Anonymous
7/1/2025, 5:40:23 PM No.212230516
Listen up.
I'm not like these other clowns out here, alright? I burn local.
I’m talkin’ hand-split oak from Jerry’s Backyard Timber Lot off Route 17. Not some big box, mass-produced, chemically-soaked, pre-cut, shrink-wrapped pine nonsense, man. That ain’t me. That’s not how I wasraised.
I got aguy, alright? I got a firewoodguy.He’s got rough hands, drinks coffee from a Thermos that smells like diesel fuel, and he calls me "boss" even though I tell him not to. That’s real. That’sauthentic.
And I don’t burn in no prefab fire pit you get from a catalog, okay? I built mine. Withmy own two hands.
...And a TaskRabbit named Caleb. But I supervised. I supervised hard. I was out there. Gloves on. Patagonia fleece zipped halfway up. Grinding.
You ever start a fire in the rain?
No? Then don’t talk to me about struggle.
I was out there last Thursday. Drizzle. 63 degrees. No wind cover. I stilllit that match.You think you know pressure? Try igniting damp kindling with artisanal strike-anywheres while a date watches from the porch with a glass of chilled Tempranillo.
I’m not out here for clout, alright? I’m not burning for the 'Gram.
I don’t need no fire-filter. This ain’t about aesthetics. This is abouthonor.
This is about grit. This is about being areal one.
You think I post my firewood stack online?
Hell no. That stack’s forme.
It’s crooked, yeah. A little wobbly. But it’s honest. It’s built with love. And with the help of my landscape architect, Ron, who honestly gets me.
I don’t need to prove nothin’ to nobody.
So yeah. I burn local.
Because real recognize real.
And if that makes me different?
Then maybe the rest of y’all are just cold.
I'm not like these other clowns out here, alright? I burn local.
I’m talkin’ hand-split oak from Jerry’s Backyard Timber Lot off Route 17. Not some big box, mass-produced, chemically-soaked, pre-cut, shrink-wrapped pine nonsense, man. That ain’t me. That’s not how I wasraised.
I got aguy, alright? I got a firewoodguy.He’s got rough hands, drinks coffee from a Thermos that smells like diesel fuel, and he calls me "boss" even though I tell him not to. That’s real. That’sauthentic.
And I don’t burn in no prefab fire pit you get from a catalog, okay? I built mine. Withmy own two hands.
...And a TaskRabbit named Caleb. But I supervised. I supervised hard. I was out there. Gloves on. Patagonia fleece zipped halfway up. Grinding.
You ever start a fire in the rain?
No? Then don’t talk to me about struggle.
I was out there last Thursday. Drizzle. 63 degrees. No wind cover. I stilllit that match.You think you know pressure? Try igniting damp kindling with artisanal strike-anywheres while a date watches from the porch with a glass of chilled Tempranillo.
I’m not out here for clout, alright? I’m not burning for the 'Gram.
I don’t need no fire-filter. This ain’t about aesthetics. This is abouthonor.
This is about grit. This is about being areal one.
You think I post my firewood stack online?
Hell no. That stack’s forme.
It’s crooked, yeah. A little wobbly. But it’s honest. It’s built with love. And with the help of my landscape architect, Ron, who honestly gets me.
I don’t need to prove nothin’ to nobody.
So yeah. I burn local.
Because real recognize real.
And if that makes me different?
Then maybe the rest of y’all are just cold.
