I really think you broke my ass-bone

Remeber that? Privateer Days, 2003. It wasn't quite as fun as the year before, but it was still good. I especially enjoyed seeing your pretty boyfriend in Liverhole for the first time. How did I get that wasted? I must've been somewhere before going to the beer tent. Oh, I was. I think I was at Mike Murf's place.

Beer tent 2002 was one of the best times I've ever had. You and me, slow dancing and grinding on the dirt dance-floor. The rednecks hated us; they thought we were queer, and that bothered them. Meanwhile, a special someone pulled his cock out under the table and pissed all over the dirt, with dirts sitting right next to him. "Hey, bub, you smell something, bub? Fight t'night." Then we did fight, outside. Ali gave you that black eye.

But beer tent 2003 had it's moments, too. Like watching Trooper dancing to some band. Were they a local band? Were they a cover band? Who cares? I forget their name.

Outside, you, me, and our boyfriends played on the swing-set and teeter-totter. My ass hit the ground, hard, a couple times. I couldn't walk right for about a month after. You felt bad seeing me still in pain so much later. Maybe I should've gotten it checked-out. But it didn't matter.

Well, now winter's here. When the weather is cold, or when the pressure lowers as precipitation comes, my coccyx aches.

I forgive you. I did ages ago. I never blamed you. But, ow.