Terri wanted to know where I've been all this time, and you folks know I don't like to dissapoint my loyal visitors, so, here goes...It's been a while, but Roger's back, sitting here at the end of a long trail of broken faces. It's good to be home with Mrs Rager. The trouble started when a gas siphoning ring got started around these here parts. There's a recession on, and that stuff is liquid gold right now. So one night me and Mrs Rager are sitting on our porch with the little ragers and we hear an angry mob. Pitchforks and all. (Few Amish folk down this way, don't own vehicles, but they love mob justice as much as the next guy.)
Next thing I know they're accusing ME, Roger Rager, of rastlin' their gas. Well, I did what any man would do. I made a strategic retreat to the burned out 'bago down the back of the swamp and waited for Mrs Rager to catch the real crooks. It took her a fair few weeks, but eventually she caught them out with a sweet little decoy petrol can atop a gin trap.
Justice has been served with a hot slice of Apple Pie.
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