Seriously. You could have ordered someone to wear sock with sandals. I shudder to think.

It’s springtime here in Texas. A lot of people will tell you that means it’s the season of bluebonnets. They’re right, I suppose, but they’re also wrong. Or they could be lying to you, which is equally likely. (This is Texas we’re talking about.) No, springtime means one thing ’round these parts. Horse poo.

Yes, come the warm break of April, when the cold breeze ceases and the grass once more finds root, you shall find your old friend horse poo ready — nay, eager — to greet you once again. Horse poo, like big yucky beacons, dotting the landscape. Silent, stalwart reminders that, yes, you still live in this hateful, misanthropic, backwards, over-blown, and under-bred crap pile of a state. Texas: where dreams go to die. In the horse poo.

On the other hand, it’s not Arizona. So there’s that.