Redneck Review

Monday, August 22, 2005

Outcast Island

Even though I appointed myself Minister of Education in Beclakia,
I am not likely to remain a citizen in good standing. I'm not bad,
I'm just not a model citizen. Actually, I'm not even a normal citizen.

I am one of those odd folks who would be shipped off to an island
in the center of Beclakia, on a slow boat with long oars, paddled
by a stubble-bearded Popeye-looking old man named "Nub" wearing
a beret and a black-and-white striped shirt, who calls women "girly"
and men "partner."

There I would be left with the other human oddities to marinate in
our "socially unacceptableness" until the government needs us for
testing the medical vending machines. We would simmer in our
collective juices of absurdity, until a winner rose to the top, to be
crowned with a pineapple-stem crown.

You know people like us. The woman who wears an old pair of
panty-hose wrapped around her neck as a winter scarf. The neighbor
who steals your newspaper from the front porch and leaves in its
place a dead bird propped on its wings so it is "looking" at you.
The guy who drives the lawnmower around town, getting a DUI.
The woman with a streamer of toilet paper hanging like a tail out
of the waistband of her pants. The man who talks to himself and
replies. The boy who says, "And then my sister turned up pregnant.
She don't want 'im. I hope she gives me the baby so I can raise 'im
up right." The woman who goes about her daily business with a pair
of panties hanging out her jeans leg like a used fabric softener sheet.
The audio-visual helper who says, "Let 'er eat!" every time you are
about to start a film or a tape or your car. The woman who wears
pants under a dress. The man who blows up the bread sack like a
balloon because air is a good insulator. The woman who boxes up
trash thrown out on her road and mails it back to the rightful owner.
The guy who saves his clipped toenails in an old Vlasic pickle jar.
Okaaay...I think you know what I mean.

We would be kept on Outcast Island, allowed to fly the Beclakian
, but only permitted to listen to one song: "It Goes Like It Goes,"
recorded by Emperor Rebecca. This would help us concentrate on
our job of translating Beclakian classics into the national dialect
(which Rebecca has decided is a mixture of Beat Poetry, Horse Race
calling, and Oprah Winfrey). Thus, "It was a dark and stormy night..."
would become:

that Stedman horse
is moving up on the inside,
his thundering hooves
glistening black,
slicing nocturnal,
carving the cobwebs
from my brain.
What was I thinking
when I bet all my money
on him?
You go girl!
The prize is under your seat.

As you can see, it is not an easy life for us misfits on Outcast Island.


  • At 11:11 PM, Blogger Rebecca said…

    Hi Hillbilly Mom,
    Slap me when I am down why don't you. A very lowq blow referring once again to that bloody song, but one I do deserve for it.
    I hereby send you to Outcast of Outcasts atoll. Just like a freaks island, only crunchy. Of course you have to go through our courts first, so Paper, Rock, or Scissors?

  • At 11:30 PM, Blogger Hillbilly Mom said…

    Methinks that is not too fair of the court system for me to state my choice first. But I will take scissors. At least I will have a weapon with me on the atoll.

    And anyhoo, people who say "methinks" and "anyhoo" will definitely be cohabiting with me on the crunchy freak island. Do you think you can pull some strings and get us a leg lamp?

  • At 11:41 PM, Blogger Rebecca said…

    Hi Hillbilly Mom,
    Dang the choice of the State was Paper. Looks like you get off this time, but we may appeal.

  • At 10:26 AM, Blogger KarbonKountyMoos said…

    I once had a very serious conversation with a woman who stopped by at a bad time. Her husband was bs'ing with mine & we were walking around the yard. She said, "What's that?" and pointed at my foot. I pulled the pair of panties out of the bottom of my pant leg. . . I think that she figured it out then.

  • At 5:45 PM, Blogger Hillbilly Mom said…

    Well, well, Karen. That might fall under the "too much information" category! Check with Redneck Diva about the proper procedures for a "note to self."

    One of our teachers had that happen to her at an inservice meeting with a guest speaker.


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