Showing posts with label Redneck. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Redneck. Show all posts

Sunday, May 22, 2011

CDC Approved Zombie Apocalypse Kickin' Up Mud


Playboy puts fifty-seven years of hot naked women online at outrageous prices. Playboy will provide every page of every issue since it began in 1953. The catch is that they are offering it only as a subscription service for eight dollars a month, $60 per year and $100 for two years. Really? I mean, I realize there are over 130,000 pages of Playboy goodness there but who would pay that much money? Heck, who knows how many real pages of just pictures of the famous Playboy women there are. I'll bet over 50% of those 130,000 pages don't even have any naked women on them. What a waste of disk space and bandwidth ... I mean, from the subscribers' perspective, which I am not one. Just sayin'. Okay, so it's optimized for the iPad ... big whoop.


Well, it's official. The Center for Disease Control (CDC) posted the official guidelines for preparation for and surviving the impending Zombie Apocalypse that Bonez writers have long foretold. I think the CDC should consult E as it appears they have some of their zombie behavior "facts" a little askew. I am still confused on the ones that eat brains and the ones that just eat human flesh. Which ones are the shamblers and which ones are the cognitive ones who can actually talk and run? It seems to me the information is not nearly sufficient and the CDC should invest in hiring some real zombie experts like E to get the facts straight and thereby maybe ... just maybe saving a few more lives. There is still a lot of good advice, though. For instance, under the emergency plans section, number four, 'Plan your evacuation route' says, "When zombies are hungry they won’t stop until they get food (i.e., brains), which means you need to get out of town fast! Plan where you would go and multiple routes you would take ahead of time so that the flesh eaters don’t have a chance!" Wait, aren't zombies always hungry? And exactly WHY are they hungry? They're effin' DEAD, for goodness sake. Why would a dead and putrefying mindless corpse need sustenance at all? Okay, these are deeper questions than I am not trained to answer so I hope E will respond and shed some light on this matter.

Further proof the zombie apocalypse is looming in our near future is the fact that companies are building zombie-proof structures to protect the lucky few from the insatiable zombie hordes. Not only are these underground bunkers zombie-proof but they are even luxurious by most survivalist standards. You can get into the cheap ones at about $25,000.00 per person which sounds pretty damn cheap when you consider that alternative of becoming zombie food and/or a zombie yourself. I guess these shelters are the next logical step to the old skool fallout and tornado shelters I grew up with. These concrete and steel reinforced underground mansions may provide the answer to the survival of our species and I am looking for the nearest one to give my twenty-five grand to hold my reservation. Wonder if I can pick my room colors and carpet pattern ... To celebrate the embarrassing "I told ya' so" moment for a select few zealot evangelical fundamentalist Christian followers of the two-time prophetic loser, Harold Camping, I leave this post with a masterful mash-up rendition of Blondie's Debbie Harry and the Doors entitled "Rapture Riders". Apropos, don't ya' think? Not very Christian of them to be so eager to rise up to meet Jesus while thumbing their noses at the remaining six billion plus souls who were to die horribly. People killed by an egotistical, jealous God ... doesn't that amount to infanticide against his own spirit children of Earth? Guess his commandments don't apply to him. Guess you can break the rules if you make them. Still, that does not warrant the Campingites belligerent sanctimonious holier than thou judgmental bullshit behavior against the rest of humanity. Shame Shame Shame. ἐδάκρυσεν ὁ Ἰησοῦς Jesus wept.

Tuesday, September 14, 2010

I Heart Me Some Superslab Gators and Misty Dawns


I loves me some gator on hot superslab for breakfast lunch or dinner. My Harley powers down the highway like a predatory beast chewin up the miles with no fear of them sinister gators and their unruly hides barrin our path. Gators come in all shapes and sizes and even the smallest of them can give you an instant laundry problem in your tidy whities ... or a quick trip to the hospital or the morgue for those less fortunate to tangle with one unexpectedly. My Harley shows no sign of backin down when she spies one of the ornery critters laying all innocent like on the concrete roadway and it is up to me to reign her in and put a little heel to her to steer her head around the rubbery monster she really shouldn’t mess with. She seems to forget that night a few months back when we were plowin through the night at seventy-five or eighty on that Kentucky superslab with Captain Hawkeye when that big ass gator snuck up on us out of the blackness and nearly swallowed us whole. I know I about shit my britches and screamed like a girl as my pelvis was rammed up through my rib cage and my sweetheart Harley bucked like a crazy mare who’d seen a rattlesnake. We come through it all right but I have the emotional scars and still wake up from nightmares to that girlie scream and sweatin like a pig. Now I know them gators move around at night and bein all nocturnal and all and not just lazin around sleeping on the hot superslab in the day time. My dear Super Glide Custom has a tendency to quickly forget and she recons that she got through that one all right so what’s to worry about running up on another one. I love her but she can be so damn hard headed at times when it comes to cutting her own path down the highway.


No, I am not talkin about THAT kind of gator ...
I'm talkin about THIS kind of gator ... a frakkin Road Gator!


A friend of mine used to hunt superslab gators on his bike. But he rode a rice burner ... er ... metric cruiser with a Japanese name. He didn’t much care about basic maintenance and such on his bike and he was pretty fearless ... translate “fearless” as ignorant as hell ... and he bragged about killin gators with his iron (aluminum and plastic) steed and made a game of gator jumpin like he was one of them Jack*Ass movie stars or somethin. Well, one day he called me and was actin all giddy like and shoutin into the phone about tryin to jump the biggest dang gator he’d ever laid eyes on and it about killed him and how he totaled his P.O.S. Japanese named bike but he still killed the beast and how the insurance man was goin to give him a ton-o-money and he was goin to get himself a real man’s bike like mine and he, in fact, had made so much money by wrecking his bike and killing that gator that he was going to get himself a custom made one of a kind chopper-iffic motorcycle babe-magnet make your Momma cry bike to end all biker wet dreams from here on in. Yeah, he talked all funny like that for real.

I didn’t hear from my friend for a couple of months and then I got an e-mail from him with this picture attached ...


Now you can probably guess at my amazement that he indeed done gone and built himself a custom made one of a kind chopper-iffic motorcycle babe-magnet make your Momma cry bike to end all biker wet dreams from here on in real man’s bike. But I was not so convinced that it was really the alleged motorcycle babe magnet he had dreamed it would be and I told him so. A couple days later he sent me another email with THIS picture attached.


Yep, I loves me some superslab gators, but I ain’t got the kahunas to do what my buddy did ... even for another Misty Dawn potential out there. Which is probably for the best as I don’t think there’s enough room in this world for another superslab gator bike ... or another Misty Dawn :)

Monday, March 01, 2010

Devil Went Down to Georgia


Thursday, July 17, 2008

Redneck Waffle House Wedding


I get so tired of the redneck trailer park trash of the South defining the worldview of what Southerners are supposed to be like. I understand that I am perpetuating that very same negative image by posting this video on Bonez. However, the Waffle House wedding succinctly portrays the very thing I am bitching about. Embarrassingly, right down the ignorant son-of-a-buck going to his matrimonial death being named "Bubba".

Let me clue you in... Most Southern women are not Belles. Neither are they cigarette smoking incest victims, barefoot obese heifers, snaggle-toothed meth addicted unwed mothers, fashion-challenged potato sack wearing diva wannabes, idiotic sixth grade educated baby-making machines. Most Southern women are nothing like that at all.

Most Southern men are not genteel-men. Neither are they gosh darn knee-slapping rednecks, tobacco chewing clods in overalls, cigarette smoking inbred banjo pickers, beer drinking deer hunters and bass fishermen, mullet-haired truck driving Nascar fans, uncouth morons picking their noses and scratching their balls and asses in public. Most Southern men are nothing like that at all.

Know what I mean, Vern?