What It Is

Jeff Foxworthy defines "redneck" as "a complete lack of sophistication. Maybe not all the time, but I guarantee that at some time in your life, you have been a redneck."

Some of us more than others.

Being a redneck does not always mean doing dumbass stunts, and doing dumbass stunts does not make you a redneck, but hey, it's pretty unsophisticated when you use upended two-by-fours as jackstands for your truck and don't stop to worry about the possible consequences. Being a redneck doesn't mean you're poor, nor do you need to be trailer trash. But if you grew up in a single-wide practicing your baseball pitches with rocks on your dad's empties, you might be a redneck.

Not every redneck drinks. But a lot of us do. Not because we're alcoholics, but because it's social. We're not all stupid, nor are we all Southern. We do, however, do what it takes to get it done (whatever that is) and don't give a rat's ass about what you think of how we did it.

This is for those of you who need new ideas on how to solve your problems the redneck way.

This is for those of you who are wondering if you might be a redneck.

This is to share your daily redneck moments, no matter who you are. I know high-class, college-educated people who have a redneck moment almost every few weeks and aren't scared to admit it. I also know a four-year-old who wolfs down Thanksgiving dinner so he can go "Blow shit up" out back with his daddy.

Redneck Woman

Contact

The author of this blog can be reached at Dwyer43@msn.com on a daily basis. Send me a note that you dropped by, and definitely leave comments, opinions, questions, suggestions. You didn't like it? Tell me that, too. Want me to add a new page funtionality? Lemme know. Comprende?

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Thursday, June 4, 2009

This Might Staple You in the Face.

Today, I reupholstered a chair. My friend Sarah's computer chair was well... showing it's age, and the requisite use and abuse. Specifically, having been close to three small children.

It was time.

Naturally, we decided this at eleven thirty at night.

I'm sure that what Sarah's mother, attempting to sleep in the next room heard was something like "I don't know what that goes with. Maybe this fabric? No. This one? Eww. Hmm... OH! I know what this sort of pattern is good for. UPHOLSTERY!"

"Eww."

"No, not huge chairs. Like the seat on your computer chair."

(Silence)

(Already dismantling the chair) "Let's reupholster it!"

(Silence)

(Ka-CHUNK. Ka-Chunk kachunk kachunk. BAM! Bam Bam Bam! Ba-Bam! .... Taptaptaptap. .... kaChunk.)

"This might staple you in the face."

Bap bapbapbap.

"Let's go get a hammer."

The chair turned out great. Nobody got stapled, accidentaly or otherwise, and it looks professional. Kachunk is now a verb. We did make an unholy racket, but really, isn't any time always the right time to use the staple gun?

(Note from the honorary hick Sarah: Now it needs paint... And at least the staple gun wasn't a chainsaw.)
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