Starvation Box (Grass)
by Austin Nash
Come on baby… just lay down and soak in some of the quiet around this fire. I’ll chase down the kids with their dirty feet and get you another Budweiser. Yes, I’ll make them stop giving beer to the dog. Just forget about the days ahead and try not to be serious cause if ya do, you’ll probably cry.
A great listen, that Ditch Witch. The truth is that, in a sick kind of way, Starvation Box is growing on me. I’m beginning to scare myself. I’m sitting here in my Cartwrights drinking black coffee out of my “Yes There Really Is A Kalamazoo” mug, waiting for Jonny Cougar, Lemmy, and the singer from the Hooters to come in here and take me on a grand tour of the dilapidated concrete cradle of humanity called Gary, Indiana and its surrounding highway exoskeleton. On this tour, we would stop on White Trash Street to commiserate with other guys named Billy where we would pull a few tubes and talk about trickin’ out our ATVs. We go to see the high school where Michael Jackson got beat up by a girl and mix in a little labor politics with a “Which is better, Ford or Chevy?” argument.
Don’t let this design turn you off. It’s just fun. Growing up a redneck puts me first in line to call one when I see one. Starvation Box has reminded me that somewhere there’s a place where the generations still come together on July fourth just to see who can decorate the best goddamned bicycle and teach the most about sin. Amen, Jessup.