range.
They get to wrangling. But before that the buyer asks the landowner in self deprecating sort of way "So, got a lot a land here I'd say". Owner goes " Oh hell yeah. I've got so much land here that when I hop in my pickup at sunrise and start driving across what I own, it takes me until sunset to get to the other end of it."
Buyer looks around once more, scratches his head a bit, then says: