Sam Sr. sat ion the front porch rocking in the swing as Sam Jr. leaned on one of the porch columns. Sam Sr. looked out at the purple and orange paint splatters on their barn.

"'At sure is two ugly colors on 'at red barn, ain't it Junior." Sam Sr. growled.

Sam Jr. looked at the barn and could only shake his head in disgust.

"What are we gunna do bout all 'at paint 'at got splattered on tha barn, paw?" Sam Jr. asked as he looked at the multiple splotches. 

Sam Jr. moved from the column and stepped out from the porch. He looked up the driveway and his top lip began to rise up.

"'Em no good rotten sums of guns, I'm gunna kill Chance Von Crank come Assertion. Paw, ya gots ta see 'is." Sam Jr. said as looked in his dad’s direction.

Sam Sr. got up from the swing and slowly moved over to where his son stood.

"'Ey don litter'd us. Look at all 'at crap out 'ere. 'Ey dun lined our driveway wiff 'em #TEEMCVC signs?" Sam Jr. asked.

A smile began to creep across the lips of Sam Sr. as he looked over at the tractor.

"'At right 'ere is how we's gunna get rid of 'em ole signs boy." Sam Sr. said with a huge smile on his face.

In the time it takes to snap your fingers Sam Sr. was on his tractor and mowing down sign after sign, with a huge grin.

"'Is is how ya do it Junior, 'is is tha only way ta mow down tha trash!" Sam Sr. yelled as his huge grin got even bigger.

Sam Sr. continued mowing down signs as Sam Jr. stood watching on as his father added fun into his otherwise regular day.

~

Tha hands on tha clock keep tickin sa slow fer me. I's ready ta get 'is triple thre't match dun an ov'r wiff. Fer me becomin tha new Defi'nce South'rn Her'tige Champi'n is ma numb'r one goal. Ma second goal is ta beat tha ev'r lovin crap outta Chance Von Crank.

While beatin Tuck'r G. Alst'n would be a great thang fer me, 'at's tha furthest thang on ma mind. During 'is match I could care less bout ole Tuck'r as long as he stays out of ma bright red beard if'n he knows whats good fer him.

I plans on hit ma pow'rbomb on Tuck'r ta get'm outta tha match quick. If'n I can't hit him wiff tha bomb, I'll get'm wiff 'Tha Harlan County Line' lariat. I'll take his head clean off, but I'm kindly savin 'at fer ole Chance. He dazervs sumthin spec'al like 'at. It all fer tha love of tha SoHo, an no I ain't meanin one'm chiks from Kentuky...well maybe Chance's maw er anoth'r memb'r of his'in fam'ly.

I sur'ly can't be mad atta fell'r from Kentu'ky, but fer tha chance ta get ta Chance, I'd break sabri'ty. Ta late I dun dun 'at a few minutes ago, but ma sabri'ty nev'r lasts ta long.

I guess I should be worri'd a bit bout 'em two fr'ends of Chance 'at spa'kled me wiff 'at or'nge an purp'l paint. 'At proves ta me 'at he's scared of me an he ain't worri'd bout ole Tuck'r either. 

'Is should be a Bloody Harlan bloodbaff an not what it is, but 'ats fine. I can deal wiff it if'n I gots ta, an I rekon I gots ta.

I don gon ta tha inner gut renchin bowels of ma own self bein ta get 'is mindset 'at I ain't got nuttin left ta give fer 'is title ver's Chance. I'm callin on ma own inner demons ta come out jus 'is one time so 'at I can prove ta tha world an ta maself 'at Sam Turner Jr. ain't jus anoth'r face in tha crowd. I'm tha only face ya ev'r gonna rememb'r. I'm tha great white in a sea of faces and I am yur NEW Defi'nce South'rn Her'tige Champi'n, an 'ere's only two thangs y'all can do bout it, nuttin an deal wiff it!

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