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I found myself behind a Cadillac Escalade this morning between the funny farm and Pinehurst. Somehow the idea of the epitome of big, expensive luxury cars does not reconcile with trucks. I mean, honestly, can you imagine this scenario (written in dialect)?

(Scene: a cow pasture, complete with grazing Whiteface cattle, cow pies visible in the foreground. It is mid-day, and two hot, sweaty, filthy dirty men are standing by a stand of wire fencing, wiping their faces with red bandana handkerchiefs.)
Man 1: “Hey, Diddy, whadya wont me t’ do with this-here leftover roll of wire?”
Man 2: “Aw, well, Junior, we gotta go get a load o’manure before we go home — yer mama’s been after me t’fertilize her roses. Just throw all that stuff on t’ the back o’ the Caddy, there.”

How much do you reckon Cadillac would pay me to work their ad campaign?