If a friend told you that they had a “redneck weekend” the mind reels with possibilities…
- Went to a tractor-pull
- Spent hours muddin’
- Took a turn at ropin’ at the rodeo or a stock show
- Dined on squirrel stew
- Spray painted you girlfriend’s name on an overpass
- Attended a wedding at the local country club which is up on wheels – as it’s a double-wide trailer
- Brainstormed name for girlfriend’s four-wheeler (ie, mud-slinger, sod-buster, ass-launcher, etc.)
- Sorted outhouse porn collection for ease of selection (your cross referencing would make Dewey proud – and simultaneously blush).
- Poured hot chocolate in your Reeboks and called them winter shoes
- Attended to 2008 washing of tank tops, muscle T’s, wife beaters (or any article of clothing which shares a names with domestic violence) and t-shirts (sleeves cut off)
- Re-worked the curl on all your baseball hats
- Took your long bow out to get dinner (and rid the neighborhood of possum)
- Slid into the tightest pair of nut-huggin Wranglers
- Got loaded; loaded guns; Lost one buddy (he obviously doesn’t understand gun safety)
- Laminated NRA membership card (put spit shine on)
- Considered the rumor that “coon hound” originally meant a dog for the hunting of racoons
- Shined deer with police issue spotlight mounted to the drivers’ side window
- Put moves on sister / cousin / mother; Got to second base.
But when you find out that he chewed tobaco (fine, upstanding thing to do), went fishing (All-American), and drank beer (Downright Patriotic!), then it is a bit of a letdown. If you say redneck, you better get down with slapping the back of your neck ’til that sombitch is ruby, and then commence with one of the above.
Consider me unimpressed.
The Life Tussle 