why i hate rednecks

Anyone who knows me well enough knows that I’m arguably the most open-minded, non-biased person you’ll ever meet. I have friends of every lifestyle and persuasion, black, white, Asian, Latino, gay, bisexual, rich, poor, Muslim, Buddhist and everything in between. There is, however, one group of people whom I despise: rednecks. For those of you who aren’t from the south, let me tell you about these sorry excuses for people so you can make sure to avoid them when you visit. If you live in South Carolina like me, dealing with rednecks is unfortunately a daily chore. They’re white, they’re racist, especially against black people, and they despise homosexuals. They think college is a waste of time and money, and resent those who are educated, like myself. They all drive pickup trucks equipped with most of the following: a rebel flag, a loud radio to blare country music as loudly as possible, a George W. Bush 2004 bumper sticker, camouflage seat covers, a window decal with their favorite Nascar driver’s number, and two cupholders, one for their Pabst Blue Ribbon and one for their chewing tobacco spit cup. Oh yea I almost forgot, the trucks all have a long bed used for throwing down a sleeping bag and performing intense sexual acts with a relative of their choice. Maybe it’s just me, but riding my cousin while I listen to “boot scootin’ boogie” doesn’t sound like a very fun night. But that’s just my opinion. They’re not too smart, most have the intellectual capacity of a five year old—with autism. They think incest is the best thing since grits, and Dale Earnhardt is their biggest hero since Jefferson Davis. Which reminds me, they think the Civil War is still being fought, there just haven’t been any casualties lately. And don’t even try to tell them George Bush isn’t the best president ever, because they’re certain he is. After all, he took out Saddam Hussein, the man responsible for 9/11 right? And he hates gay people, awesome. Ooh, and he believes in torture, that’s pretty cool. And he’s so pro-life, yet he brags about all the executions in Texas when he was governor, sweet! But hey, we can’t all be perfect. Sorry, I digress. Now back to the hicks. They all claim to love Jesus and be oh so holy. I’m sorry, but making the family go to church because you think your daughter looks hot in her pink dress is pretty sick. They only shop at wal-mart, and if their kid even thinks about grabbing anything with Jeff Gordon’s name on it, he gets an ass whooping. Sometimes they’re carrying a screaming child; you might even catch a poor mom sitting in her Dale Jarrett tank top, letting her baby feed from her saggy, domestically abused tits. They’re the worst tippers on the planet, always tipping $1.50, give or take a quarter. I remember serving them and as I pocketed the coins, thinking to myself ‘Thanks for the half gallon of gas asshole.’ Some rednecks are hardcore, like the one I saw the other day with the loaded gun rack and a real South Carolina license plate that read: 4 DUBYA B. I’m not even kidding. And some really piss me off, like the guy who t-boned my mom’s car the other day, then lied on his police report.
I recently visited Ann Arbor, Michigan, where there’s not a redneck for miles. The morning after I got back to South Carolina, my phone goes off and it’s my brother. He informed me that they were in a wreck right by my new house and the man who hit my mom’s car is now yelling at her. So I got up quicker than a hick at an NAACP meeting and went to check it out. As I walked up to my mom I couldn’t help but shake my head when I saw who hit her. I found myself staring at a dirty red pickup truck that had slammed into my mom’s rear driver’s side door. Since he moved his truck before the police arrived, the two vehicles were no longer touching. The man appeared to be in his mid-40s and had a hefty beer belly protruding from his midsection. He’s wearing a “proud to be a redneck dad” t-shirt and matching camouflage shorts and crocs, you know those rubber shoes they have the mentally ill patients wear in the psychiatric ward. One hand was pointed at my mom as he asked in a very thick accent, “Whut wuz you thinkin’ back der lady, tryin’ to make dat der turn in such a gosh darn hurry?” The other hand was holding a Dasani water bottle that contained dark brown liquid. Either it was bottled in Bangladesh or this was his tobacco juice, and I think it was the latter. He interrupted his tyrade to spit, then marched off in disgust. After the policeman arrived, my brother told the officer how the man swore at my mom, to which he countered, “Sir dat is NOT da truf, dat is a lie. I’ll swear on a stak uf bibles dis high that I never said no bad word at dat der lady.” I wasn’t there initially so I don’t know, but judging by the fact that every word he said had four letters or less, I think a few other four-letter words just might have slipped. So long story short, the policeman took notes, collected reports from both parties, and left. Turns out the hick said that my mom tried to go around him by passing him on the right, just before she made a sharp left turn and he could do nothing but hit her. Well that lie just might fly if it wasn’t a two-lane road and no tire marks were in the grass to the right. While most of the cops aren’t stupid here, some are a few fries short of a happy meal, and this might be one because he said my mom must have made an improper turn if the guy couldn’t stop in time. No Sherlock, how about the hillbilly was following too closely and hit her when she slowed down? Makes sense to me but what do I know, I’m just a guy who plans to be a lawyer. I could go on but the bottom line is this, avoid rednecks at all costs, because they’re backwards and uneducated and the more you come in contact with them the worse your life becomes. I recently lived with some, I would know. But that story is for my next blog. Feel free to comment below.