Bomb Throwing Pacifist

If you took that happy, smiling guy from the box of Quaker Oats, handed him a bottle of gin and a rifle, and pissed him off to a point where he decided he wasn't going to take it anymore, you'd get a little something like this.

Thursday, July 13, 2006

The Code of Bubbarami

I loathe rednecks. There, it needed to be said, and so it has been said. I find them to be dreadfully boring, as well as being a great lot of grotty knackers. Oh, they do have their uses, I will happily grant you that. One day when the eternal war on terror (or "Terra," the Texan to English translation is not clear) is finished, we will need a readily disposable population of social undesirables with which to fill the Guantanamo Bay Gulags. They will cease to be THE nuisance species of the American South and will at the same time feel right at home in the trailer-park atmosphere of the Dear Leader's Perpetual Detention Center. Furthermore, once concentrated in a single, difficult-to-escape-from location, we will have found a safe, isolated disposal center for the hundreds of thousands of gallons of cheap American beer which would otherwise be left to rot away in highly populated areas with potentially disaterous ecological effects. But despite these benefits, when I think of the millions of Indians that were butchered and relocated simply to make room for these clonkers and their naff Stars and Stripes trucker caps (or Teddy Bear sweatshirts), I weep at the terrible injustice of mankind.

In order to further elaborate upon my point, I would like to take a few moments to share with you a recent find made by my friend and noted Archaeologist, Sir Horace Q. Cocksmedly III, O.B.E. while excavating a redneck burial mound someplace in the American Deep South. Although the document has yet to be precisely dated and catalogued, a cursory analysis of the text places it at about the mid 1990s (judging from the surrounding artifacts- several modly pizza boxes and a few dozen "Victoria's Secret" catalogues), thus making it one of the oldest surviving Redneck Ur-texts discovered to date. It is presented with my friend's gloss.

1. That farm boy you see at the gas station did more work before breakfast than you do all week at the gym.

If by work you are referring to whittling, sitting in a rocking chair, and trying to find "Sweet Home Alabama" on the AM radio, then you are correct.

2. It's called a "gravel road." No matter how slow you drive, you're going to get dust on your Lincoln Navigator. Drive it or get it out of the way!

They still have gravel roads in the South. Add that to your index along with Moon Pies, "swimmin' holes," and polio

3. The red dirt -- it's called clay. Red clay. If you like the color, don't wash your car for a couple weeks -- it'll be permanent.

Thus accounting for the term "red neck" (although purists would point out that considering the amount of clothing worn by most males of the species, "red back" would be more appropriate)

4. We all started hunting and fishing when we were seven years old. Yeah, we saw that Bambi movie, too. We got over it.

Ironically enough, 7 years of age is when most rednecks achieve sexual maturity. What can we say? At least they are the same age as their livestock when they have that first magical moment.

5. Go ahead and bring your $600 Orvis fly rod. Don't cry to us if a flathead breaks it off at the handle . We have a name for those little 13-inch trout you fish for: bait.

It is difficult to ascertain wether this conversation is taking place at the side of a pond or in the stall of a trucker's rest stop. Frankly, we'd rather not know.

6. Pull your pants up! You look like an idiot.

Coming from someone who believes that trousers should stop at the nipples and not at the natural waist, I will take that under advisement.

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7 If that cell phone rings while a bunch of mallards are making their final approach, we will shoot it. You might want to ensure it's not up to your ear at the time.

Dick Cheney: presidential Redneck.

8. No, there's no "Vegetarian Special" on the menu. Order steak. Order it rare. Or, you can order the Chef's Salad and pick off the two pounds of ham and turkey.

After a few days, you will start to look like this fellow. Don't worry. Their ladies find that body type attractice (or so we are told).

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9. Tea -- yeah, we have tea. It comes in a glass over ice and it's sweet. You want it hot? Set it in the sun. You want it unsweetened? Add a lot of water.

You want it a cup? Sorry, we ran out of jars.

10. You bring Coke into my house, it better be brown, wet, and served over ice!

For as we all know, methamphetamines are the true drug of the heartland.

11. You have a sixty-thousand-dollar car. We're real impressed. We have a quarter of a million-dollar combine that we only use two weeks a year.

Although the net value of their house does approach sixty-thousand dollars. Coincidentally, it also has wheels.

12. Let's get this straight. We have one stoplight in town. We stop when it's red. We may even stop when it's yellow.

That's an obvious lie. We all know that your traffic lights don't change color...all they do is flash.

13. We eat dinner together with our families. We pray before we eat--yeah, even breakfast. We go to church on Wednesdays and Sundays, and we go to high school football games on Friday nights. We still address our seniors with "yes, sir" and "yes, ma'am," and we sometimes still take Sunday drives around town to see friends and neighbors.

The food still tastes awful, we still lose the game, our semiors still draw breath, and the drive to "town" still takes 45 minutes. Hope springs eternal, though.

14. We don't do "hurry up" well.

Indeed. The calendar seems frozen in 1865.

15. Greens -- yeah, we have greens, but you don't putt on them. You boil them with salty fatback, bacon or a smoked hog jowl.

See number 8 above.

16. Yeah, we eat catfish, bass, bream, and carp. You really want sushi and caviar? It's available down at the bait shop.

Fishing's kinda slow? Drink the contents of your thermometer. It won't be as much fun as eating catfish and carp, but at least you'll be able to keep your mercury readings up.

17. They are pigs. That's what they smell like. Get over it. Don't like it?Interstate 75 goes two ways. Interstate 40 goes the other two. Pick one..

I'd love to. It might help if you got some new signs though. These are all illegible, what with the bullet holes and all.

18. Grits are corn. You put butter, salt, and maybe even some pepper on them. If you want to put milk and sugar on them, then you want cream of wheat -- go to Kansas. That would be I-40 West (after travelin' a bit north).

In Europe, we call it gruel. It was the original peasant food, est. 875 A.D.

19. The "Opener" refers to the first day of deer season or dove season Both are holidays. You can get pancakes, cane syrup, and sausage before daylight at the church on either day.

Because nothing says "great outdoor adventure" like several score of hight-challenged lardies wolfing down the entire caloric intake of a small African country in a single sitting.

20. So every person in every pickup truck waves? Yeah, it's called being friendly. Understand the concept?

We call it dodgy. The only people who are supposed to have at motorists are your immediate family and the metropolitan police. But it's ok, we're big lads. We won't cry if a complete and utter narf of a stranger doesn't wave at us while speeding past on the motorway. That's what our horn is for.

21. Yeah, we have golf courses. Don't hit in the water hazards. It spooks the fish and bothers the gators --and, if you hit it in the rough, we have these things called diamondbacks, and they're not baseball players.

Golf was invented by Scotsmen. All that does it make it more challenging.

22. That Highway Patrol Officer that just pulled you over for driving like an idiot --his name is "Sir," no matter how young he is.

Unless your name is foreign-sounding or you are somewhat less than the ideal skin tone. In which case, speak when you are spoken to and pretend not to notice the "Rebel Pride" tattoo.

23. We have lots of pine trees. They have sap. It drips from them. You park your darn Navigator under them, and they'll leave a souvenir on your hood.

I had no idea spitting was a custom amongst your botanical inhabitants as well. Duly noted.

24. You burn an American flag in our state, you get beat up. No questions.

Though if you want to burn other things, like tires, leaves, rural churches and the like...well, you get the picture.

That is all. You may now go on about your business.
Marc with a C, 12:44 PM


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