Thursday, October 28, 2004

My Wiener, My Pet

There’s nothin’ sweeter, nothin’ that warms the heart of this hick more than a big ol’ redneck that owns and loves a wiener dog. I mean it. We saw several old timers walkin’ their wiener dogs right through the middle of downtown Gatlinburg, dog and dog owner proud as peacocks out on the town.

We had several wiener dogs as I was growing up and we loved those little guys. The funny thing about a wiener dog is they don’t know they’re small. They’ll take on anything in your defense or defense of their food.

Speakin’ of food, we had dinner with a couple of old friends last night. “Bud” told us a great story about his Dad and his Dad’s spoiled rotten wiener dog. This pooch is so spoiled that when he comes in the house he lays on his back so his paws can get wiped off. Now, like all good self respectin’ rednecks, “Bud’s” Dad “Ollie” has a woodworkin’ shop out back of the house. One evening, “Ollie” and his ever present wiener dog were workin’ in the shop and the dog chewed through a power cord. This sent the wiener into convulsions but “Ollie” saved the dog by givin’ him mouth to snout CPR.

I’m here to tell ya, we rednecks love our wieners.



Wednesday, October 27, 2004

Possum Lips

Our local newscasters are the queens of bad fashion and makeup. Their lipstick has an atomic shine that makes them look like they’ve just finished throwin’ down a greezy ‘possum dinner. I haven’t seen lipstick like this since I swore off watchin’ porn three minutes ago.

Folks, take some advice from this redneck that doesn’t know the first fuckin’ thing about fashion, if your skin tone leans toward the sickly olive, DON’T WEAR GREEN! It’s a bad, bad combo that only brings out the purple circles under your eyes. Get some sleep, get a little sun or stop with the green. I mean, I like horror movies as much as the next asshole, but I don’t want to get my local news from somebody that looks like a half ass made up extra from the set of Dawn of the Dead. Actually that would be kinda fun.

Here’s an idea, next time your station is giving away a free makeover to poorly mimic Extreme Makeover, volunteer for it! Rig the contest, sleep with the producer, do some damn thing to get yourself into that spot for the love of God ‘cause you’re makin’ everybody sick.


Tuesday, October 26, 2004

Michael's Hag

So, it’s an gorgeous Sunday and we’re standing in line at Michael’s with a $2 frame that won’t scan. The cashier asked if we knew how much it was. Yeah, $2. Apparently she didn’t believe us so she picked up the phone and paged the frame department. This is my cue to walk outside ‘cause I freakin’ hate this. Double L also hates this but is slightly more patient than I am so she waits. In a few minutes she gives up and walks out without the frame. She said that nobody answered the page and she just couldn’t take it anymore.

There are several things goin’ on in this scenario that make me quiver with hostility. Among them are a tag that won’t scan, a cashier with a Burt Reynolds mustache that asks us the price, then won’t believe us, who’s too fuckin’ lazy to walk 30 feet to check the price herself, a nappin’ frame department, a backed up line of fat ass customers huffin’ and puffin’ and blamin’ us for the hold up.

I told double L to wait outside, that I would go in and get the frame. She knew I’d gone hick in that instance and suggested we just go. Too late, it’s on at the Michael’s. I walked briskly to the frame department, unhooked the end section of the display holding all the $2 frames and carried the entire rack to Burt, our lovely cashier. She seemed a little surprised. I was pleasant about it but said, “hi Burt, see this frame? It's $2. In fact, each one of the frames on this rack is $2. They were $3.99. But they’re on sale. See, $2.”

Sunday, October 24, 2004

Happy Drunks

There are two reasons friends call you in the middle of the night, either somethin’ is wrong or they’re drunk. Most of the time they’re drunk and cryin’ and snottin’ and wheezin’ and goin’ on and on about some damn thing you can’t make any fuckin’ sense out of. Then there are times when someone calls on a happy drunk. Man, listening to a happy drunk prattle on is highly entertaining. Drunks have their own logic. They’re convinced what they’re saying makes sense and that repeating it over and over will help you understand it.

A couple of boozers called last night to compliment our hickness but really, really, really wanted us, and by us I mean me, to use more politically acceptable language instead of sayin’ retard all the time. “Dude, can’t you find a morphed political way of saying retard without saying retard all the time?” Man oh man, only a goddamn retard, drunk on Feds Creek “happy water” would ask a hick to stop sayin’ retard. Yeah well, guess what Gomer, you’re blogged!

