I went back to my hometown for a night of boozing recently. The bar was very small town – cash only, a jukebox, three TV’s, and attached to a drive thru. Me and my pals were outside, communicating our deepest and most tender thoughts (calling each other pieces of shit) when the old drunk redneck showed up. Then the fun began.
The old drunk redneck is the same everywhere you go: Loud, drunk (obviously), usually wearing no sleeves and extremely inappropriate. Our friend didn’t let us down. With every motorcycle or muscle car that passed the bar’s patio, and there were lots, he yelled either “Get it!” or “Wooo!!!” and laughed manicially. He told one girl she had more titties than a dairy herd. Someone (damn them) told him I did comedy. Rather than ask questions or offer to even exchange jokes, the next 30 minutes of my night were spent getting peppered with jokes, mostly about hillbillies and sex, some about both.
The crown jewel of the night, though, was when someone brought up my buddy getting hit by a car. “Who was it?” said our new pal. “Some guy named Rex.” “I know a guy named Rex and he only has one eye. Whadda you expect?” More sound advice has never been given. Don’t be on the road when Rex is leaving the bar.