Talk is cheap and life in the barnyard is nasty, brutish, and short. You either eat or get ate, and if you ain't the cock of the walk, you're in the next pot of coq au vin. So you tell me, are you satisfied with the quiet life of pastoral servitude, or do you have the rocky mountain oysters to grab the tractor by the wheel and, just maybe, reap what you sow? I just so happen to know where we can get enough corn to put us on easy street till the cows come home. What do you say old timer, how about... one... last... job?