Friday, October 22, 2004

Veda Louise

We came home to very sad news. Our dear friend, our big kitty, Veda was hit and killed by a car while we were gone. We are simply devastated. Lori-Lyn wrote an eloquent, very loving piece on her
blog about Veda. I wrote something about Veda in double L’s comments but I wanted to re-post it here as well.

I could never express how deeply I loved Veda. She was a brilliant light. She filled our lives with love and humor and kindness. I don't know how she made her way through the universe to us, but I'm grateful she did. Veda shared in the building of our home and we will always be mindful of her efforts and beautiful spirit. The most important thing I learned from Veda was that a simple touch, a paw gently placed on my cheek, possessed the true and meaningful power of healing. I will miss Veda being in the house each day, but I will carry the lessons and love I got from her in every moment of my life. Veda, thank you sharing your life with me, with us.

Okay, okay, I understand this is a very unhick-like post. What can I say, Veda melted my heart.

Wednesday, October 20, 2004

Nextel, Done

Salt and pepper. Hot and sour soup. This and that. Sweet and sour chicken. Chip and Dale. Asheville, NC and Gatlinburg, TN.

We figured the best compliment to our hippie dippie with your hippie dippie weather, man, Asheville experience was to throw in a couple of days in fabulous downtown Gatlinburg, TN. I don’t have the skill, or the time, to convey the cultural differences that separate these places so I won’t even try. Each place has it’s own appeal if you come at it with the right approach. But I would like to share a couple of things I overheard in the burg today.

As we were enjoying our coffee and apple fritters at the unusually subdued Apple Barn this morning, a woman in the booth behind us yelled out for no apparent reason, “put another log on the fire! I’m about to defrost!” A few seconds later, another woman yelled, “it’s suppose to be 80 tomorrow. I’m gonna pressure wash my house.” Wow, mornin’!

At dinner, a couple and their 3 or 4 year old daughter sat in the booth behind us. They were sweet and attentive to her. This is refreshing here in Gatlinburg. Most of the time you just here parents threatening to beat, whoop, smack, or simply leave their kids if they don’t behave. But the dad was so supportive and animated it became creepy and weird. “Daddy, I drank my milk.” “THAT’S GREAT HONEY! DRINKING MILK IS VERY IMPORTANT! IT’LL MAKE YOU STRONG AND HEALTHY!”
“I know daddy. Daddy, I wiped a booger on the table.” “GOSH BABY THAT’S A NICE BOOGER! IT’S VERY PRETTY! IT’S GOT A LITTLE BLOOD IN IT WHICH COMPLIMENTS THE BROWNISH GREEN!” Um, check please.

Later in the evening while standing outside of the Civil War Memorabilia store I overheard a very, very large woman YELL into her Nextel walkie talkie, “WHERE YOU AT?” I couldn’t help but glance over. We made eye contact. She seemed a little embarrassed but her anger at not gettin’ a reply overwhelmed her and she YELLED back into the walkie talkie, “WE’RE GOIN’ TO THE CAR! WHERE YOU AT?!” Two boys came runnin’ up the side walk screamin’ “WE’RE RIGHT HERE, GOD!”

In the old days, if you had an asshole parent yelling at you, you could just run away from them. Not anymore junior. That hateful control freak and technology have come together to make your life completely miserable and hopeless. Good fuckin’ luck boys, you’re gonna need it. Nextel, done.

Tuesday, October 19, 2004

Bumper Sticker Hippies

We’ve been in Asheville, NC. for the past two days. They’ve done a cool thing with their downtown. It’s full of outdoor art and art galleries and coffee houses and cafes and little boutiques and bookstores and clubs and ethnic food and lots of chain-smokin’-let’s-save-the-world hippies. I love hippies, really. But, if one of your goals in life is to protect the environment, you shouldn’t be smokin’ like a freight train. And you really shouldn’t be smokin’ around nonsmokers ‘cause this seriously fucks up our scene, man. Dudes, I just want to eat my veggie pita and enjoy some crisp mountain air while I’m at it. Ya know what, real hippies don’t smoke. Well, they smoke pot but that doesn’t count ‘cause pot is good for you. If you smoke Marlboros, you’re a poser hippie and you’re givin’ real hippies a bad rep, man. If you smoke Marlboros you’re not quite as enlightened as your bumper sticker says you are. If ya gotta smoke, grow some tobacco and smoke it in a pipe like my grandmother did. She was more of a hippie than you’ll ever be. Of course she’d never be considered a hippie ‘cause she lived on a mountaintop farm and knitted and sewed ‘cause she had to, not because it was a cool way to impress her other chain-smokin’ friends down at the coffee house.

