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Wheelbarrow Me, Daddy!

Let’s start with the biggest issue at play here. Who in the wide, wide world of sports knew that it was called “wheelbarrow“? I would have bet both my left and right testicle (vasectomy though they may have) that it was wheel barrel. A barrel on wheels. What in the fuckin heck is a barrow?

Well egg on my face.

Anyway, I would have preferred the name to be wheel trolley. That sounds fun even if you’re moving wet cement or whatever.

 “Grab the wheel trolley and fill in that Olympic-sized swimming pool with cement, Rick.”

“Haha sure, Hank. No problem. Sounds fun. Lmao.”

Double anyway, talk about zooming about the ole farm country in style. The wind in your hair as you cruise to a stack of grass, loose gravel, cow shit or whatever else needs to be moved from place to place all the while ridin dirty and clean at a cool 17mph. That’s farm livin, baby, and I fuckin love it.

The old timers tho? Can you imagine all the different types of pussy you’d be called if you had a motorized wheel trolley? Might as well wipe your ass with a purse after your morning glass of coffee. Bunch of sissy trolley boys smh. You wouldn’t catch me dead on one of those new-fangled motorized barrows. No, sir. Not me or any of my burly adult sons. PUSH BARROWS ONLY!