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The Manure Spreader: Fresh start

Tim Moffett Published on 31 December 2015

A famous Hollywood superstar has just declared their New Year’s resolution was to become a farmer. Said person’s reasoning was to enjoy nature, live off only the food they grow for themselves and live a simpler life.

This actor has decided to become an onion farmer. It’s great to see that someone can take the job I do every day from dawn to dusk-thirty and make it into a hobby.



Last I checked, farming wasn’t that simple. Now, my cousin Mark, he has a simple life – and that’s only because a rock kicked up on the tractor when he was 4. But if you’re talking farm strategy, cousin Mark makes more sense than this Hollywood superstar.

I’m not fully knowledgeable of the type of farms they have in Los Angeles, but I’m sure they have never been on a working farm – maybe a petting zoo or a rehab ranch.

Actors are adored and paid millions to pretend to be someone else; people are paying you to not be yourself. There’s a real self-confidence booster. Now, said actor is going to live on onions. I’m not bashing onion farmers; one of my best friends was an onion farmer.

When he passed, the eulogy was written as if we just peeled away the layers of his life. I’ll be the first to admit I could survive on pizza or wings alone if necessary, but if my sole source of food were onions, I would literally cry preparing every meal. Sure, my arteries would be clean, but at what price?

What happens when this “farming thing” catches on and my everyday look becomes fashionable? I can barely afford my Carhartt T-shirts and jeans now. Heaven forbid some fashion designer makes work clothes chic. Yes, chic – I’m pretty sure that’s what the kids are calling it today.


Right now the logging industry is losing the battle to keep their signature look. Now, I’m not bashing loggers; one of my best friends was a logger. His name was Tim Burr. When he passed away, everyone pined over him.

Apparently there’s a plaid craze going on by the “hipsters.” For those of you that don’t know, a “hipster” is a skinny dude that has a beard and dresses like lumberjack but is too weak to pick up an axe. (Once again, thank you Wikipedia.)

Had I known, I could have made a fortune from a local thrift store. I’m trying to pass a bill in Congress right now that states: Any rips, tears, stains or worn marks on clothes have to be earned and not mechanically applied before purchase.

So, to all the Hollywood actor “farmer wannabees,” I’m not bashing on Hollywood actors; one of my best friends was a Hollywood actor. At his funeral, everyone was a critic and gave it two thumbs up.

Here is my New Year’s resolution. I promise not to park my simple-life, oil-leaking, 1989 F250 on Rodeo Drive or stroll down Hollywood Boulevard. in my rubber boots. You, Hollywood, you need to promise not to consider my backbreaking livelihood as a tax write-off, government subsidy and seasonal hobby.

So to all my farmer friends, as I sit here eating a plate of onion rings, I’d like to wish you all a happy and prosperous New Year.  PD


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