I’m bitchin’ ‘cause posers of all kinds piss me off. Plus that’s how I navigate the world. I suppose I’d rather have people pretend to be hippies than pretend to be Christian. At least they’ll give you a light instead of lighting you on fire. All in all I enjoyed Asheville and look forward to coming back. I mean, there must be at least one incense burnin’, let’s get centered, Buddha shop that we missed.

Thursday, October 14, 2004

Jesus, Part 2

Isn’t there something in the Bible about worshiping golden gods? Is it rods or gods? Never mind, I remembered it's gods from that Ten Commandments movie. Does anyone else find it repulsive, ironic and egotistical that evangelical “christians” are bulldozing God’s own creation in order to build these giant, ugly, mall like churches in order to praise the lord and preach against not worshipping golden gods? This is fucking stupid behavior. Hey Gomer, take that money and feed somebody with it you fucking satanist! THAT'S what Jesus would do. THAT'S what God would do, dumb ass. I tell ya, I pray for these retarded bastards. I’m really worried they’re gonna have the red hot poker of hell shoved up their ass. Hmm, maybe it is rods.

ROT-N

Sometimes I feel like the sun, a large gaseous body.

Wednesday, October 13, 2004

Jesus

In my opinion, Jesus needs better PR. Not more PR, better PR. The yuck nuts out there speakin’ on his behalf are weird and creepy. You’d think the Lord would have a better staff seein’ how he’s the Lord and all. The only one out of this whole bunch that’s turned out to have any damn sense is Tammy Faye.

I simply cannot abide these crusading Bible thumpers that won’t shut up about God. Do they think that putting up that one extra billboard on the interstate is going to finally turn the tide in favor of the Lord? Of course they don’t. They know Christians rule the world and they like it that way ‘cause they want to control every facet of our miserable lives. They’re not Christians, they’re Roman gladiators out to conquer everyone that opposes them. They don’t really give a shit about God. This has more to do with their own ego and weak sense of self than it does God. I’d bet money that right now Jesus is pacing around heaven, chain smokin’ and bitchin’ about what’s being done on his behalf.

Let me ask you a question, exactly how many Jesus bumper stickers do you have to put on your car before you can get into heaven? Is one sticker and that lame ass metal fish enough? Do you think the number of stickers is different for different car models? I mean, if you drive a hybrid Honda Civic it seems like you wouldn’t need as many as some dick driving a Hummer, doesn’t it?

I’ve got lots more to say about this subject but I’ll have to write about it later. The Fed Ex guy just delivered my Marilyn Chambers box set and I’m gonna go play Whack-A-Mole.

Tuesday, October 12, 2004

Open Up and Say "Ah...Progress!"

There’s another damn thing about our trip to Meijer I forgot to mention in my previous post. While being run over in the check out line, I noticed giant black and white photographs hanging on the front wall. These are images of the farm that was destroyed so that Meijer could be built. Ah, progress.

You know, people say you can’t get in the way of progress and by God I don’t want to. I’m glad that farm is gone. I hate farms. Snotty people out there growin’ stuff and communing with the land. There ain’t nobody more out of touch with the real world than a damn farmer. And communing sounds like Communist to this hick. And we don’t want any pinko communists around here growing stuff. What we want is cheap meat, cheap dvd’s, and cheap Dale Earnhardt trash cans. I’m glad corporate farms are taking over all the family farms. I dream of a glorious day when there’s just one Hank Hill looking guy out there somewhere growing all of our food. When my dream day finally comes, and it will, it’ll mean we’ve finally, truly won the cold war. Until then, we’re just kidding ourselves!

Progress: To develop to a more advanced stage.

Consumer: One that consumes.

Consume: Destroy. To spend wastefully. To eat up: devour.

Monday, October 11, 2004

Whackin It

In case you hadn’t noticed, I’ve got some issues. Yeah, well, I’ve got some things to work out, some things to talk through. This little blog is my stress relief. It’s like having a Whack-A-Mole of my very own. Sweet Whack-A-Mole.

And it’s the best Whack-A-Mole ever, ‘cause it doesn’t need quarters. This means I can use quarters for their intended purpose: car washes and peep shows. But that’s a whole different kind of Whack-A-Mole. HELLO!

