Butt Dust

An old joke has a country preacher raising his arms toward heaven during his sermon while exalting, "Oh Lord, without you we are but dust". This comment is immediately followed by a young child loudly asking, "Mama, what is butt dust?"

I think I finally know the answer to this question.

This past weekend I fired up ole Big Dawg, cranked that iron mule to near 540 rpm and pulled the trigger on the shredder. This was followed by six hours of the damnest dust/pollen/crap storm in history as the weed growth on the Tin Star fell to the whirling blades.

Now picture your favorite ranch hand sitting on the tractor seat in the middle of this (breathing, of course). Next, picture said doofus spending the next few days in mortal misery due to the allergic reaction(s)? I'm talking hacking, head bustin', down home choked to the bone!

Don't know the exact formula of that stuff I breathed, howsomever, I reckon "butt dust" is close enough?