Redneck Review

Monday, August 15, 2005

Hillbilly Mom Wants...

I've been Googling again. A while back we found out what I am...
now let's see what I want. If you want to try this for yourself, just
go to Google and type in "(your name) wants." Let's see if you
can help me with my wish list:

Hillbilly Mom wants...a good old patagonian tooth fish. Yeah,
doesn't everybody? And no young ones or toothless ones,
either, you cheap ********!

Hillbilly Mom pull a Quint and bonk one over the head,
but the water is too choppy. And we wouldn't want bonk anything
over the head in choppy water, because I guess that would hurt
worse than a regular calm-water head-bonking.

Hillbilly Mom lay a smackdown on Susie. I mean
business, Susie, and don't think that just because you have the
same name as my Toe Story Susie that I will cut you any slack.
Count your lucky stars, girly, because if this water wasn't so
choppy I'd have bonked you on the head by now.

Hillbilly Mom to know she loves cats and does very
well with household pets. She can fry them up in a pan, roast them
slowly over hot coals, freeze them to make pet pops, liquefy them
in a blender for smoothies, or use Bert's recipe for a good casserole.

Hillbilly Mom, and Lester wants out. OK, Lester, I know
you don't like me, but could you be a little less obvious about it?

Hillbilly Mom find a way to say, "No, Sattar, Iraq is not
my country." Just in case some guy named Sattar finds his way to
the Hillbilly Mansion and asks me if I am from Iraq.

Hillbilly Mom wants...the tarp, the blanket, and the parachute for
Ego Ego. Yes, I want it all for me me me me me!

Hillbilly Mom know if you like toes, in general. Or
specifically, for that matter, the ones with long black hairs growing
out of them that you would need to use tweezers to pick up if
someone chopped off a toe and you had to put it in a baggie with ice.

Hillbilly Mom know if you and Billy can come back over
tonight. Oh, the **** with you, I just want Billy. HILL Billy.

Hillbilly Mom lose weight, but her daughter Kimberly doesn't
--she's thin as a rake, anyway. Well let's see how you feel about that,
Miss Kimberly, when I'm a-draggin' you through the just-cut wet grass
and you get all clogged up with mulch and can't lift your spindly little
rake bone arms and legs any more.

Hillbilly Mom place a picture on the wall that is 228 inches
long. Which is too **** big because that is the same as 19 feet, people!

Hillbilly Mom tour the apartment and make sure I'm not
living in a rat hole, and she mentioned something about giving me a
credit card people to say I don't actually live in a rathole,
and to get fake bushy tails for any rats I see so I can pretend they
are cute little squirrels.

Hillbilly Mom to have monthly dance parties at the Literary
Cafe. So people will think we read and are smart and cultured, but
really we will be line dancing like a bunch of tobacco-chewin' yahoos
on a Friday night.

Hillbilly Mom move the toilet across the hall, working out
the details to...see if it is a good idea, what with some people not
wanting to take a dump in the hall with no running water and everyone
watching from the living room.

Hillbilly Mom know how many pillows there will be, and
Gen says, "500"...which seems to be a bit excessive to me, even
though we are using them as padding on the roof in case the Space
Shuttle falls on the Hillbilly Mansion.

Hillbilly Mom stop playing Rosie secretary and go home,
so Rosie lets her be a coming attraction by singing The Awful Truth
as Mrs. Dracula. And doesn't that make you want a little snort of
whatever we'd been into earlier in the evening?

Hillbilly Mom put her hands on Mona's shoulders and
steer her like a bumper car in fun. But not steer her like a bumper
car in anger, that would be just wrong. And if I wasn't so cheap,
I could go steer an actual bumper car, and stop this embarrassing
charade, and send Mona to a chiropractor to fix her back that is
sore from me riding the bumper autoMonabile.


Post a Comment

<< Home