Jazzy Meijer

I’m not cuttin’ old people any more slack. We just got back from grocery shoppin’ and I’m here to tell you that Meijer was packed with nasty, bitter, cranky, aggressive old assholes. There was one old crank on a jazzy I want to specifically address. Hey granny, I know being old sucks but it doesn’t give you license to be a dick. Here’s an idea for you, how about refusing medical treatment from now on you feckless whore.

I really wanted to smack the piss out of this bitch in the check out line. She huffed and puffed and acted like we were in her way, like she was more important than us, like we were intentionally preventing her from gettin’ home and microwavin’ that can of refried beans. Back up off of us, skank! Oh Man, I wish I’d eatin’ Taco Bell at 3 am last night and had a colon full of rancid gas I could’ve delivered to her ass level face as she pushed and inched up our camshafts. Goddamn I need a nap and some therapy!


Sunday, October 10, 2004

Garlic

I’m fed up with people puttin’ garlic in every damn thing they cook! Our neighbors use so much garlic the paint on my house is startin’ to peel. Restaurants use it in everything that comes down the line. “Hi, my name is Connie, I'll screw anybody for an Oxycontin and I'll be your server this evening. Our special tonight is hog water and garlic.” Listen, I like garlic as much as the next person, but goddamn people, settle down!!!

I have no idea exactly when the overuse of garlic became standard practice but I’m pissed about it. In fact, I blame Emeril for this reckless behavior. I watched an episode of his show last night and the only time he got a response from his white bread, Hank and Peggy Hill Universal theme park audience was when he ask them if he should throw a mound of garlic into his recipe. At that point the thorazine soaked crowd started clappin’ and yelpin’ like a bunch of retarded seals waitin' on a treat. “Want some garlic?” “ark ark ark ark ark ark ark ark ark ark.”

Friday, October 08, 2004

Bull Shit, Dog Shit: A Fable

A few weeks ago I stepped in a big stinking pile of dog shit out in the front yard. If you’re going to let your yelpin’ mangy ass dog run bursack through the world, shittin’ in other people’s yards, at least have the courtesy to clean that shit up you mindless sperm burpin’ gutter slut!

I gotta be up front here, I hadn’t seen any particular dog shit in our yard but I studied on it for a little while and decided it was our across the street neighbors black lab. I based my conclusion on three things: the size of the pile, the rank dead body stench of it’s oh so gooey center, and the fact that this dog stinks like it’s been muck divin’ in a cesspool.

I decided I was going to catch the little motherfucker and teach him a lesson. I decided it was better to go after the dog instead of the owner. Know why? ‘Cause this woman’s had 50 years to learn some basic goddamn manners but they just haven’t taken root and no amount of sweet talkin’ from me was going to influence her to change her evil ways. So I figured a good solid beatin’ and this dog would think twice about shittin’ in our yard again.

I waited and waited and then finally, I see the Big Stink headin’ this way. I tied my boots extra tight and grabbed my switch. The instant BS stepped on our yard, before his asshole even had the chance to pucker up, I busted out of the house and unleashed a hurtin’ on him. It felt good. It felt right. I knew I’d sleep well that night and that come morning, I’d be able to walk cleanly through the front yard. Sweet justice never tasted so good.

In conclusion, I’d like to thank the Bush Administration for America’s new preemptive military policy. My actions above were inspired by your courage and foresight. I realize this hick’ll never be a part of your gilded inner circle, but I love kickin’ the shit out of all living things and I want to thank you for not only making it socially acceptable but flat out patriotic. Keep on rockin’ in the free world!



Thursday, October 07, 2004

I Got It!!!

I am always trying to cash in on the latest trends. Since I can’t get a weapons factory up and running without having to go to my cousins for money, I’ve come up with a restaurant idea. It's going to be called:

Redneck Sushi: House of Polk

Here's my signature recipe:

South Carolina Roll

Ingredients:

4 sheets dried polk salad
4 cups Uncle Ben's microwavable rice
1 cup hash brown casserole (from Cracker Barrel)
1 can vienna sausage (you can substitute spam or potted meat if you prefer)
1/4 cup crisco
1/4 cup salt
2 tsps crushed walnuts

How to Cook:

