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a short story about masculine toughness, an unexpected ride, and the prostate

Steven’s Uncle Doug was not born—he was quarried.¹

Presumably from the prominent slate quarries for which his hometown of Slatesville was named. It was fortunate the town had the slate quarries otherwise it’d probably be called Truckerstown or Trailorton or Dirt Bikerstan or something, let alone exist as the bastard mongrel of Upstate New York and Vermont…