An -A&M- perspective on how water should be used;

As they trundled down the highway (getting closer to Lexington,) Ursula rested her head on Sam's shoulder for a while, until the river of her conscious thought took a new turn. "Sam," she asked, "How long has it BEEN since you met a card carrying AGGIE?" Sam mulled this question for no small moment. He had originally bought his copy of the Enquirer for the reason of a similar observation. Aggies were tough, but they MIGHT be a dying breed.

Of all the Texans there are, the non-Texan Texan was becoming the easiest to find. Authentic Texans represented wherever they went, mostly with diplomacy, and the less hardy Genuine Texan could be found at most Churches. Sooners came down South on a regular basis to spy on A&M about their irrigation techniques, but to _stay_, they'd have to buy land locally, and so they predominantly tended to return to their own stomping grounds and start fights with other farmers. As Ursula had already observed, Texas country didn't OFFICIALLY start until you got south of the Red River. The question he had to decide in order to authoritatively answer Ursula's question was this: Did Aggies venerate the issue of the Bull? If lying was important to them, they'd go be Authentic Texans, but the hat and boots would make them LOOK like Ranchers. If they were Genuine Texans, they wouldn't want to lie about it, and if they were True Texans, they would likely take the view that the whole education system was a source of farm fertilizer; Bull Shit, More of the Same, and Piled h_igher and Deeper.

He finally made his deliberative reply. "I'm not sure Ursula, I guess I don't go 'round asking people 'You Ag?'" "Someone like Old Comstock would get such a big head it'd POP if we did that!" she agreed. "True, but the damage couldn't get too bad, there'd always be Gold to trump 'em." Sam replied. "How do you evaluate if a random Farmer IS an Aggie?"

They both overlooked the obvious and crucial point that to be an Aggie, Texas citizenship was a prerequisite.

Instead they began to list characteristics. "They think the best kind of horse is a Clydesdale, and call everybody 'Bud.'" Ursula volunteered. "How about, they ALWAYS wear a rally cap, rain or shine!" Sam ventured. Both these suggestions had merit, and they went on. They prefer wire cutters to rope; they primarily think leather is for razor strops; they cannot abide you sitting on their fences; they'll use a Post Hole digger and call it '_Operating_ a Post Hole digger;' and they think that a gelded steer is just as good as a stud... they both produce the same grade of fertilizer; "...and don't forget they think no one can guess their computer passwords," Ursula wound down. "About the only RATIONAL thing I know about 'em is that they agree with Ranchers that the end of a railroad line is in the East, and that is the best place FOR it!" Sam concluded. "Well, they might believe everything they read in that Enquirer rag, but I doubt it tells you where they can be found." She reproached him. He shook his head ruefully; "Not unless they were to be found in outer space I guess."

Ursula shook her head and marveled at the variety of human experience. "You can lead a horse to water, but you can't MAKE him drink," she philosophized. "I could do with a Fosters right about now." "OK," Sam, agreed, "Next stop, Texaco."