1. Get carry out hash brown casserole from Cracker Barrel 'cause you can't make it that good.
2. Mash up vienna sausage in a bowl and mix with salt and crisco.
3. Quarter a garbage bag and lay it out across your Myrtle Beach place mat.
4. Put a sheet of polk salad on one of the bag sections.
5. Microwave your rice. You might have to add an extra dollop of crisco or peanut butter to your rice to make it sticky.
6. Spread the rice over your polk salad and press firmly.
7. Sprinkle your crushed walnuts over the rice.
8. Turn the whole thing over so the rice is on the bottom and your polks on top.
9. Using a butter knife, spread the hash brown casserole and vienna sausage mixture across the polk salad.
10. Roll the place mat forward like you’re rolling a giant Cheech and Chong joint.
11. Rinse off your pocket knife and cut that bad boy up into “chaw” size pieces.

Enjoy

Wednesday, October 06, 2004

Surf-N-Slop

My lovely Double L prepared an awesome redneck dinner for us last night. We had shrimp cocktail, pork chops with sautéed mushrooms and corn. I call it: Surf-N-Slop.

Hey, we didn’t have any lobster and filet mignon so she worked with what we had and it rocked hard! Thank you easter bunny! She also prepared a fabulous dessert. You can read about that hilarious part of our evening on her blog.

Bad Kitty

I know I’m going to get in trouble for this post.

We’ve got three cats. In my opinion, one of them is a complete punk. She woke me up at 4 a.m. this morning because she desperately needed to use my nuts as a spring board to jump to the night stand. Why did she need to get on the night stand, you ask. Because she likes to stick her thick skull through the metal blinds to see what’s happening out in the driveway in the middle of the night. Guess what, there ain’t shit going on out there at 4 a.m.! Get your retarded ass out of the bedroom and stop waking me up, goddamn malcontent.

She follows us around the house all day long, whining and raking the flesh off our legs with her needle like claws. She refuses to let us trim them and they’re damn near growing around back into her paws. Which at this point would be fine with me. If we could get her into self-inflicted pain maybe she’d leave us the hell alone.

I was finally inspired to write a post about her because she just came flying into my office on the back of one of our other cats, whackin’ the shit out of it. I’m sure it’s because I’m a sleep deprived asshole redneck, but this caused me to fly into a rage. I’ve never wanted to kick the living shit out of anything so bad in my life. I don’t condone it and wouldn’t do it, but I understand it.

I find it ironic that her name is Karma.



Tuesday, October 05, 2004

Smoking Drivers

I’ve had it with people who smoke in their car with the windows rolled up while their back seat full of kids struggles to not puke. If you do this, you’re an ignorant, self- centered, inconsiderate, low life piece of shit and your children should be taken away from you. Know why? Of course you don’t, you’re a dumb ass.

Walgreen Freaks

I genuinely enjoy shopping at our local Walgreens but it’s a damn freak show in there. The fact that it’s open 24 hours a day, 365 days a year makes it beacon for zombies from all walks of life. I particularly love the seasonal aisle, the toy aisle and the automotive aisle. It reminds me of the five and dimes that were around when I was a kid. I love that I can go in at 2 a.m. and buy car wax, condoms (sorry Chad), pipe tobacco and a surgical mask.

I want to share my most recent experience to the land of the lost so you can see for yourself what a happenin’ scene they got going on up on that hill. On my way to get a grease bomb (burger) I remembered I needed razors. I’ve been using the same one since Carter was in office. I popped into my WG and headed to the men’s aisle. I moved briskly and with authority through the possessed herd ‘cause I knew exactly what I needed and where I could find it. When I got to the razor section, there were no razors. Just pieces of cardboard that said “if you would like to purchase this item please take this card to the front counter.” What the fuck? I knew immediately this was connected to the religious right trying to take over the world but it took me moment to realize how. Then I remembered, ah, Warren Buffett owns Gillette! Warren Buffett is working for Arnie out in California! And Arnie is the new Republican poster child, if you exclude Zell Miller. With my card and a deeper understanding of the military industrial complex we were warned about, I headed to the front counter to get some satisfaction, and some razors.

I got in line behind a woman who has to use one of those portable oxygen tanks because years of smoking has ravaged her lungs. She told the woman behind the counter that the prescription wasn’t really working anymore and that she was having a hard time breathing. The woman said, “well you better tell your doctor about that. Is there anything else I can get for you?” “Yes honey, I need a carton of Marlboro reds.” Damn, a trip to the WG just never disappoints!

