The TurfPredator 9000 riding lawnmower stalled out against the trailer park’s lone palm tree, most of a six-pack wedging its accelerator down. A grisly trail of mulched Florida man glistened redly behind the big mower.
Assorted trailer park denizens with deep tans and hyphenated names gawped and gossiped.
“Poor Billy-Bob.”
“What happened?”
“My kid just showed us a video on it. Lawnmower surfing is the new trend.”
“I don’t think Billy-Bob was doin’ it right.”
“He was okay till the wheel hit that gopher hole.”
“What’d he say to you before he started, Bobbie-Jo?”
“He just said ‘Hold my beer’.”
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alt="Heartwood by R.J. Cannon"
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height="630"
>
sizes="(min-width: 1200px) 550px, (min-width: 750px) calc((100vw - 130px) / 2), calc((100vw - 50px) / 2)"
alt="Denied by J.B. Corso"
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sizes="(min-width: 1200px) 550px, (min-width: 750px) calc((100vw - 130px) / 2), calc((100vw - 50px) / 2)"
alt="Cold Recognition by Andreas Flögel"
class="motion-reduce"
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>
sizes="(min-width: 1200px) 550px, (min-width: 750px) calc((100vw - 130px) / 2), calc((100vw - 50px) / 2)"
alt="Winter Feast by Pauline Yates"
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>