Chapotraphouse

One summer, there was a fella named Cornpop. Now, Cornpop was a real piece of work. He’d ride his bike around, but not one of those modern contraptions. No, he had this wooden, hand-crafted bike made from repurposed barn timber. He was all about getting back to the roots, literally and figuratively. No rubber tires, just wooden wheels, creaking and groaning like they were protesting the very concept of modernity.

Well, Cornpop didn’t like the way I was handling my compost heap. Said I was “too industrial,” using a pitchfork instead of my bare hands. We got into a real spat about it. He threatened to tear down my solar oven because he thought it was too high-tech. Said it was “betraying the essence of primitive living.”