Well most of you know me as Pvt. Cowboy, Roughneck, Jimbo, Cross, or in the words of some Lane Frost. For fun I like to just let go of everything and say FUCK IT...Ya know kinda fly by the seat of my pants and see where I end up at hell who knows could be jail, could be bed, or if your really lucky you could wake up next to a big fat girl with your keys in your ass! I was kiddin about that last part. I got some of the best friends a guy could ever ask for. You know you got true friends when you flip your truck at three in the mornin and you have goad cemetery road lined with pick up trucks R.I.P. black dodge. If you wana know any thing else GROW THE FUCKIN BALLS AND ASK THE MAN IN THE ARENA!!! BUT WATCH WHAT YOU ASK CAUSE IM NOT GONNA SUGAR COAT IT AND IM NOT GONNA LIE SO IF I HURT YOUR FEELINS I DONT WANA HEAR YOU BITCH CAUSE HEY YOUR THE DUMBASS THAT ASKED! It is not the critic who counts, not the one who points out how the strong man stumbled or how the doer of deeds might have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred with sweat and dust and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs and comes short again and again; who know great enthusiasms, the great devoutions, and spends himself in a worthy cause; who, if he wins, know the triumph of high achievement, and who, fails, atleast he fails while daring greatly, SO THAT HIS PLACE SHALL NEVER BE WITH THOSE COLD AND TIMID SOULS WHO KNOW NEITHER VICTORY NOR DEFEAT.