Homegirl and Uncle Joe

Well, it seems as if Rebecca is up to her old tricks of making me
look foolish. Oh, all right. I can do that pretty well myself without
any help from the land of Beclakia. Since Beclakia has no taxes,
Rebecca is raising revenue by selling my soul on a T-shirt.

This is not such a big deal, I suppose, for what she could have
done. But there comes a time when I have to make my stand.

I forgave her for this:
















I forgave her for allowing a cheese sandwich and a sheep-on-
a-unicycle to get more votes than me in the Big Blogger Final.

And I forgave her for declaring herself the winner of every redneck
contest I cooked up. But now, Rebecky, IT IS OOOONNNN!!!!
Beware.

Speaking of scary mail-order images, here is one I found while
browsing for some mail-order hillbilly Christmas gift ideas:


















This is not my Uncle Joe. I found him in the Miles Kimball
catalog. My apologies in advance to the family of the real
Uncle Joe. That said, let the snarking begin.

Is this creepy, or what? Didn't Uncle Joe have a better
picture to remember him by? He reminds me of Montgomery
Burns, Homer Simpson's boss, with hair. And what's with
that suit? Is the hanger still in it? Cause it doesn't hang very
flatteringly on Uncle Joe's shoulders.

And how about that expression on his face? The real Uncle
Joe may have been a moral, churchgoing saint. But this photo
makes him look like some butt-pinching perv who just won
a backstage pass to the Hicksville Blue-Ribbon Hiney Contest.
Say it ain't so, Joe.

Don't even think about it, Rebecca. Step away from Photoshop.
NOW! Do not compound your crime and attract the redneck
wrath of Hillbilly Mom. Just Say No! I am warning you. No more.
Vengeance will be mine.