I was driving my brilliant white 1994 Mitsubishi Mighty Max truck, complete with ith vanity plates and the manliest Sonic the Hedgehog sticker in all of Southern Idaho, when he passed me on the left. He drove a periwinkle Mercury Grand Marquis with 2C plates and wore a work shirt the same color as his landyacht. He was singing along to something loud and obnoxious--Bob Seeger, I'll go to my grave thinking--with all the enthusiasm that a ... probably ... 31-year-old could muster. However, the real shocker was that this man was not wearing any pants! Maybe I imagined it. Maybe he was a mirage. However, a buddy later informed me that this shirt-and-no-pants phenomenon is called "Porky Pigging," and it's apparently all the rage among Idaho's lawless Canyon County populace. Isn't that ... something?
But don't come crawling to me looking for a license plate number, Hortense Q. Law. At first I was horrified, but now, I don't think I could live with the thought of this happy dope being picked up for indecent exposure. Porky the Bandit is living so far above the rules that govern other mortals, I can hardly even wrap my mind around it. And yet, wherever he goes, he probably generates new admirers for his freewheeling, well-ventilated ways. He's like a modern Johnny Appleseed. I think I'll call him "Johnny Pork-N-Seeds."