Mangers, monster truck and muzak

The Oklahoma wind has less respect for the ceramic statuary depicting the nativity scenes than a rowdy group of Atheist skater dater teenagers.

Thus, my nightly walk duties have of late included upending and repositioning various livestock, Shepherds and gift-bearing Kings in one or both of the yet-to-be-put-away-for-the-season manger displays in front of two of the churches on my downtown dog walk route.

Is there a statute (or should that be statue?) of limitations on manger display time?

Tonight, after placing a myrrh bearing Magi from the East back into his upright position, I heard, no felt was more like it, the unmistakable sounds of a domestic internal combustion engine with a freer than free flowing exhaust, rumble and stop in the adjacent intersection.

Turning to see what was causing the audible ruckus, I found myself staring side out with what my 4-year old would label (screaming out loud) "a MONSTER TRUCK!"

From inside I could see the red/orange embers of a Marlboro being puffed on, while in the next instant, the driver rolled down his window to expel a healthful dose of air from his tar and nicotine depleted lungs.

Sunglasses at night. Sure.
Trucker cap with camo design. Course.
Lift kit from h*ll, 4" deep treaded tires, a pair of blue testicular-looking gizmos hanging from the bumper hitch. Classy.
OU stickers plastered on the liftgate. Typical.
Flicking ashes onto the street when there was a perfectly good ashtray inside the cab. Naturally.
Delilah's theme music pouring forth from the am/fm in-dash stereo in the Truck driving man's passenger cabin? Whoa...huh?

For those not in the easy-listening-Delilah-radio-show know, here is a link to the syndicated radio show hostess who "...Each night shares your requests, dedications and stories over the airwaves and she always picks out the perfect song."

Some find her-it-them-whatever, nauseating beyond compare. My Wife however digs Delilah, especially on a long drive home from having dinner at her folks house, the girls conked out in the back seat, the darkness of the Oklahoma night surrounding her little import gas miser, and nothing but the sounds of schmaltzy thoughts and dedications to ease her down the road.

But then, my Wife isn't a Keystone Light swigging, ciggy ash flicking, Sooner for life swearing, camo clad monster truck jockey either.

Delilah beware, the edgier Okie crowd may be taking a liking to your brand of radio.

Showing their softer side, no doubt.