As this transaction wrapped up, another woman came charging in the door. She was clearly wired and very agitated. She told the counter woman that the pharmacist had called her and said her prescription was at the front counter. She asked if it was. “No. They keep all those in the pharmacy.” “Well HE called ME and told me it was up here?” “I’m sorry. I don’t have anything like that up here.” The customer then asked if she could go back into the pharmacy and look for it. I wondered if this ever worked. She stormed off toward the back of the store to try her hand with the poor unsuspecting pharmacists.

I noticed on the plaque next to the rack of cigarettes that “Betty” had been named employee of the month. I also noticed that a different name appeared next to each month. This is either a very democratic Walgreens or a place with a high burn out rate. I sheepishly handed over my razor request. I felt like a junky taking part in a needle exchange program or something. When “Betty” saw what I needed she let out a sigh that let me know that I was the biggest threat to her happiness. She got on the intercom, “cosmetics, cosmetics, I need a package of razors.” Silence. I asked why, out of all the things in the store they had to do this with razors? “Betty” said “‘cause people steal ‘em.” Hmm, I see. After a minute or two she picked up the intercom and again called out to cosmetics to save her from her miserable existence. From three aisles over the cosmetics counter woman yelled, “what kind do you need?” “Betty” abandoned the intercom and starting yelling the description. Realizing this wasn’t going to work she said, “hell I’ll just go get ‘em myself” and stormed off leaving me unattended at the register. It might just be me, but this doesn’t seem like a well thought out policy.

Monday, October 04, 2004

King Biscuit

Today I’m offering something for all the children who sit on their mother’s/father’s lap and listen to their parents read this blog to them before nap time. In my opinion, there is nothing more important and beautiful than quality family time and I want to contribute to the bliss. Here’s a short story I hope will be entertaining and educational. I call it: King Biscuit.

King Biscuit
by Imma Hick

I’m a river steam boat. My name is King Biscuit. Some people call me KB for short. Some people call me King Biscuit the Gravy River Steam Boat for long. I got my name because I’m the biggest biscuit around. I live and work and float around on a river of gravy wider than the Mississippi. This is how I got to be the biggest biscuit you’ll ever see. I put gravy on my egg, sausage and hash brown breakfast. I put gravy on my chicken fried chicken and mashed potato lunch. And I put gravy on my pork chop and fried potato dinner. If you could make gravy frosting for cake, I’d be the happiest boat on the river. I love gravy so much that it makes my meat thermometer pop prematurely.

Jenny the Long Thin Canoe lives on a creek that flows into the river. She belongs to a farming family that grows organic vegetables. Two Saturdays ago, Jenny was carrying so many organic veggies in her hull that they created a strange multicolored flash flood down the valley. Although I didn’t see the flood, I heard it and witnessed the aftermath. I asked Jenny if she was okay and she said she was. She said that occasionally carrying so many organic veggies in your hull that it creates a strange multicolored flash flood is actually good for the creek and valley. She said it clears out the debris that clogs up the stream.

This seemed unnatural to me, King Biscuit the Gravy River Steam Boat. My river of gravy never floods. When more gravy flows into my river, the river and all of us that live on it, simply get bigger. This salty influx puts a lot of pressure on the banks, and my hull, but it never causes a violent eruption like those organic veggies. In an flash of clarity I knew my life's purpose. I had to save Jenny the Long Thin Canoe from a life of violence.

On June the 15th, I invited Jenny to join me on my river of gravy. Jenny said she thought I was a crazy bloated biscuit. She said she thought my hull was cracked and that it was going to blow apart any second and that I surely wouldn’t survive it. She asked me where I thought that would leave her. I told her I believed there was an even bigger river of gravy on the other side. I asked her if she’d ever heard of the River of Jordan. She said she had. I asked her if she knew the River of Jordan was a gravy river. She said she’d never heard that. I convinced Jenny the Long Thin Canoe that anything less than a gravy river wouldn’t be salvation. It wasn’t just a matter of faith, it was logical. Today, Jenny is known as Jenny the Small Tug and I wait for her on the shore of that most glorious of gravy rivers.

Saturday, October 02, 2004

Appropriate

You know what bugs the shit out of me? People who have no identity of their own so they appropriate someone else’s. We white people do this quite a bit. The self- important chain smoking bleached blond driver in the post below has no legitimate claim to the song “We Shall Overcome.” I bet she’s never heard it or has any idea it was born out of the harsh conditions slaves endured out in the Carolina rice fields. In fact, I bet she makes snide comments when she sees protesters on the evening news. I’d bet a nut she’s never been to a protest rally or even seen one because she doesn’t like to drive downtown. But all the sudden in the wake of 911 she feels she’s an oppressed minority. It’s a slap in the face to those who genuinely struggled to overcome. Hey lady, you know the best way for you to contribute to the overcoming of our current political state? Buy a sensible car!

