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Jeff Baker, of Coalport, a town between Altoona and the third circle of hell, has the cowboy boots, the cowboy hat, and a belt buckle roughly the size of the wheel rim of the eighteen-wheel tractor and trailer that he drives. But, Baker said his ten gallon hat was deflated when he was informed that he wasn't a cowboy. Baker, it seems, is just a hick. "Well, shucks sake, I'm about as unhappy as a jackrabbit at a wheel chair convention," Baker said. "And as low down as a snake's navel ring." His inability to create proper cowboy euphemisms is another indication that the truck driver isn't a cowboy. Baker's cowboy lineage was further revealed when he thought a lasso was used to shine metal. "Tarnations!" he said. "It's a rope? Well, I'll be a plucked chicken." Glenda Baker, Baker's mother, said that her son has been under the delusion since he was young. "He called snuff, 'ta-backy' and other such nonsense," said Glenda. "He never drove anything that wasn't a four-wheel-drive, if you're searching for trivia." Baker said he is undergoing intensive psychotherapy to move him beyond his delusional thinking. Dr. Freidrich Hoffenhowser has been working with Baker, using a form of aversive therapy. "Everytime he says the word, 'howdy,' I smack him in zee head with his cowboy hat," said Hoffenhowser. "So far the therapy has not achieved any degree of success." "Howdie!" Baker added.
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