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Lee Pitts

California cattleman Lee Pitts provides his brand of humor on issues surrounding the ag industry.

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I don’t do meetings because once you’ve been to an FFA meeting, everything else is amateur hour. Attend any meeting today, and you’ll see folks holding a discussion without a motion on the floor, no flag salute and no knowledge whatsoever of Robert’s Rules of Order.

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I could never be a purebred breeder because I couldn’t get all the paperwork done, especially naming the animals. It’s hard enough coming up with titles to my weekly columns, but to have to name 500 or 1,000 cattle every year would drive me even more crazy.

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It seems like if you are anyone of significance these days, you simply must have your very own personal assistant. You know, someone to organize your closet, wrap your packages, run your errands, manage your life, pay your bills and offer lifestyle advice.

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I read in the Wall Street Journal that children born today have a good chance of living until they are 150. Just imagine how the obituary page might read then:

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I’ve read that many writers have a hard time letting themselves be happy. I don’t know if it’s the actual writing that causes depression or if depressed people are just drawn to the job.

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Wine tastings are so over. The trendy thing now in California and Europe are dirt tastings, in which folks with seemingly too much money and not enough to do swirl a muddy concoction of dirt in a glass, hold it up to the light, stick their snoot in a soil slurry full of humus and then make sophisticated statements such as, “It’s a bit dusty, but I taste an echo of loam with just the right notes of compost. And was that a hint of clay on the mid-palate?”

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