I've done it again. My infernal weaknesses have taken over my body and the scant region of my body known as the wallet and left me penniless and junk-ridden.

What did I do? I just bought two pickup trucks, two rolling chassis and a couple of engines, just for good measure.

The sensible among you are saying to yourselves, "This man is insane." Perhaps, but if I was Forrest Gump, I would note that crazy is as crazy does here somewhere along with a mama said or two. But I am not Forrest.

Besides, all my mother said was, "Get rid of all that junk," and, "What do you think you are ever going to use that for? That is just going to lay there in the way until it vanishes beneath the next load of worthless junk you bring in."

Well, that's alright. It makes me happy to have old vehicles to tinker with and that is the goal of life, right? Make yourself happy and then die.

Well, as for these previously neglected beauties, they are both 1959 model Chevrolets left to die in the weedbed of life. Perhaps I will be driving one of them by this summer, after all, it only needs to be moved over to a new chassis, reassembled, have its drivetrain rebuilt, be rewired, painted, chromed and polished.

Oh, I almost forgot. I will also need to reupholster the seats. I was concerned that perhaps I had paid too much for these two rustbucket classics until I got on the Internet the other night.

If you think you are weird, just get on the web and take yourself a look-see.

I guarantee you will: a. Find someone with exactly the same weirdnesses you have, provided you look long enough; b. Find someone who is even more weird that you; and c. Find someone who makes you gasp from the extent of their weirdness, with said person also being able to make all three of these statements true. I found one fellow who claimed to have several hundred 1965 Ford Galaxy 500s. Now I personally think that is getting carried away. I could see having 50 or 60, but any more than that is just taking up space that could be filled with other junk cars. With my views so expressed, even in attempted humor and sarcasm, I am sure that I will get at least one nasty letter or phone call from the Junk Haters of America, my official nemesis. The same folks who come here from lands far away and much more level and say that looking around and seeing an old tractor or an old car is really a bother to them and that people shouldn't be allowed to have what they want on their own land.

I suppose once someone is here for awhile, and I was born near here and have lived in this stretch of mountains most of my life, looking around and noticing an old car or truck or an old tractor or broken down shed is like seeing a Rembrandt at the museum would be for city people. It should be better in fact, since Rembrandts cost as much as several thousand old cars and tractors and they won't take you to the grocery store or cut your hay. You can't sit on them or in them and they will never give you anything to do.

If I ever start hearing any complaints about my "Rembrandts", and I haven't, I'll just tell them that it isn't really a car or truck, it is actually a wildlife habitat shelter and feeding station. It would take a pretty hard heart to deprive a swarm of bees, a troop of field mice and squirrels and a few dozen birds of food and shelter. Maybe I can even get a state grant to help buy more "habitats" and improve their conditions.

At any rate, while cruising the web I found a 1959 Apache fleetside truck, which was priced at $24,500. Next I found another fleetside for $11,500. I was beginning to feel much better about my own briar-covered beauties.

Mine are both step side trucks, so I know I must be living right. I couldn't even find another one anywhere to compare prices and features.

So you can look at it this way: It isn't only junk, it is also an investment in my financial security.

Then again, I haven't told my mother about the latest addition to my "profitable hobby" yet. I hear it now, "What in the devil do you need with more vehicles" You only have one rear-end and two hands, you aren't going to drive more than one at a time."

She's right. But there are other items that change the value of our possessions to more that just mere practicality. There is the concept of a passion. What could be more passionate than the graceful and pouty cab lip over the windshield and firm and purposeful inner-door step of a 1959 Chevy truck? Don't neglect the soft round lines of the bedside wheelwells, the firm feel of an unrusted rocker panel, the gleam of stained oak bed planking in the sun.... Did I mention that I am going to need to find and stain some oak planking for the truck bed? Most men work from sun to sun, but a junk-lover's work is never done.

Did I say I would be ready by summer, er, perhaps I will be on the road by this fall or winter at the latest.

I just have a few other things to get done first, like fix up the '56 wagon I bought two years ago and build a cabin on my mountain land and transplant trees and shrubs to my other place and....

You always do bite off more than you can chew, a friend told me the other day.

"That's what you think," I responded, "You just didn't know that all of my bites are like good pudding these days: no chewing required. All I have to do from here on out is kick back and savor all of the delectable flavors of life."

While we are on the topic, does anyone know where I can get some rust-flavored pudding?

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