New Age Redneck

Everytime I leave Wal-Mart I feel smarter. Not because of the great deals on tons of crap. I'm smarter when I leave because whenever I go into the store I can physically feel my IQ drop 40 to 50 points. So when I leave the store, my intellegence comes back. Unfortunately, it's the closest place to our house to get all the crap we need and more. My blue bag tonight carried some oxy-clean for the curtains, a fantasy football magazine for the upcoming draft, some paper for the printer (and the paperless society we live in) and a pen for Chick - everyone deserves a surprise gift once in a while and for some reason she likes pens.

Walking from the store I realized that I was on my own for dinner. And there is no better way to improve on a trip to the redneck super store than a trip through the drive-thru at McDonalds. I rarely eat McDonalds. Before last week it may have been six or eight or twelve months since the last time I had some McCrap. I really don't know. But a week ago my neice wanted to play in McPlayland so I obliged. And ever since then I've had the urge to eat some more.

So at this point I realize that I am offically white-trash, at least for the evening and I may as well find the right music. Lynnard Skynnard would have been perfect or even the Eagles. I settled for George Thorogood's wonderful ballad, "One Bourbon, One Scotch, One Beer." The mood was set and by time I rolled into the drive-thru I was listening to "Bad Moon Rising" by CCR - another perfect little gem. But when pulling out with my quarter pounder in hand I realized that the country-rock gods were laughing with me as "Free Bird" came through the speakers. I nearly paused to take off my shirt and I contemplated turning in my car for an overly large pick-up truck. I could not have asked for more. Unless of course the pick-up truck had a little sticker of Calvin peeing on a 3 with wings.

I approached my driveway slowly, wanting to savor my journey through redneck heaven. And by the way, I really don't have anything against rednecks. It's just a stereotype that I happen to be writing about tonight. It may have been spawned by the woman behind me in line at Wal-Mart buying the latest Jeff Foxworthy CD. In some ways I may actually be a redneck. I already live in a small midwestern town and we are actually hoping to buy a farm in an even smaller town somewhere. And a goat for a pet is just fun. But I really don't know what I am, so for now I'll just hit here in my Scooby Doo underwear, adjust my cowboy hat and finish another Blog.