George Carlin said it best: When white people with those blue eyes and blond hair start sailing out of the north toward your country, you better bolt the doors, board up the windows and hide your women. ‘Cause if we can’t steal it, we’ll burn it. And if we can’t burn it, we’ll fuck it!

Friday, October 01, 2004

Befuddled

My brother and his family moved to Bristol, VA. last fall. So I put together a “Welcome to Bristol” care package for them on behalf of the mayor. The package included items that would help them blend into their new environs more easily. Enclosed were some Marlboro reds, fish bait, Do Not Trespass and Beware of the Dog signs, and lots and lots of NASCAR apparel. I also decided they should have one of those window stickers of the little boy peeing on a Chevy/Ford/Jeff Gordon logo. So off to the auto parts store I went in search of my treasure, their treasure. The sticker isle in any auto parts store isn’t hard to find. It’s usually about half way back in the store. It’s after the washing and waxing isle, after the wiper isle but before the serious parts isle. I swear this is almost always the case. Go look for yourself. Anyway, I found the window tint, the air freshener, the flames decal for the doors but was stumped on the little boy peeing sticker. There were Dale stickers, I’d rather be fishing stickers, my other car’s a Rolls Royce stickers, any sticker you’d want except the one I needed. I couldn’t believe they didn’t have it. My befuddled look must have caught the counter guys attention and he asked if I needed help finding something. Boy, did I! The following is a pretty good recounting of the conversation that followed:
“Can I help you find something?” counter guy (aka CG)
“I’m looking for that sticker of the little boy peeing on a Chevy/Ford logo.” Me
“We don’t sell those. That’s a flea market type item. We don’t carry stuff like that!” CG
“Really? Well okay, I guess I’ll just take this iridescent trout sticker.” Me

My Intention

My beloved and I just went out for our customary Friday night diet coke sippy cup, which was fabulous. You guessed it, we’re red. When we got in the car she said, “I’m afraid your Blog is going to come off as really harsh and angry. It’s funny to me because I know you. But I’m afraid it’s going to elicit some pretty negative feedback, the blogging community can be tough.” “Huh”, I said. This led to a discussion of whether I should take it down, tone it down, or say screw what people think and leave it the way it is. I’ve decided to leave it exactly as it is but disable the comments so some random simpleton that I’ve pissed off can’t hurt my delicate feelings. I’m sensitive.

I realize I’ve only made a couple of posts but my blogs theme is beginning to come into focus for me. I really don’t care for ignorant, aggressive people and I’m going to use this space to fight back. I also realize that we’re all ignorant. If you’re sweet natured and ignorant, we got no problem. If you’re an aggressive, ignorant assed mule rod, I’m going to call you on it.

We Shall Overcome

Today as I’m driving down Richmond Road just minding my own business, I notice a massive black SUV in my side mirror coming up way too fast in the left lane. So I did what I always do in this situation, I pulled my doin’-the-speed-limit ass over into the left lane. I can’t stand aggressive drivers and take every opportunity to get in their way and piss them off. The way I see it, they suck, are a blight and need to be taught a lesson and I do my part to educate them. In fact, I have a routine I follow when presented with this educational opportunity.

After I change lanes I pull a hair less than a car length ahead of the person in the right lane so that the ass muncher in the I’m-so-cool-I-can’t-stand-it truck or SUV thinks they’re going to be able to cut between us. Then as they get right on my bumper they realize they can’t quite squeeze their school bus through that gap and have to slam on the brakes. If it’s a good day and the planets are aligned this goes on for several miles. I can’t express how much pleasure I get watching in the rear view mirror as my student bitches and moans and squirms and throws their hands up and checks their mirrors to see if they finally can shoot the gap and blow me off the road. Not today schmuck! I got mad skills and I’m going to use them to disrupt your miserable life.

Today I had the pleasure of educating a woman driving a black Cadillac Escalade while talking on her cell phone and smoking. I’m guessing she got the autopilot package upgrade to help propel her and her back seat full of kids down the road. Eventually the person in the right lane breaks what I believe is an unspoken agreement to infuriate this woman and decides to turn onto a side road. I can see the relief in the woman's face as she floors it and cuts around me. I feel let down ‘cause our beautiful encounter was so short. I suppose I didn’t sacrifice the right number of virgins this week and vow to make the necessary adjustments.

Once she got passed me I got a look at her bumper stickers and couldn’t believe my eyes. There was the obligatory “W’04” BUT next to it was a “We Shall Overcome” sticker. We Shall Overcome? Really? Were your family and friends slaves? Did they struggled for their civil rights? I’d like to know. What in the hell do you have to overcome? You’re a privileged white American driving a car that cost more than a lot of peoples house! You’re getting 12 miles to the gallon while people are dying to secure oil fields! Not to mention the people living in poverty in those oil rich countries who have no fucking idea why bombs are dropping around them and just want to live in peace. Yeah there was also one of those Christian fish stick-on’s on the tailgate. Wow! A real life right winger! I’m thinking this bunch got a tax break from W. They obviously needed it and are putting it to good use. I’m sure Jesus preferred them to get a tax break so they could more easily afford a $55,000 dumb ass gas hog while lunch programs got cut. I decided this person didn’t need a tax cut, she needed advanced education. So I skillfully navigated my way through traffic and pulled back in front of her so we could resume our lesson.

On a side note, I’ve decided to get HEMI tattooed on my penis so I can answer that yes, in fact this thing does have a HEMI! Would you like to sniff it? Nap time.

Sniff The Pickle

Goddamn I hate country music. Lori-Lyn and I went down to the DMV today to get new matching drivers licenses and change our voter registrations so that we don’t miss our chance to vote. As a celebration we decided to break our nonexistent core plan weight watchers diet and go to Pizza Hut. We rednecks celebrate everything at Pizza Hut. Our Pizza Hut always has CMT playing on their four TV’s, loudly. At least there weren’t any screaming kids there today. There’s usually at least one kid running full tilt and yelling as they pull stuff off of empty tables because their balance sucks and their grandparents won’t teach them how to act with any respect for the other customers. My guess is that these grandparents feel bad because they were shitty parents and are trying to make up for it. Maybe their kids told them they were too controlling so now they’re overcompensating with the grand kids. I don’t know. All I know is that I’d rather have a screwdriver shoved in my ear than to hear a kid screech at the top of their lungs while their grandparents ask you if that hell-yun isn’t just the cutest thing you ever saw.

As we settled into our beautifully silent booth I hear...”I went sky divin”....FUCK, I wish this guy’d go sky divin’ and leave me the hell out of it. Lori-Lyn likes country music. Even she said she wished they’d release another single off that CD so this thing would go away. Lori-Lyn is really sweet. This is about as harsh as she gets. Not me. I’m so sick of people that look like soft core porn stars trying to out do each other in the cute and clever lyric department that I want to slide under a gas truck and die choking on my own blood.

And is there a Country version of Chess King where these dim wits are buying their duds? Hey, here’s a video with a guy in a black hat! Well suck my pecker, that’s original! Anyone remember the Brady Bunch episode where Greg gets a record deal because the suit fit?
(If any of my complaints and observations about the state of country music is pissing you off, guess what? Your wife probably IS cheating on you. You know why? ‘Cause you’re a dumb ass.)

Speaking of peckers, this brings me to my next observation: Lots and lots of these new country bo’s sniff the pickle. They don’t even try to hide it. The most glaring example I can think of at the moment is this Big & Rich video, Save a Horse Ride a Cowboy. Wow, this is right out of the Village People. They should be called Dick-N-Rich. If you wore those silky outfits in our local park late in the evening, the police would bust your mustache booting wearin’ ass for loitering or solicitation.

I want to be very clear. I do not and will not gay bash. I cherish and support gay rights, completely and without reservation. What pisses me off is that country music has become the theme music for the moral majority and the right wing. It’s helped them claim patriotism and morality as theirs alone despite the fact that they sniff the pickle just like the rest of us. That’s bullshit man.

Some of you are bound to say, “if you don’t like it, change the channel!” Screw you! You can’t get away from it! It’s on every truck commercial, it’s even the background music to some commercials on classic rock radio. And as soon as you leave your house you got some boot licker in his hopped up black pickup (with a Hemi) riding your bumper like your the only thing standing between them and sweet salvation. I’ve simply had it with the ‘huck buddy this’ll get you through’ mentality that seems to have taken over this country! Goddamn I need a nap!